Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I hold my ears keen
Keep eyes opened wide
But can't solve the riddle
Of who's on whose side.

Today Tom heaps praise
Showers laurels too many
Tomorrow hell is raised
Tim is Tom's enemy.

How fast makes Tom amend
Finds Tim full of flaws
Pete is now his friend
Tim Tom unfollows.

He digs out wrongs of Tim
Finds him crooked and sly
So inducts in his team
Pete the nicest guy.

I can't hold back smile
Though at end of wit
How friendship is volatile
Sour turns a relation sweet.

I wonder why it's so
With life such a brief ride
We never really grow
Feel the need to be on same side.
everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.
Perhaps on an idle afternoon
when sadness lies heavy on chest
your eyes shimmering like crystal moon
upon my poems would come to rest.


Words of love and touching her shore
yearnings sharp as edge of knife
wrote my mind of twenty four
gathering all from a half seen life.

You flip the pages as years roll down
reach to where past high tides sailed
the ink flows soft as calm of dawn
in peace of void when heights are scaled.

You close the book breathing a sigh
your eyes are wet of misty dew
by then fallen twilight asks you why
the poet on the cover looks like you.
 Aug 2016 True Passion
Pax
you don't have to be pretty
or be beautiful physically
or be great at
anything you love....

as long as you're there
for me to see
and lean on
once every often

and by knowing that you
care and hold me close
to your heart
once every often
i know i can
live life
well
enough.
----
 Aug 2016 True Passion
ryn
Let us speak only in tongues
For all that wasn't made obvious
May present its true meaning in the unintelligible

Let us converse in stanzas
For what wasn't clearly heard
May perhaps show itself between these lines

Let us exaggerate and romanticise
For all that was spouted bland
May be heightened to receive some light

Let us exchange and trade through poetry
For all that's lacking in common words
May secure a foothold in the readers' hearts
 Aug 2016 True Passion
ryn
We were building a boat.
A sea-worthy vessel made for two.
A cosy little nest,
a shell of the promise for me and you.

We made it sturdy...
From keel to hull.
We sang to each other
to oust the lull.

We spoke of the adventures,
together we'd avidly chase.
We braced for the storms,
we'd most likely face.

As the last drop of sweat...
Fell freely to our feet,
the boat was done.
What were once planks, was then complete.

I climbed aboard
and hoisted up the sail.
You lingered for a bit...
Seemingly cautious that the boat might fail.

The craft quickly drifted out to sea...
When the wind, the sail did willingly welcome.
I cried out to you so you could hop on...
So with me you could come.

But you simply stood there...
With a gaze incredibly deadpan.
As the currents pulled me further,
I only then realised...
That I was never your plan.
Another  day  is  over.
Another  day  is  done.
This  week  went  past  so  quickly.
This  week  went  by  so  fast.
My  life  has  gone  so  quickly.
Old  men  told  me  so.
And  now  I  tell  the  young  men.
That  life  to  quickly  goes.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
And  when  his  usefulness  had  gone.
They  just  cast  him  aside.
And  on  the  final  downhill.
He  began  to  slide.

Rejected  after  all  his  work.
Visions  now  all  gone.
He  knew  full  well  his  time  was  near.
He  knew  he  had  not  long.

As  an  old  man  disillusioned.
And  weary  from  his  fight.
He  spent  in  sad  remembrance.
His  final  lonely  night.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
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.
Some revisons
Next page