Hand in hand, we'll walk among
The fields where tulips grow
Side by side we'll drift into,
A world beyond the sea
We'll dance together to the songs,
That only we would know
I'll lose myself in your embrace,
And you'll be lost in me

I'll kiss you when you're soft asleep
And hold you while you dream
Under warmth of stars above,
We'll lie; just you and me
And I'll behold your face in sight,
like a diamond it would gleam
And deep inside your playful eyes,
I'll find my place to be

Words are now
as if
I never wrote

gather as an aching
lump in my throat.

They don't seek paper
only a river
to pour and mingle
in refrains of a dumb sadness
flow away
sunburned and tidewashed
to where the river is widest
deepest with sighs
of life not enough
in once only
and when just begun
ending broken on the shore.

The keys. The keys are on the kitchen table.
The car. The car is parked just outside.
My bag. I've packed it with clothes, not much else.
Money. Not a lot of it, but probably just enough.
My phone. In my pocket, turned off.

Is it really just these things i need, to run away from this place?

Leave my life behind fly out wide, deep in space.
Running away, leaving all the challenges I face.

Would it really be that easy just to leave this place?

In a metaphorical prison, surrounded by concrete walls. It's lucky that my mind's ever seen sun light at all. I mean physically the door's right there but mentally I continue to stall.

Why? Why do I stay, looking out the window through the bars? Dreaming of a life I'll never have from afar.

I never understood why the caged bird sings, i mean what does it have to sing about? Locked in a cage, alone with my thoughts, I begin to shout...

I AM NOT A CAGED BIRD! Please let me out?!

I could open the door, but I'm fighting in my mind,
part of me says that it's nice here, the other part knows this is just irrational fear.

So grab the I keys, open the door, I feel as though I'm ready to explore.

I wonder....will I ever miss the cage I lived in before?

the world winds down slowly tonight
coalescing into one  small house
on the cusp of something
we sit and watch the flickering
of other peoples bad news
and pray it does not become
our own

we keep in constant touch
with each other, the golden boy
sleeps with head in my lap
the father lays his hand
over mine and exerts gentle
reassuring pressure
the tuxedo kitten, sensing
our restless souls, moves from
person to person seeking
to comfort wish his two kilos
of wrinkled scrawniness

it is a time of waiting
and watching the small
screened phones, willing
them to carry positivity

it is a time of  cups
of lukewarm tea
and half eaten food
starting at sounds
and praying
to gods long losr
or forgotten

the night continues
to crawl, toward the day
the phones remain silent
we sleep in fitful dozing
snatches, with the blue glow
of reruns lighting
the huddled of  love

at 4.02 the phones buzz
and we answer,
with trepidation
the news is cautiously good
the surgery complete
the nephew, still with us

we sigh, with gratitude
as the sky begins to lighten

--To G. W.


The beach was crowded.  Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes.  Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,
And, grasping wearily his bread-winner,
Stared dim towards the blue immensity,
Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand.
He may have slept:  he did not speak nor stir:
His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

Ocean waves have gently pulsed
in your ear, ever since
you walked out of the sea.

The moon, her shining face,
so far from home, holds your
hand and weeps in peace.

You prefer it that way,
standing alone, glad
the captain is going down
with his ship, in comfort.

The  tulips  lift
there
smiling  faces
To  the  afternoon  sun.

­Keith  Wilson  Windermere  UK  2017.