The words are there,
suspended in front of my
eyes and yours,
to be read and
to be written.
Their curves around the drip
drops of rain
on the concrete,
they crash to
become one
but only become many
as the ink from their words
flood the cracked road
with a pure pitch.
They have spilled from our lips,
and have run their course
and have carved their ledges
and cliffs into our rock-slide
lives,
and settled
to be written
before they have been spoken.

I love my little garden Lord
Which you have given me
I thank you for this heaven
Where I can feel so free

I pray each night to give me strength
To sow more wondrous seeds
And for you to bless the birds
Who fly right in to feed

I bless you for my sight and smell
To enjoy the flowers so
And all the bees and butterflies
Who gently come and go

So bless my little garden Lord
It gives me peace and joy
For I have prayed each night to you
Since I was just a boy

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.

The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

There is a truly magical valley
Up to the north part of the Lakes District
As you pass through
Each side seems to have individual mountains
As the sun filters and dazzles
With swirling mists
That move around in ghostly fashion
Perhaps we could call it
The  valley of a thousand Hills

I think of going away (sometimes)

Can I think we all been there?

Deep in our thoughts & feels,
Lost down a lonely road,
Confused of direction,
Sentimental with nature,
Filled with want & need
Pained with, well everything.


I go but will always come back

From ___  to reality.

You are the one who brings me so much pain
Each day I fight to keep myself alive
Your look, your touch, all I feel is disgust
If it were up to me you’d feel all this
Each day you live, o Lord please bring me peace.

I am nothing to you and you are nothing to me,
just two bodies of atoms swimming round in an endless sea.