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 May 2017 Keith Wilson
Renée C
The wind plays with my hair like a lover. 
I'm left disheveled and laughing.  
I'm drunk on sunlight and that particular shade of blue
of skies that have secrets, and they're not telling.
©Renée Casey May 2017
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
Gypsy Soul
I can't remember the day we met
I only remember the invite you sent
It was amazing what we held
It even was the best *** I ever had
You are my lust with a touch of pain
I tried to build something but all in vain
Because you are the blues you are my pain
I miss you so much, I miss you eyes
Because you are the blues you are my pain
I dream of you and I love your strain
You are the blues and you are my pain
I met someone, I lost someone
above my left eye
an army marching by
hob nails down my back

the crack of light I saw
was
midnight and
the clothes she wore

It wore me down.

a cold compress
the toss and turn
such aches and pain
I might not sleep again

When my body rejects me
and there's nowhere to go
the hurting is easy
if I take it real slow.

and up to now
or at this point in time
I've always woken at dawn
a long standing habit of mine

long may I continue
to entertain or bore you,
think
what other things could
you do
if you were not reading this.
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
Poetic T
Our words are sewn into those
                           that hear our thoughts.

So make them pleasant,
                as ill words sow sour fruits
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source

Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.

Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-

All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.

As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves

I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight

As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
You treat Her so badly
the women who would
create your perfect flesh
then out of the womb
you came
felt on a whimsy
you came
out like a shooting star
and thru Her
and yet you treat
Her so cruelly
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
chris
I n s
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
chris
it is okay not to feel fine.
it is okay not to know what to do.

trust your gut instincts.

they are usually right
 May 2017 Keith Wilson
JDK
There are three kinds of writers in this world:
Those who write from a positive place,
those who write from a negative place,
and those who haven't figured it out yet.
After realizing that I'm part of the second group, I'm choosing to hang up my writing gloves. There's more than enough negativity floating around in the world already without my help.

#sometimesgiving uponyourdreamscanbeagoodthing
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