The giant fin whale swam along with the tide
A nineteen-foot calf was swimming by her side
They were swimming away from her mate’s now dead shell
Trapped in a lagoon and then all shot to hell.

She’ll raise her young calf on her own from now on
Not mating again as they only take one
Her mate had followed a herring shoal in with the tide
And for a short while there were those who had tried
To help him turn and head back to sea
But the cruelty of nature would not let it be
At eighty feet long and a shallow cliff lea
It could not turn around to escape and be free.

And then a vile streak in the locals took hold
A most wicked shooting match began to unfold
The most handsome of whales was trapped and revealed
As shooters took aim and young children squealed.

They fired and they fired and they fired and they fired
Stopping only to reload and then when they got tired
They even drove speedboats across his shot back
Leaving deep deep prop cuts as a further attack.

And when they were done and the whale was no more
His body burst open and in death he’d now score
For the stench of his now rancid corpse was so rotten
This beautiful creature wasn’t easily forgotten.

There was a man who tried hard to get him free
But one man alone is as a wood with one tree
And by the time he had got national press all aware
The whale was now dead, so bored, they’d not now care.



©Joe Wilson – A Whale shouldn’t die like that 2014

Many years ago I was enthralled by the work of Farley Mowat the renowned Canadian environmentalist who died last month. From reading his book, based on real events ‘A Whale for the Killing’ published in 1972, I took to studying whales as a hobby and I quickly realised just what a perfect creature the Fin Whale is. It is the only whale that is match coloured along both sides giving it the same symmetrical beauty as a dolphin and is the second largest creature to live, the Blue Whale being the only creature bigger. It is so amazing it can lift its entire body out of the water. Why on earth would you fire thousands of rounds of ammunition into a creature so beautiful? Why?

This is a small tribute to the memory of Farley Mowat (May 12, 1921 – May 6, 2014) and to people like him who try so hard, such as the Sea Shepherds who try to stop the massacre of bottle-nose dolphins each year in Taiji, Japan ostensibly for food, even though most Japanese people shun the whale-meat.

Walking along on the shingle spit
At Keyhaven near to Milford on Sea
You can almost touch the Isle of Wight
Less than a mile away o'er the lea.

Crab-fishing next at Mudeford Quay
With Lizzie and Sam on the nets
When off flies my hat which then lands in the sea
Chase is given but I’m taking no bets.

Later, me new-hatted, we sit by a pub
Enjoying our lunch and a chat
And we laugh at the turn of events in the day
Particularly at the flight of my hat.

Wearily later to our lodgings we go
Chicken Cacciatore for dinner, by me
We then all collapse and nod off to sleep
This just always will happen by the sea.

©Joe Wilson – A Windy Day by the Sea…2014

Walked he in love to see her smile
In tender rapture did he while
And from such thoughts raised he his pace
The sooner for to see her face.

In walking he passed through a field
With daisies, orchids, there revealed
And as he stopped to them admire
Passed by on horse the local squire.

And young man thoughts in such a whirl
Perambulates to meet with girl
Though not straightforward is his fate
Usurper stands by garden gate.

Not knowing competition he
He tarried far too long we see
For at the home of maiden fair
Found he she was no longer there.

Despondence thus did then unfurl
But wait! Here comes another girl
And courted her he did that day
‘Twas Spring, young men are oft this way.

©Joe Wilson – A young man’s fancy…2015

Monsters, driven by my friend Jim Beam
Soon return, and force my scream
Feelings of inadequacy reign
Am I really slipping back again
Or did I make good my escape
From when my soul was seen midst gape
At all the pain that I was given
That left my heart so feelings driven
So even now I search release
Yet nightly I can find no peace
The Glock must now go in my mouth
My life has gone completely south…


BANG!!!!

©Joe Wilson – Bang…2016

Our odd tale is set in the Old Wild West
Where stories like this are imparted the best
It tells of the feud of two bitter old men
Who argued quite often and fought now and then.

The fact of the matter is that each had a ranch
And running between was a large river branch
Each claimed the river to be just his alone
They argued the point right down to the bone.

Family members were brought into the fight
Over the years shots were fired left and right
Amazingly no one on either side died
Goodness knows some of the best shooters tried.

