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Through an open window, I hear
      the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.

May breezes and gentle rains
     coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
      downslope into gathering streams.

Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
      a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.

A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
        folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
        while the Big Thompson rushes on.

Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums  
       shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
        while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.

The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
        bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.

© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
Zero Nine
Let me just hit this real quick, and I've got a question to ask you.

What the hell am I doing with my life?
I've seen a quarter century
easily fly by my head, right past my eyes. Credentials fill the whole of a short list, shorthand black ink on coffee stained white napkins. Got a paycheck, pay rent, I'm okay, then. Name it, it's likely I haven't done it. The thing is, I'm short on hobbies, too. When you got holes in your pockets, watch the pennies dropping. What's a penny for a little get-high? What's a penny for the internet when I don't have a vehicle? I couldn't pay for cheap unleaded. I pay for my shows and drink the TV. Deadbolt my door and get to thinking. Maybe it's all right if I imbibe just a little more. Maybe a few short words arranged in a line, will kiss the void if written right. Correctly.

The ground
Is burned
Rolls away
Life
Is short
So blaze
.....Five or six or seven.
technology
will create
robots
of us all
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
Ju Clear
Sea shore
Your wonders are immense
Shells starfish sand and sideways scampering ***** .
My eyes are full of your magnificence
Jelly fish stranded seaweed crunch.
My thoughts are dancing in your glory
Stones skeletons and sea potatoes
My feet crunch under your feasting table
Oyster shells winkles mussels and whelks limpets cockles .
My mind sings with
Story's washed up on the beach ,boots plastic bottles rubber gloves .
I will be back too delight my senses in
driftwood rafts , mingled in too the glory of a new story .
I will never bore while walking a new shore .
Take a bag and recycle our human waste from the many shores
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