Seated together on the
hard linoleum floor of
the kitchen we played
for what seemed hours
With a small rubber ball
and ten metal JAX
I honed my skills on those
rainy days when we were
not allowed outside to play
From the classic onesy
until achieving all ten
for victory, the game
was always simple & fun.
Perfecting the bounce
was always key and
cat liked dexterity
made someone a dangerous
player to defeat.

Sometimes I imagine sitting under our dining table wanting to chop my hair off, days and nights oppressed, yet not to run the rat race. Partly because I was too resistant to be happy, but with the first monsoon showers, I almost collapsed inside my oversized grey T-shirt that began to turn white, infinite gaps inside mind channels, I sat and watched strange men winning Wimbledon. I stopped writing one thousand words a day, themes and perspectives slipped into a closed brown diary, and I always worried what if someone finds it and reads it aloud in the public sphere in Prague, right in front of David Cherry’s rotating Kafka, how miserable he died thinking he was worthless, how miserable it would be to listen to voices that came beneath my dining table. I talk to a shy Kafka, every day, under our dining table, today he shaved my head.

Is it true what the scientists say
That life on earth will end one day?

I guess that they are probably right
There'll be no day, there'll be no night

The ozone layer is full of holes
Rising temperatures melting ice floes

Will we perish in enormous Floods?
The thought of it just chills the blood

Or will earthquakes bury us out of sight
Will fire devour us without a fight?

Storm and tempest, some folk say
Will make us kneel in final prayer

The forecast? Now  I'll give you mine:
It will end in two thousand and seventy nine


Keith Wilson            June 25 2016

You told me you
              Couldn't find your way
                                     In your darkest nights
So I left you a star
               A star in every poem
                               To find your way home

The  Deluge

Heavy  thundery  rain
Cascading  down  from  the  heavens.

The  sheer  volume  of  water
Causing  a  sinister  mist  across  the  rooftops.

A  waterfall  suddenly  fell
In  front  of  my  window.

The  gutters  unable  to  cope.

For  a  few  moments
It  felt  like  the  end  of  the  world.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Pain is a cloud of fog that's constantly following me, shadowing over my existence and the rain is steady pouring faster with each strike to my heart and every rumble in my soul.

Love is the shelter protecting me from the storm of heartaches that keep building and raging through the nights and with his arms around me, I'm in the safest place I know.

I stare out into a Bob Ross painted sky, drifting in and out of a black and white dream
Watching colors fade away and appear as I open my eyes, the scenes played out in front of me challenge my beliefs
I get lost in the shadows of an evil that seems to dwell, it's trapped too deep inside me to hope for anything
Like a movie playing, I can't seem to tell, which character is the most related to me
I'm an on and off switch trapped in a tornado warning of emotions I can't begin to understand
Stuck between two paralleling lines I can no longer command
I couldn't tell you how fast I'm going or if I'm even really here
And as the paint drys on my life, an unfinished product is my only fear

Let me slide my velvet tongue
up and down
the insides of your milky way
until I find my path
that leads the way
to yours heavens
bet you moan the whole way
One soft touch
and your ambisions slipe away
your body trembles
as my fingers play;
high notes, low on your body
silent screams slowly slip away
our bodies
press their luck
like human nature,
its in our nature,
to play that way.
Our bodies colliding
deep inside, I'm subsiding
my hips bucking,
yours riding mine,
my fantasy
you and me
in Ecstasy.