Then one day against the family wishes of both
A man and woman from each side did betroth
As they loved despite anger that they had both known
Into each other's loving arms they had each flown.

They married in secret and needed a home
A small ranch was for sale where cattle could roam
So the new couple bought it and opened their ranch
It was just at the head of the large river branch.

And then dammed up the river and halted its flow
The ranches below had nowhere else to go
But they said to his parents and also to hers
"Unwatered cattle - or fighting! What's worse?"

At long last after dozens of years in a fight
Someone had seen sense and had some insight
And had forced the old rivals to both compromise
Grandchildren, not fighting each other - the prize!



©Joe Wilson - Bashing heads...2014



A fun story about the value of compromise, and the value of water.

He sat beneath the acacia tree
and watched the world go by
its green-golden leaves bouncing joyously
while the breeze caused a rustling sigh.
He thought about life as he’d lived it
as a son, and a father, and as a man
and he smiled at some of the memories
he remembered from when his journey began.

Playing with his brothers as a toddler
and his sister who’d cared for him so
he hoped they’d all known how he loved them
not often enough said years ago.
There’d been plenty of sadness on his journey
they lost their father, grandparents they hardly knew
he lost some friends on the way that he’d never forget
and sadly, there was his beloved brother too.

But sitting there under this particular tree
looking over his little back lawn
her face came into his mind now
it swept in as if on the wind-borne.
She’d come into his life as a saviour
he knew he’d been blessed all along
while he was a weak selfish person
she was so beautiful, and witty and strong.

Their first years together she’d carried him
thinking back he’d always known it was true
how he wished he’d been a much better person
“But you’re good”, she said, “and I chose you.”
The children came along and life really changed
no time then for the fast social whirl
yet neither would have chosen a different life
than the joy from their boy and their girl.

Some hardships inevitably changed things
but they carefully steered their way through
and their love remained strong as expected
the most important ingredient between two.
Their children grew up, made roads for themselves
after tenuous steps they too settled down
now the grandchildren help keep them both youthful
with such fun and energy that astounds.

So he sits there under the acacia
and the memories linger awhile
there’s thankfully so many happy memories
that recall always causes a smile.
Then he reaches across as the wind blows
a silver hair falling out of place
he pushes it away and back over her ear
as he kisses her still lovely face.

©Joe Wilson – Beneath a tree  deep in thought

Battered by life, yet courageous still, he struggled with each step as he climbed up that hill. He lived all alone, he was now eighty-one, for his beloved wife Alice had long since passed on.  And the shop in the village is at the top of the hill, he walked up there slowly on odd weekdays still.

He promised his Alice that he’d never give in, though it was hard he took it on the chin. And to her memory he climbed up the hill every week, not saying much, he’d no breath left to speak. But there was another good reason why he went up like that, the cemetery’s up there and he went for a chat. With his Alice, who he loved for the whole of his life, who made him so happy while she was his wife.

He carried his bag with a flask filled with tea, and a small pack of biscuits which he ate about three. Together they chose a nice spot near a tree, where a bench had been placed by the council you see. He sat down and chatted to his Alice with a smile, and then listened as she answered him after a while. He knew that some people must have thought he was daft, he told this to Alice and together they laughed.

After a while he gathered his things and then said his goodbyes as he now  turned to leave. There was always a teardrop that fell from his face that he wiped away slowly on the edge of his sleeve.

He carried on like this for so many years, until finally he too turned to dust, but the message he left with his Alice for us, is we should love for ever, we just really must.

©Joe Wilson – Beyond that hill…2016

He took his lass to the local flicks
By heck he was so very eager
But when his hand slipped down her back
She said, “I smell Swarfega.”



Not so easily discouraged
He went and scrubbed his hands
But when he got back to try again
She’d gone, and thwarted his plans.



They didn't have mobiles in those days
Further contact there couldn’t have been
So he went to the pub and stood with his mates
And bragged about the heaven he’d seen.



The tales those young men told…





©Joe Wilson – Bragging rights, 1950’s style…2014

I wish that I could see the dawn
That follows the one of my demise
For I could then tell all of you
If ‘there’ beyond is truth or lies.

