I stand and speak
And then I walk
Are you happy
With what I squawk

My hood protects me from the wind
So sharp it jabs just like a pin.
I bow my head and ***** my eyes
And tie the cord beneath my chin.

I wear my boots to keep me warm
Against the wind along the bay.
They keep me dry in muddy pools,
In sticky sands and salty spray.

I watch the tide, tossed by the breeze,
Shivering from its frisky chill,
Pushed along by nature's force,
Washed up the bay against its will.

I see  stout branches wave and sway,
And trembling twigs alive with fear,
Bending, blowing every way,
Wrestling with the atmosphere.

Clouds change their shade as they float past
From fluffy white to sombre grey,
Like kites up high without  their strings,
They swirl about then drift away.

Flapping hard against the wind
Gulls screech and scream their piercing cry.
They swoop and soar above the sands
With feathers ruffled as they fly.

My nose is red, my cheeks are pink.
I sniff the salt of grey green sea.
My breath is deep, my body leans.
I'm ready for a cup of tea.

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.

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.

Another day of anguished waiting
My earthly life, now put on hold
Another day, that I am hating
Of my death, I have been told

My life is now an hour glass
My days, those grains of sand
Veiled by tears, I watch them pass    
As I am funneled, to my end

I cannot slow or stop the flow
Each grain, thus bleeds my heart
All earthly things, I should let go
But I'm yet, not ready to depart
  
My sorrow strikes like lightning
Piercing bolts of what’s to come
My doubts and fears keep heightening
Until deaths hand does me succumb

In this world, I’m just a speck
My life, sifting into death
As that last grain, slips past the neck
I’ll take my final breathe

I wonder if, I’ll fly on wings
Or be prodded by a scythe
Will my remorse, then save my soul
When I am forced, to leave this life
BOEMS BY JA 498

Sat  on  a  bench  today.
Taking  in  the  suns  rays.
Surrounded  by  a  host
of  spring  flowers.
So  peaceful.
Hope  it's  here  to  stay.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I only make promises
To myself,
To ensure
I dissappoint
No one else.