When Coyote witnessed
the Creator making this world
he thought
I will make a world like that
for myself

And so he formed a copy
of every living thing
from the mud
from the branches
and detritus that he gathered
there on the banks
of the Columbia River

But all of his
carefully wrought figures
elk and deer
fish that sparkle in the shallows
black bear
who hides from two-leggeds
the wings of the air
who mingle with the leaves and branches of the forest
all melted back into the mud
of the riverbank
at the next rain

Undeterred
Coyote set out
on a quest

He found a new country
a pleasant land of vast expanse
with every manner of good things

When Coyote came into this country
his hunger
was greater than myth
sharp as the edge of a knife

And there he spied Crow
on a high cliff
with a mouth full
of deer fat

A plan quickly formed
in the caverns of his cunning

Coyote called out
Chief Crow
I am told that your voice
is as sweet as spring water
as pleasing as a woman
in the night

Sing for me
Great Chief
and I will reward you richly

Crow is a vain creature
and being called Chief
gave him great pleasure

He preened
opened his silver wings to the sun
and sang his rough song
but in a muted tone
in order to save
his delicious morsel

Coyote called out again
Oh Chief!
That wasn't much.
not like the stories
I have been told.
Please sing your song again
with feeling!

Crow rose to his full height
****** his sharp beak
into the air
and gave full voice
to his raucous song
for the sake of every crow
on earth

We know the end of this tale
because Coyote taught it
to our ancestors

The deer fat fell to the ground
and Coyote
trickster
scarfed it in an instant

Hunger dampened
he ambled along the well-beaten path
to find the next fool

And that is the story
of Coyote and Crow.
Keep your pride in check
or be the next one laid low.

Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.

Melodious tides serenade along a foam dipped coast line,
we drift as a single composed symphony,
seduced by a pounding surf, its sensuous rhythm pulsates
flooding our hearts, aching to collide
in the tempo of a lone torrent’s embrace

Scorching August passions seize the moonlit sand,
palm tree shadows dance atop sultry weathered dunes
of lemongrass and saw palmetto,
on saltwater breezes moaning our names, mellifluously
from a distant cantata's horizon

Warm dark *** skin intoxicates, I stagger,
lost in hypnotic topaz eyes, reflective pleadings
of deeper desires sought, fingertips probe sun softened locks,
nightshade tresses, mingling with a rippled surf
as stardust illumines moist swollen lips, parted  

Harmonic waves wash atop entwined silhouettes
nearing a crescendo, a pinnacle of pleasure,
where secrets are revealed in half swallowed sighs  
on this coastal haven when voices sing in
throaty whispers of impassioned ecstasy

Now as heated breaths hover beneath the moon’s glowing stare
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading night relinquishes its hold and dawn cracks the sky
Our tide becomes one, our union remains unbroken,
our love, eternally bound by the melody of the sea

In the quiet stillness
of the early morn stand I,
spellbound by the
sight before me.

Pine-clad peaks
encompass me,
the rosy fingers of Aurora
on the brow of
the mountains.

Nothing disturbs my reverie.
All nature murmurs
Your name,
and my heart
leaps up for joy.

The birds are a-chirp
with song.
The stream gurgles
with delight.
The cool wind
enfolds me
in her embrace.
I am awash
in Your glory.

It is the wind
that reminds
me most of You.  
You caress my face
as you speak of love,
Your gentle hand
mends this
broken reed.

I am drawn into
Your heart.
I am lost in You.
I strain to hear the
echoes of Your name
in the pines.

Spring comes hither
Buds the rose . . .
Roses wither
Sweet spring goes . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would she carry me.

Summer soars
Wide-wing'd day . . .
White light pours
Flies away . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would he carry me.

Soft winds blow
Westward borne . . .
Onward go
Towards the morn
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

Sweet birds sing
O'er the graves
Then take wing
O'er the waves
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.