And if I did see dawn it’s true
That to a better place we go
But if I don’t see that new dawn
Then I could never let you know.

And so your journey you will make
Some with husband, some with wife
And you will find out for yourself
If there  exists that better life.

©Joe Wilson – By dawn’s early light…2015

Can any of us ever really say
We’ve done all we possibly could
Protected the weak, helped someone today
Or perhaps just nurtured a new growing bud.
For if we think that we’ve done all that
And in relaxing we feel satisfied
Why is there so much of the *** for tat
For which too many people have died!!

I look into my inner soul in hopes of seeing light
But, even aware, there are still degrees of dark
I try to think only good of all, and that in itself is a fight
For there are those of evil intent whose wish is to leave a mark.

But onward we must carry the strive
For a peaceful solution to ever arrive.

©Joe Wilson -  Can we ever really say…2015

Carelessness



His large toolbox fell with a crash from the car
Spanners and wrenches and nails spread afar
But he gathered them all as best as he could
And piled them back into the boot as you would
Then he started the engine and set off down the road
Feeling quite weary from the day's heavy load.

It hadn't occurred to him to look under his car
He was tired and his journey was really quite far
But a large six-inch nail had got caught in the tar
And it punctured a tyre in a fast moving car.
The driver of that was too reckless that day
And the speed he was going was so fast they now say.

The car made a lurch and spun out of control
Then it veered to one side as it started to roll
It spun as it rolled and hit the side of a coach
The glass in the sides smashed like a cheap five-bob broach
But the damage was done and some passengers fell down
Right into the path of the car spinning round.

It scythed through their legs in a horrible way
The sounds of the screaming just wouldn't go away
And six folk lost their lives as the carnage went on
Imagination strained it was something beyond
The driver of course he was one of the dead
As the car wrapped around him and damaged his head.

The other man arrived at the end of his trip
Grabbed his box from the boot with a good grip
And set out to do the job he'd come her for
But could only find three six-inch nails not now four
He was sure he'd purposely put four of them in
He'd just have to and get another one again.

Joe Wilson - Carelessness...2014

Many years ago I witnessed a similar accident to this. As with most accidents it didn't need to happen.

Molly wanted for absolutely nothing,
And that was definitely my fault
She’d not accept the worth of the less wealthy
And when she saw them she was difficult.

I never told how I’d started with nothing
Not wanting her derision I guess
I’d thought that by not telling her that stuff
She’d not decide to think me any less.

It was a foolish error on my part
For she rode roughshod over the poor
Till I found I could tolerate it no longer
Removed her allowance and the key to her door.

I said you’ll have to fend for yourself now
If you do it you’ll be better by far
Oh, and take all those things out of your pocket
That’s your phone, and you’ll not have a car.

Downcast she set off on her own way
Cast a look at me, I nearly cried
I’d keep an eye out of course and protect her
But she needed to have worked and have tried.

Two years passed and she found her rock-bottom
But she started to work and she grew
I said to her would you like to come home now
She said she’d stay where she was…thank you.

Fact is, Molly’s lost now forever
She’d survived and she picked herself up
But if I’d raised her right in the first place
She have known about sharing the cup.

So in the end I stand with my great wealth
But with no one to share it with now
If you want to know how not to raise children
Come to me and I’ll show you how.

©JRW2014

Torture wreaked havoc with his mind’s sanity
The anguish just chilled me to the core
As the beatings continue to reduce him
He is scared he’ll not take too much more.

Again the water washed over and woke him
The bucket clanging as they threw it back down
Once again he was taken to the table
‘Waterboarding‘ I thought with a frown.

He was laid on his back and then tied down
They put towels over his mouth and his nose
They poured and they poured water on him
Once again in his chest panic rose.

A reporter who’d been caught in the crossfire
There was no information he could tell
No amount of hard beatings and torture
Could make him give secrets he’d not held.

Beaten and bloodied he is taken
Back as before to his cell
He’s told them all that he ever could tell them
But he still can’t escape from this hell.

He languishes in his cell I am certain
He cries out for mercy from each pore
I know that they still give him more beatings
I see him as he hobbles past my cell door.



