To  my  home  there  on  the  hilltop.
To  my  home  there  by  the  dale.
To  that  place  which  is  a  part  of  me.
One  day  I  know  I'll  sail.

I'll  step  off  the  ships  forever.
And  I'll  sail  no  more  the  seas..
When  I  answer  yet  the  sirens.
Of  my  homeland  calling  me.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

Saw  a  obituary  in  the  newspaper
of  a  long  lost  friend.

I,t  hit  me  off  the  page.
Like  an  arrow  through  my  heart.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

In sixty six months
I'll be ninety
and in a hundred and eighty six months
I'll be one hundred
"Not long is it?"

Keith Wilson, November 2nd 2018, Windermere

There,s  a  chill  in  the  air.
I  just  felt  it  out  there.
Autumn  introducing  Itself.
The  sun  came  out
for  a  fleeting  moment.
Then  it  turned
suddenly  chilly  again.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Sat  on  a  bench  in  the  park  today.
A  Chinese  tourist  was­  down  
on  her  knees.
Taking  photo's  of  the
daises  in  the­  grass.
We  would  never  think
of  doing  that.

Keith  Wilson.­  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

How  do  the  tourist's
know  I'm  local.
They  are  always  stopping  me.
And  asking  the  way  to  the  lake.
Perhaps  It's  because
I'm  walking  on  my  own.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

There,s  not  many  upsets
in  the  FA  cup  these  days.

Because  the  playing  area,s  
are  in  prime  condition.

In  the  old  days  they  played
on  mud  bath,s  which  were
a  great  leveler  in  skill.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Suddenly  gone  very  quiet  here.
Main  tourists  now  long  gone.

Birds  and  animals  quiet  too.
No  morning  chorus.

Weather  stagnant, mainly  cloudy, no  wind.
And  surprisingly  no  sign  of  rain.

Trees  are  beautiful  though.
Leaves  of  rich  reds,  browns,  and  golds.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.



,

I,t  came  up  twice.

I heard a man putting ladders up outside
Probably to clean the gutters
He suddenly appeared at my window
"Hello" he said
"I'm Father Christmas
I'm just practising"

I dreamed
I was
At Birthwaite
I awoke
I was

Keith Wilson, Windermere, UK, Oct 2016

Blistering hot the other day
Humid heavy air
I prayed to the heavens
For more pleasant weather
And I thank the Lord
For making it cooler
And more bearable
Praise the Lord
You answered my prayers

What  a  strange  day.
This  morning  was  dark,
damp  and  foggy.
A  real  winter  morn.

This  afternoon  it's  cleared  up.
The  sun  has  come  out.
And  it's  quite  springlike.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Been  down  with  a  nasty
chest  Infection.
Finished  my  Amoxicillin
caps  last  night.
Hope  to  feel  better  soon.
Take  care.  Everyone.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.

He has no hair
upon his head
but down the sides
it seems to spread
Hair care seems important
to some
We feel much better
When it's done
A penny a hair
is what it cost
but a little trim
is all he got

I  walked  past  my  old  house  today
it  had  changed -  new  modern  windows
And  doors.

The  garden  looked  the  same
Although  it  wasn't  as  well  kept  as  I  remembered  it.

I  passed  the  old  Co-op  shop
Where  I  started  work  at  fifteen.
Sadly  it  is  now  an  antique  shop.

I  climbed  Woodbank,  a  steep  hill  in   the  village
The  landscape  had  changed  little
Except  for  a  motorway  cutting  through  it.

The  old  canteen- where  I  used  to  deliver  groceries-
Had  disappeared  without  trace.

Also  the  indoor  tennis  courts  had  gone
Replaced  by  new  bungalows.

Yes,  a  lot  of  changes  have  taken  place
Since  I  left  in  1957.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.  
      
,  

.

It's  been  a  lovely  spring  evening..
The  sun  now  setting.
It's  rays  filtering  through  the  trees.
Causing  dancing  shadows
on  the  white  clad  cottages.
Across  the  way.
Orange  tinted  clouds
drifting  across  the  heavens.
As  if  seeking  a  destination.
quite  a  pretty  picture.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

They  took  me  to  Windermere  today.
Just  to  put  Father  Christmas  away.

They  said  ,,We  haven,t  got  much  time
we  have  to  be  back  at  twelve  to  dine,,

I  didn,t  really  see  the  point
I  hadn,t  time  to  inspect  the  joint.

Flying  here  flying  there
Seem  to  have  no  time  to  spare.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.UK,  2017.

They  call  my  flat
a  museum.

Because  of  all
my  stuff.

But  as  a  keen
collector.

I  can  never  get
enough.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.2017.

I've  always  been  a  ladies  man.
I  think  they  are  truly  great.
But  they  always  seem  to  die  on  me.
That  seems  to  be  my  fate.

