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)

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

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.

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 heard the pheasant
yesterday
but
could not see him

(11 May 1934 -November 2022)

Mister Wilson, salt of the earth
a peaceful poet, embarks on rebirth
His charm, his wit, his humble wisdom
We honour now with candle lit
A gardener of words and of the land
May he be led lovingly by the hand
to a place full of foxes and robins
with trees, flowers, and crystal clear waters
May he find there all he loves dearly
As we celebrate his life and see his heart more clearly
Sweet dreams to our dear friend
You are in our hearts, our love we send
❤

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

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.

Spring  is  now  resting.
After  some  lovely  spring  days.
It  is  now  snowing.
Typical  British  weather.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

The Hydrangeas bushes
I see from my window
are a vivid blue color
Hot and humid today
so they do stand out

By the way
some Hydrangeas
are pink
The colors seem to come
from different soil conditions

An  inanimate  object.

I'm  a  lovely  tree  in  summer.
Pure  emerald  green  leaves,
sweeping  down  towards  earth.

I'm  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  park.
Away  from  the  maddening  crowd.

Spring  is  nice  when  flowers
grow  below  my  trunk.

Winter  is  cold  and  dank.
With  snow  and  rain  streaming  down.

In  winter  they  call  me  skeletal.
With  my  curled  and  twisted  branches.

At  least  I'm  sheltered  here.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Keswick to Kendal by bus
Boarded at Keswick
few people aboard
lovely and peaceful
just watching
as the amazing scenery goes by
At Ambleside things change dramatically
an army of unruly schoolchildren
arrive onboard
The whole journey turns into a nightmare
I was glad when we reached sunny Kendal

Keith.
Keith the gardener, Keith the poet,
Keith with the infectious smile, Keith with the load of worries,
Keith of the lost loves, Keith of the quirky turn of phrase,
Keith who could always come up with a title -
Keith, we shall remember you well.
Hugs all round,
Janet

An  inanimate  object.

I'm  a  picture  hung  on  a  wall.
Hope  I'm  secure  I  might  fall.
People  stand  and  stare.
Like  the  horse  that  stands  up  there.
They  never  mention  my  lovely  frame.
They  think  I  am  just  fair  game.
Sometimes  they  move  me  all  about.
I  just  cry  and  sometimes  shout.
It  gets  so  lonely  sat  up  here.
Never  get  food  or  a  nice  cool  beer.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Thanks  for  supporting  Snowdrops.
I  only  did  a  short  one.
Because  I was  feeling  off  color.
Many  thanks  again.

Keith  Wilson. .  Windermere.  UK  2017.

You've only got one mother
faithful kind and true
Cherish her with all your heart
your guiding light
right from the start
She's there for you in good or bad
she picks you up when you are sad
she gives you lots of loving care
to help you as you grow
A loving word a tender smile
making everything worthwhile

The stunning colour in our spring garden
Is absolutely breathtaking

Keith Wilson, Windermere, April 2017

It's sad to say
that Keith's writing skills
of which there were many
have passed away
No more little tales
stories
and poems
So many differents parts of his life
to enjoy, and enjoy
like being a 'Gardener'
falling into hedges
without knowing why
Bless him, wherever he may be

The  early  Azaleaus    are  blooming
in  the  garden.

A  rich  deep  purple  color.

Quite early in  late  February

But  we  have  had  a  very  mild  winter
here  in  the  Lake  District.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK. 2017.

The  leaves  now  saying
a  sad  farewell.

To  the  trees  they
have  adorned  so  well.

Yes,  autumn  glory  is  here.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

It was quite a shock
seeing the lovely artwork
of a luminous train
with all the strange syllables
across the bottom edge

I stand in the splendour
Of my summer garden
The scent of honeysuckle wafting
Across in the evening breeze
The late sun casting shadows
Across the ivy-clad wall
Hydrangeos and roses appear
To steal the show
But many other flowers
Are staking their claim
As storm clouds gather
An eerie feel descends
A feeling of peace and tranquility
Now reigns
As rain begins to fall

Keith   Wilson   Birthwaite Flats

I  lie  peacefully  in  Iquez  Military  Cemetery.
Near  Arras  N­orthern  France

They  say  I  was  a  very  remarkable  soldier.­
From  the  First  World  War.

I  was  born  in  Brighton  Engla­nd.
And  later  joined  a  Yorkshire  regiment.

So  it  was  str­ange  that  I  had  to  die.
in  a  Scottish  regiment.

Never  m­ind  those  days  are
now  long  gone

Keith  Wilson  Windermere ­ UK  2016.

I  read  a  obituary  in  the  newspaper.
Of  a  long  lost  friend.

It  hit  me  off  the  page.
Like  an  arrow  through  my  heart.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

The grass is looking
strikingly green
in the autumn sunshine

I dropped my wifi
on the blackbird
and it didn't feel so good
I was worried about him
in the present climate
I thought I would leave the door open
so he could call anytime
Happy days!

Lady said
"Shut up about the storm
else you'll be in one"
Charming, I thought

Spring  the  great  awakening.
After  the  winter  slumbers.
Everything  springs  to  life.
Animals,  birds, and  all
the  wonderful  spring  flowers.
Trees  slowly  starting  to  bud.
Even  humans  start  to  stir,
out  of  a  winter  trance.
A  truly  magical  time.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I  walked  under  clear  blue  skies.
My  feet  making  footprints  in  the  golden  sands.
    