©JRW2014

Racing now, well out of control
the charabanc rushed away down the hill
the man from in front who was carrying the red flag
ran after it with a powerful will
but the old charabanc had a full head of steam
and was not going to stop on its own
the driver it seems had left off the brake
and he too chased along as he moaned.

The speed limit set for this new kind of bus
was just four miles an hour at the most
but the speed it had gathered as it fair raced along
would easily get it first past the post
but this old charabanc was running on steam
so its boiler was pushing out clouds
and eventually all of the water ran dry
when it stopped in front of the crowds.

The driver caught up, the flagman caught up
as it happened there was no damage done
so they filled it with water and started it up
and sheepishly drove away from the fun
with the flagman in front with a frown on his face
as he listened to the charabanc’s hiss
for he no longer trusted the driver and his brake
and he was sure he’d not signed up for this.

©Joe Wilson – Charabanc on the run 1900

I dedicate this to my late grandfather-in-law, Norman, who as a boy carried the red flag. He later went on to own the company and I was very fond of him.

If you read this aloud with as broad a Lancashire accent as you can manage you'll get the idea I'm conveying. :-)

A hint of sunshine
across the lawn
through winter trees
with leaves all shorn
is all it ever
really takes
to think of Summer
and boats and lakes.

With children playing
having fun
such joy they give
to everyone
and Winter blues
are chased away
not to return
at least today!



©Joe Wilson - Chased away...2015

… and as the Winter turned to Spring
Those seeds began to show
The ones we planted side by side
So very long ago.

They blossom by the hour
Our love is satisfied
We look upon our flowers
With deep and heartfelt pride…


©Joe Wilson – Children…2015

He was at the end of the line
His wall had been reached
Palliative care was only stopping his whine
It was now high time to practice
--- that which he had always preached.

They’d tried of course, many times
There had been operations galore
He was now so covered in ugly scars
That his so often cut chest
--- was all puckered and sore.

He decided no more
And consulted his list
Of the things before death he would do
And he noticed he’d put another parachute jump
--- that somehow he seemed to have missed.

He gathered his pain
And went to the club
He arranged a jump fairly quick
Then he thought about life and he thought about death
--- and he sensed that the timing was slick

On the day of the jump in unbelievable pain
He decided he’d not pull the cord
But it made him feel  like he was a quitter
So he did
--- and he floated down to the sward.

He may of course now just die in his sleep
Or get run down by a car or a bus
But his choice was to get on with life as it was
Sod the rest
--- he couldn’t stand the fuss.

©Joe Wilson – Choices…2015

Bruised by life one picks one's battered self up
Prepares to carry on, into the next belligerence
And stoically turns to face the world
With all its beauty, and yet too, horror and indifference.

We are but a small black, or pink, or brown thing upon our arrival here
Those luckier ones amongst us will be cared for and loved so well
And yet still there are those whose lives are to be filled with pain
From that very first beautiful breath and yet fearful chest swell.

And as we grow to take on life's burden of knowledge
Some of us will fall along the way into deprivation
Taking scraps as they are given, to sustain life
It shouldn't happen in a so-called modern civilisation.

It falls to those more fortunate to work to end the crisis
But sadly, money talks so well and creates and causes such corruption
And those with nothing have found their voice and even now fight back
If answers aren't found quickly I fear, I anticipate eruption.



©Joe Wilson - Crisis point... 2014

Some people just don’t ****** care
They see injustice with ghoulish stare
But being beaten about the head
Lying bloodied and left for dead
Can leave you a cynic of humankind
Of passers-by whose gaze is blind.

Am I not human like you lot
As I lie here midst blood and snot
Do you not care a **** for me
This isn't how it used to be.

But no help comes, I'm left instead
I've drawn last breath – and now I'm dead.

©JRW2014

I see the lights of distant towns
yet hear the noise of happy sounds
while sitting, seeing in my cave
in total silence
……….…..like the grave.

My cave's a room
within a house
where I sit quietly
….………..as a mouse.

I cannot think
as thought is gone
from brain which stopped
……..…….it can't go on.

And so to dust
my body goes
reduced by maggots
…………...and fed to the crows.