Their  courage  and  bravery  is  unsurpassed.
Much  stamina  they  have  got.
They  seem . to  accept  things  more  than  men.
And  put  up  with  their  lot.

What  they  lack  in  muscle  power.
His  made  up  with  mental  strength.
To  fight  the  pain  of  childbirth.
They  will  go  to  any  length.

So  don't  knock  them  fellows.
They  will  always  be  there  for  you.
And  if  you  treat  them  properly.
They'll  remain  loving  kind  and  true.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

The  Canal  stands  out  in
early  morning  splendour.
Freshly  painted  small  boats
Line  up  in  the  early  morning  sun.

Mallards  duck  and  dive
Across  on  the  far  side.
The  white  clad  houses  reflect
In  the  water  in  mirror  fashion.

The  Red  of  the  boathouse  stands
out  against  the  Green  of  the
summer  dressed  trees.

Yes,  sometimes  it's  good
to  be  alive.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Keith has gone
He has passed on
a week ago
I am letting everyone know
His fellow poets in Windermere
will publish a few new poems here

September , the  seasons  last  lovely  smile.
You  were  fine  this  past  year.
Sunny  days.Balmy  nights.
I  won't  forget  you.
Farewell, dear  September.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

Some  places  call  it
In  the  Autumn.

Some  places  call  it
in  the  Fall.

In  Cumbria  UK  we  say
in  the  Back  End.

Meaning  the  Back  End
of  the  year.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Sat  on  a  bench  today.
Taking  in  the  suns  rays.
Surrounded  by  a  host
of  spring  flowers.
So  peaceful.
Hope  it's  here  to  stay.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Robin  Redbreast  one  fine  day.
Hopped  across  the  lawn  to  play.
*****  opened  one  large  eye.
A  juicy  morsel  he  did  spy.
*****  rolled  into  a  ball.
So  Robin  felt  no  fear  at  all.
But  *****  had  some  evil  thoughts.
To  grab  poor  Robin  by  his  coat.
Robin  ventured  very  near.
Right  under  *****'s  nose,  oh  dear.
*****  sprang  up  full  of  glee.
He  wanted  Robin  for  his  tea.
Robin  said:  You'll  not  catch  me.
And  flew  into  the  nearest  tree.
*****  followed  him  in  haste.
And  through  the  branches  he  did  chase.
Robin  opened  up  his  wings.
Tweet,  he  cried,  good  day.
*****  growled  and  spat.
Robin  flew  away.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Breathe out the bad stuff
The fear anxiety depression
And all the nasty evil thoughts
Breathe in the good stuff
Wisdom and light
From a clear clear sky
No clouds
And inner peace and calm will come
Just as a bubble bursts
All the nasty stuff
will disappear

Trees

I am a peculiar tree
Growing half in rock
And half in the sea

The winter winds do bother me
I need the spring to set me free

I envy ivy trees
So full of green

I can't stop the gale
But I can change my sail

Keith Wilson  Windermere Feb 22 2016

I had the privilege
of the first house - fly
of the season
last Sunday
A sign of things to come

Kathleen  and  I  went  up  the  hill.
In  the  boisterous  wind  nothing  still.
Bashing,  Crashing,  all  around.
And  water  flooding  near  town.
The  wind  just  took  us  along  at  pace.
The  lashing  rain  bit  into  your  face.
As  we  reached  the  sodden  town.
Plant  pots  flying  all  around.
Old  men  sighing,  children  crying.
The  moaning  wind  was  all  around.
We  went  for  coffee  to  escape.
And  left  the  others  to  their  fate.
Cats  in  trances,  flying  branches.
Water  seeping, water  creeping.
So  we  got  a  taxi  home.
Thank  God.

It's wonderful outside
It's wonderful inside
The trees are changing colour
and it's warm where where I abide

I was sad  so sad
To see you go
Sad to hear
That whistle blow

I saw you sadly to the train
Knowing I'd never see you again

Another Lost love
Another Lost love
No farewell kiss
No tender hug
Just a heart of pain
And a waiting train

Lost Love Lost Love
Love Lost Lost Love

We hadn't long together
We changed just like the weather

As your train speeds away
There's nothing more to say

Another Lost love
Another Lost love
No farewell kiss
No tender hug
Just a heart of pain
And a waiting train

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK  2017.

It,s  a  lovely  crisp  early  spring  morning.
After  a  sharp  frost.
Clear  blue  sky  has  far
as  the  eye  can  see.
Very  quiet, no  wind  at  all.
The  snow  capped  mountains
stand  proudly  on  the  horizon.
A  few  holiday  makers  arriving.
For  a  brand  new  season.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

I  still  love  my  Catherine  dearly.
Her  beauty  unsurpassed.
Long  golden  hair  and  pale  blue  eyes.
I  still  think  of  her  like  that.

But  that  was  four  decades  ago.
The  time  has  just  elapsed.
But  time  stands  still  in  the  memory.
Just  like  a  photograph.