I  shaded  my  eyes  and  peered  across.
At  inky-blue  mountains  stretching
Endlessly  beyond  the  vast
Expanse  of  water.

Seashells  scattered  at  random
Lay  embedded  in  the  soft  sand
Showing  off  many  beautiful  colors

I  sat  for  awhile  and  dozed  fitfully
Listening  to  the  soft  murmuring
Of  the  gentle  incoming  tide.

The  tranquillity  was  finally
Interrupted  by  an  excited
Yell  from  a  small  boy  fisherman
Who  had  hooked  a  minnow.

As  it  grew  cold  I  walked  on
With  a  clear  and  refreshed  mind.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

The Old Oak stands
in isolated splendour
In the far corner
of the garden

Skeletal in winter
beautiful in summer
must be at least
one hundred and fifty years old

Princess  smooth  cool  Princess.
Will  you  ever  be.
Contented  through  your  lifetime.
To  forever  stay  with  me.

Princess  perfect  Princess.
Your  head  I  gently  pat.
As  you  purr  softly  on  my  knee.
A  contented  little  cat.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

Early morning
Sitting on the bench

A blackbird came along
Stuffed his beak with straw

Then flew away
Building a nest I suspect

Keith Wilson

My  paper  man  retires  soon.
The  thought  of  it  fills  me  with  gloom.

I'll  miss  him  so  on  Monday  nights.
The  time  we  put  the  world  to  rights.

We  talked  of  war  and  peace  and  drugs.
Of  bygone  days  before  the  thugs.

He  came  in  wind  and  rain  and  hail.
With  a  treasury  of  fascinating  tales.

He's  seventy  now  it's  time  to  part.
But  I'll  hold  him  close  within  my  heart.

He's  worked  so  hard  he  deserves  a  rest.
In  this  mad  world  he's  been  the  best.

The  years  will  pass  I'll  not  forget.
His  happy  smile  will  linger  yet.

Happy  retirement  Mr  Brown.
A  true  friendship  I  have  found.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Crowds gather in the waiting train
Kids fidgeting
Mothers panicking
Man with eyes of steel
glares at me from the opposite seat
Suddenly the train lurches forward
quickly gathering speed
All the tension seems to lift
Kids settle down
Mothers look out of the window
Man opposite puts his head back
and closes his eyes
Yes, the journey has now begun

Red headed
fancily dressed
All of eight
four feet tall

I was all of six.
when at ten years
She emigrated
to Windermere

Now she's my next door neighbor
I emigrated too
After eighty years
We're both in Windermere

The  farmer  sows  his  seed.
Hoping  for  a  good  crop.

As  the  saying  goes.
A  wet  and  windy  May.
Fills  the  barn  with  corn  and  hay.

May  is  germination  time.
He  prays  for  wet  and  windy  May.
But  we  hope  for  nice  sunny, Spring  weather.

It's  the  same  in  life  you  see.
We  must  sow  our  seeds.
To  reach  our   goals.

The  secret  is.
Never  to  give  up, just  keep  going.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK  2016.

Its a spring-like
March morning
Spring is on its way

Time flies
In forty three days
I'll be eighty five
but I've been feeling old
since I was seventy nine
It's hard to concentrate
all the time
with this mind of mine

I saw
the other side
of nature
yesterday
A sparrow hawk
swooped down
and
took out
a pigeon
ate it all up
There were feathers
everywhere
That was the cruel side
of nature

I was reading this book
Was it an illusion?
I was drawn like a magnet;
I couldn not stop reading
I was bound to finish sometime
but
there was a problem
with the Quantum

Door opened
"Beg pardon"
said the lady
looking quite embarrassed
as she quietly
closed the door

Nature  never  ceases  to  amaze  me.
This  week  I  saw  a  pair  of  mallard  ducks.
They  were  bathing  in  the  puddles,
outside  my  window.
They  were.
Splashing  and  thrashing.
Playing  and  spraying.
Having  a  rare  old  time.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

The Birthwaite Ghost is on the prowl
See her glide hear her howl

Laboured footsteps can be heard
plodding on without a word

Drifting on just like a dream
bringing fear to the independent living team

Perhaps a resident from the past
coming home to roost at last

Very aggressive birds
even with their own partners
The evil squawk
reminds me of witches and death
They are constantly chasing
small birds away
They fight for position
whilst trying to bathe
in the fountain
They fight for scraps of food
lying around

What  is  sleep.
Is  it  a  night  long  restful  sleep.
Something  I  never  get.

I  just  lie  tossing  and  turning,
ranting  and  raving.

Nightmares,  and  blasts,
from  the  past.

Oh  what  I'd  give  for
a  good  nights  sleep.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

10  words.

Dull,dank, and  wet.
  Septembers  now  arrived.
In  full  force.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

We have all written
a poem
on stones
sprinkled
in the garden
The ink is unaffected
by the weather
however
Nobody seems to care
Perhaps
we should put them
on show
somewhere

The first day
of autumn
a cold dark
dank morn

Summer's
a distant memory
and winter's
becoming born

Clouds bring beauty to our skies
Causing brilliance at sunrise

White wispy clouds are very nice
Containing rain has solid ice

Lots of them can form a  sheet
To develop some storms that just might meet

Clouds make beauty at sunset time
Developing silver linings fine

Clouds are very important to us
Saving us from sunburn and skin cancers

Keith Wilson

Everyone sat quiet
around the table
writing
about death
nature
or whatever