©Joe Wilson - Desolation...2015

Wizened by the hardships of his life
he moved his tired old body to the edge,
it took him longer to get out of his bed
these days, but get up he would
for if there was one thing he had learnt
it was that time spent in bed was time
lost in the fields and the crops didn’t pick
themselves, of that he thought he was sure,
though he couldn’t quite remember why.

He sometimes wished that he had not been
so adamant about farming in the old way
– a bit of that confounded modern machinery
would sure help sometimes as digging potatoes
across all those acres was hard work and he’d
been doing it for so long he was beginning to
hate the blasted things – he certainly
never ate them, preferring instead to eat all
his food from cans as a way of getting his
own back on some other poor so and so
who probably hadn’t broken his back
at harvest time for sixty years.

Dad – Dad – it’s Tom , Dad, your son, never mind
Dad, perhaps you’ll remember me later. It’s alright.
What potatoes? – It’s alright Dad, let’s sit here
and you can tell me – no please – please Dad,
don’t cry – please don’t cry. I know Dad
I miss Mum too. I wish I could explain Dad
I really do.

Why does this horrible man always keep me from my work,
I’ve got tomatoes – - potatoes to pick, tomatoes, potatoes,
well I’ve got to pick them anyway. Why should I sit down?
Tell you about what? I’m not going to tell a stranger
where my potatoes are, or is it tomatoes? I’m not sure now.
I must sleep – I’ve got lots to do, I must be fresh when I start.

Dad – Dad – you sleep now then. I’ll just be in the next room. Perhaps
– perhaps we’ll talk a bit later. I miss you Dad………….

©Joe Wilson – Difficult conversations 2014

Wizened by the hardships of his life
he moved his tired old body to the edge,
it took him longer to get out of his bed
these days, but get up he would
for if there was one thing he had learnt
it was that time spent in bed was time
lost in the fields and the crops didn’t pick
themselves, of that he thought he was sure,
though he couldn’t quite remember why.

He sometimes wished that he had not been
so adamant about farming in the old way
- a bit of that confounded modern machinery
would sure help sometimes as digging potatoes
across all those acres was hard work and he’d
been doing it for so long he was beginning to
hate the blasted things – he certainly
never ate them, preferring instead to eat all
his food from cans as a way of getting his
own back on some other poor so and so
who probably hadn’t broken his back
at harvest time for sixty years.

Dad – Dad – it’s Tom , Dad, your son, never mind
Dad, perhaps you’ll remember me later. It’s alright.
What potatoes? – It’s alright Dad, let’s sit here
and you can tell me – no please – please Dad,
don’t cry – please don’t cry. I know Dad
I miss Mum too. I wish I could explain Dad
I really do.

Why does this horrible man always keep me from my work,
I’ve got tomatoes – – potatoes to pick, tomatoes, potatoes,
well I’ve got to pick them anyway. Why should I sit down?
Tell you about what? I’m not going to tell a stranger
where my potatoes are, or is it tomatoes? I’m not sure now.
I must sleep – I’ve got lots to do, I must be fresh when I start.

Dad – Dad – you sleep now then. I’ll just be in the next room. Perhaps
- perhaps we’ll talk a bit later. I miss you Dad………….


©Joe Wilson – Difficult conversations… 2014 (reviewed)

My thoughts today are of our old home,  Clem
I’m wistful and so slightly sad
All the time that has passed since seeing them
No longer a young boisterous lad.
I miss the trees and the creak of the gate
Of the cottage where once we did live
The river that flooded when it was in spate
The forces that will not forgive.

O this town is a fine place to find us, Clem
Though it’s not like being back at home
So today I’m wistful for our cottage again
For the hamlet from where we did roam.
And if son, you’ve these thoughts as mine
As you’re going  about your day
Be ready to gather those things of thine
For soon we’ll be back on our way.

©Joe Wilson – Dreaming of home…2015
Written in a style similar to O. Henry
William Sidney Porter (1862 – 1910)

Mental absorption tires
As life continually inspires
Info grabbed for added strength
Keeping dotage at arms length.
Thinking thoughts for thinking’s sake
Mind in action as we wake
Reading books, writing words
Digging gardens, watching birds.
Adding grist to our brains mill
To keep on going we’ve the will
Brains reluctant to slow down
Till body’s stuck beneath the ground!!

