Rose petals like love letters crinkle around well loved edges
The sweet scent of their memory still saturates my senses
I miss you more than I could ever articulate
Each nerve ending longs for just a whisper, a touch
Occasionally I stumble across old recordings of your beautiful voice
Now only in dreams do I witness
Soft movements, tender touches
Waking with aches and pains that only you could ease
A well painted visage fits perfectly over the sadness
Aglow with sunlight and smile veneer seals solid with coarse tears
I keep hidden what I cannot hide

It's  been  a  lovely  spring  evening..
The  sun  now  setting.
It's  rays  filtering  through  the  trees.
Causing  dancing  shadows
on  the  white  clad  cottages.
Across  the  way.
Orange  tinted  clouds
drifting  across  the  heavens.
As  if  seeking  a  destination.
quite  a  pretty  picture.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Aesthetics of woman
roundness warmth
loquacious fecundity

Desire overcome
all that remains-

Beauty

When I’m in The Land of Nod
Why do I misunderstand the characters there?
How am I constantly surprised
By what they do?
And shocked at the things that happen?
For they are all creations of my own Subconscious Mind.

It seems the “Conscious” Me is at the mercy
Of the Subconscious Id.
But how can this be?
The Id is part of me
Supposedly.
Yet it’s as if The Id
Is another person
Residing within myself,
Toying with the Conscious Me.
(Is this why some get voices in their heads?).

So is this “waking” Life of ours
But a more orderly, clearer Dream?
A dream created by some Super Id
From which we will awaken soon,
To rise into an even clearer Realm
Called Heaven?

Reality is the strangest thing
When viewed this way.
Yet maybe some day
We’ll understand.

Paul Butters

People carry hearts, not within the chest. Inside the sleeve. Love is a rare spoken language as the world silently grieves.

Sat  on  a  bench  in  the  park  today.
A  Chinese  tourist  was­  down  
on  her  knees.
Taking  photo's  of  the
daises  in  the­  grass.
We  would  never  think
of  doing  that.

Keith  Wilson.­  Windermere.  UK.  2016.