We  were  to  marry  one  March  day.
But  circumstances  took  me  away.
When  I  returned  from  foreign  climes.
Life  had  moved  on  with  the  times.

I  never  saw  her  ever  again.
Odd  letters  I  did  get.
She  was  swallowed  up  in  city  life.
And  I  often  have  regrets.

Has  she  grown  old  gracefully.
Or  in  youthful  beauty  died.
Many  times  I've  thought  of  her.
And  many  times  I've  cried.

But  in  my  mind's  eye  clearly.
Running  swiftly  down  the  hill.
A  vision  of  loveliness.
Within  my  memory  still.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.

It's blistering hot
Here in England
No time to
Acclimatise

Been  away  for  7  weeks.
Glad  to  be  back.
I  am  so  touched people
have  missed  my  poetry.
hope  you  have  been  doing  well.
Many  thanks  again.
Take  care.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

We  had  a  strange  coffee  morning  today.
Instead  of  coffee  and  biscuits.
We  had  coffee  and  buttered  toast.
It  went  down  well  with  the  people.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

It's  blistering  hot  here  today.
Not  at  all  like  the  British
Lake  District.
I  have  borrowed  a  fan
from  the  lady  next  door.
To  try  and  cool  off.
I  don't  know  how  long
this  weather  will  last.
Perhaps  it  will  end
In  thunder  storms.


Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Sleeping is often
A restless chore
Something to be endured

10  Words

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

But I can sit and dream a while
about her and her perfect smile
Yes I can be in my dreams
and watch her dance
between moonbeams
Her golden silken hair all free
as she comes
and walks by me
I see her smile
and laugh along
and listen as she
sings her song
No one can
compete for her
forever there
A part of me until I die
seen by my third eye

The fallen leaves
in the graveyard
look very lovely

I walked the almost
Deserted beach
Late afternoon
The sun was minting coins
On the placid waters
It was indeed a beautiful
Day awakening my
Poetic imagination
I sat for a while deep
In thought
How could such a place
Turn so hostile and frightening
Storms and thunderous waves
shipwrecks, men drowned
Hostile predators deep under
The lashing waves?
I walked quietly away
At least today the sea
Was behaving itself

Keith   Wilson  
Birthwaite July 2015

Sad  to  hear  of  the  passing
of  Muhammad  ALI.

One  of  the  greatest  boxer's
of  our  time.

Henry  Cooper  knocked  him
down  once.
But  he  was  saved  by  the  bell.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Warm Afternoon

It was a really  warm  afternoon

Almost  like  summer
Stayed  out  for  q­uite  awhile
On  my  return
Shafts  of  sunlight
Were  beaming  through  my  ­window
An  endless  blue  sky
Across  the  heavens
The  only  sou­nd  was  the  chiming
Of  a  nearby  church  clock

It was a warm and peaceful afternoon


Keith  Wilson     Windermere  UK  2016

I  lean  my  cycle  against  the  shed
And  make  for  the  door ­ lowering  my  head

Driving  sleet  and  rain  and  wind.
Bites ­ my  face  as  I  let  myself  in.

0utside  the  trees  like  gh­ostly  shapes.
Are  tossing  and  heaving  right  across  space.
­
I  see  the  master  approaching  now.
Ducking  and  weaving  to­  avoid  a  tree  bough.

It,s  pretty  hopeless  today  he  says­.
Follow  me  without  delay.

We  walk  to  the  big  house,  I ­ cannot  win.
He  pushes  open  the  big  door  and  takes  me  i­n.
I,ve  got  you  a  painting  job,  he  says.
These  gentry  fo­lk  they  have  strange  ways.

Well I,m  a  gardener  rain  or  shine  
I  pray  each  night  for  th­e  weather  to  be  kind.  

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere  UK  2016­.

A lot of meadows and wildflowers
have disappeared
these days
with the onset
of farmers'
new working techniques

Sammy Turpin one fine day
Took his go—cart out to play.

While speeding quickly down a hill
A passing fly his eye did fill.

He couldn’t see two yards ahead
And landed in a hospital bed.

The nurse was very sympathetic
The fly was extremely energetic.

The doctor came with his stethoscope
But it wasn’t long before he gave up hope.

The consultant came to get it out
But he was never in there with a shout.

Just then the gardener passing by
Raised his leaf blower to the sky.

The air came in just like a rocket
And blew the fly from Sammy’s socket.

l He isn’t the gardener anymore
He’s chief consultant on ward four.

Keith Wilson       published 2001 (Anchor Books)

It's a quiet
fair February morning
a few early flowers
are blooming
Snowdrops and Crocuses
are out
Spring will be here soon

The Birthwaite Gardeners


The Birthwaite gardeners
are at it again
They work so hard
they look in pain
They have hung some bags
to protect their seeds
They don't mind the birds
taking the weeds
They dig by night
they dig by day
As they go along
their merry way


Keith Wilson     July 2017