Hectic life
Under strife
But solid
As man and wife

He talks like Clint Eastwood
He makes my write poems

She groans and grizzles while he is proud and sizzles

Autumn  leaves  bade  farewell
To  the  trees  they  have  adorned  so  well.

The  proud  trees  stood  with  all  their  colors
Now  all  hopes  dashed  by  autumn  weather.

The  leaves  now  blow  about  in  piles
Telling  us  that  winter's  nigh.

They'll  come  again  another  spring
New  hope  to  all  of  us  will  bring.

It's  the  same  in  human  life  you  see
New  babies  to  replace  you  and  me.

Nothing  or  nobody  lasts  forever
It  has  to  be  replaced.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Shattered glass
Shattered bone
amid twisted metal
rings the phone

..Her  bravery  was unsurpassed.
She  was  example  to  us  all.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I  walked  past  my  old  house  today
it  had  changed -  new  modern  windows
And  doors.

The  garden  looked  the  same
Although  it  wasn't  as  well  kept  as  I  remembered  it.

I  passed  the  old  Co-op  shop
Where  I  started  work  at  fifteen.
Sadly  it  is  now  an  antique  shop.

I  climbed  Woodbank,  a  steep  hill  in   the  village
The  landscape  had  changed  little
Except  for  a  motorway  cutting  through  it.

The  old  canteen- where  I  used  to  deliver  groceries-
Had  disappeared  without  trace.

Also  the  indoor  tennis  courts  had  gone
Replaced  by  new  bungalows.

Yes,  a  lot  of  changes  have  taken  place
Since  I  left  in  1957.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.  
      
,  

.

0rrest  Head  a  majestic  hill.
Covered  with  a  regiment  of  trees.
Whispering  in  the  summer  breeze.
A  golden  retreat.

View  from  the  top,  breathtaking.
Lake  Windermere  lying  calm  and  serene.
Mountains  beyond  standing  tall.
Basking  in  sun  and  shade.
Quite  a  wonderful  place.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I will lie awake every night
imagining each one of your
muscles dancing under
your moonlit skin

just longing to run my
fingertips over each bone
pushing against your shell

because in your slumber
the innocence you've so long
hid
finds an escape route and
plants itself upon your
porcelain face

and I want to be the one
to greet it with the softness
of rose-petaled lips
-DDF

Behind a tattered hessian curtain there is a flickering light,
but this isn't what should be on her bedside right.