I can not find the letter mother left me four days
before her death. I read it once and then placed

it in a cardboard box like you might a dull
knife or a ******* tin. The letter is

a part me, like Van Gogh’s severed
ear was to him. I want the letter

like love or sight; the way bone
                               needs marrow.

Water  rushing  down  the  drains.
And  through  windswept  country  lanes.

Trees  brushing  water  away  with  their  leaves.
Birds  sheltering  under  the  eaves.

Pools  on  the  lawn  appear.
It,s  a  dreadful  night  I  fear.

Pitch  black  little  to  see.
A  new  day  may  set  us  free.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

No shadows of yesterday
will cloud now
no clouds of tomorrow
shadow today
the sky may be bright or dark
I'll see what I see
without grey

Memories of the past
won't haunt
what future brings
I cannot see
but in now will I linger for today
yesterday and tomorrow
will have to be

Hands of time pull and tug
creating furrows
in the brow
but today I will not
be held ransom
for I must make the most
of now

Smooth or cobbled
petals or pebbles
all shall come my way —
but why should I let
a cobweb of a thought
steal my day
today

If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time

Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again  
On but an arm, the  koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves

On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?



Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky -  Gibran

Every morning when I am making tea,
I wish most fervently,
To become an electric KETTLE.

It most certainly won't  matter to me,
I'll accept it most gracefully,
Be I of ceramic or METAL.

For one moment I'm dancing with glee,
The next sobbing most piteously,
These wretched hormones don't SETTLE.

Once I whistled so daintily,
Now I  breathe so monstrously,
No longer a rose PETAL.

I may boil, then boil most furiously,
Then click off automatically,
Before I sting like NETTLE.

Splutter, bubble, gurgling I be,
Then cool and calm..so peacefully ,
There I ..in fine FETTLE!

How do I love you - in poem or prose
In a story, a eulogy, aubade or an ode?
I could love you in a sonnet
A senryu, though terse
I'd spill my heart - drop by drop
Or ink it verse after verse
I could write a terzannelle
A villanelle I could chance
Tapping on the refrain of love
The feet of romance
I could weave metaphors and similes
Sweet and sublime
Or trip down the keys
Playfully alliterate each line
How do I love you?
I can love you as I do -
In simple words that are writ -
From a heart that is true

The winds of autumn shall soon blow
Verdant leaves that in summer show
Cascading, floating, golden-red
And make a copper- russet bed
      Before 'tis white with quilted snow ...

The burnished rays of autumn's glow
Will implore Summer's heat to go
As falling leaves shall dance and shed
The winds of autumn...

And those sweet seeds that I shall sow
Tenderly- someday, bloom and grow
Where hopes of life so gently tread
As I, on earth, shall rest my head
All seasons of this life to know
The winds of autumn...

You expect it to happen.
Oh, how much you want it to happen.

But because you are not blessed
It will not happen to you.

It will happen to him.
And all the good in it will flow to him.

Without plan, without intention, without effort
He will gain at your loss.

So listen: Dance with the dream
For it holds everything you gave up for him.