©Joe Wilson – dum vita est spes est…2015

Down came the rain
And washed away the sin
It couldn’t ease the pain
That war had left it in

How scarred this Earth
How scorched the land
For such is caring’s dearth
By humans’ evil hand.

Profit and loss
The price of war
How ‘they’ call the toss
While raking in more.

This Earth feels the pain
Even washed clean by rain
While ‘they’ steal the gain
Till little will remain.

©Joe Wilson – Earth…the innocent victim…2015

Naked, he now stands before his maker
There’s no more pretence, no more lies
He carries no longer, his banal repartee
He waits, supplicant to hard probing eyes.

As a young man his heart had been so dark
He’d cursed and fought in the streets
And any young lady who’d caught his eye
He’d seduced her between the sheets.
Could he have lived a far better life
Surely, in decency everyone would
Now he never passed by on the other side
Doing the very best that he could.

And with age grew the man who now stands here
He hopes he’s made up for those days
A lifetime since then helping others
Might make up for his earlier ways.

Still the eyes probed him ever so deeply
Though the result we shall never know
Till the day that we have to stand there
When at last, it’s our time to go,

©Joe Wilson – ecce quomodo moritur justus…2015
‘Behold how the just man dies…’

We always search for greener grass
Though yearn for home when found
For even when it comes to pass
One’s feet prefer their own home-ground
Yet even back at home again
We crave for wondrous pastures new
And though we may not so intend
Elysium, we search for you.

©Joe Wilson – Elysium…2015

A poem in the style of the wonderful W B Yeats (1865-1939)
that suggested itself to me after once again reading The Wheel

Down came the rain
The world started weeping
I only felt pain
It was more than just sleeping.

Beat, beat, beat, beat
It stopped
My whole life ceased
You had gone away.

I cannot live alone
My frail heart cries
I find I’m on my own
A part of me just…dies.

©Joe Wilson – Emptiness…2015

Wouldst that I could walk with you
Down verdant paths near forests deep
While buzzards hunt from lofty view
Nocturnal creatures gently sleep.

To silent ripples of narrow brook
Your gentle hand fills mine
A journey ere long undertook
My life with you divine.

And as we stroll in Nature’s thrall
My heart and yours as one
I cannot bear to think of times
When these such things are gone.


©Joe Wilson – Ere long… 2014

I have everything and yet nothing, nothing at all
I lie sometimes thinking and it’s you I recall
A smile here, a touch there, a moment for us
But perhaps not enough to even discuss
But though they've been few and a long time apart
They've imprinted you firmly into my heart.



©Joe Wilson – Everything and Yet Nothing 2014

Ezra cried out,
'Lord, where art thou in my hour of need?'

Silence prevailed.

'Lord, canst thou give unto me no succour?'

Silence prevailed.

Ezra in desperate straits
His future in the hand of Fates
Tries and fails to escape their claws
For evil is there chosen course.

Ezra cried out,
'Lord, why dost thou make my life so hard?'

Silence prevailed.

'Lord, why am I so tested?'

Silence.

Ezra fights against his foe
The pride that he has come to know
He fights against with all his might
And wins, and moves his sin from sight.

Ezra cried out,
'Lord, thou truly art a sly old thing.'

Silence prevailed.

'Lord, I hear thy angels sing.'

'Lord, thou hast helped me yet again.'

Silence.

Ezra smiled.
Ezra slept.

©Joe Wilson - Ezra's final conversation...2015

I

His hand reached out but was so oft ignored
Distrust of his different views made them wary
But the hatred of others and their vile resolution
Was brutal to see, but for him wouldn’t vary.

Each night he prayed to his Father for guidance
But his future was foretold, he would die
In the savage times then he would die on a cross
But His love and the Message, they can’t crucify.

He sits at the Father’s side now as of right
So appalled at what men do to each other
They fail in that most simple and basic of tenets
That each single man is his brother.

And yet such capacity they have for the gentle
They will love with such beauteous joy
They’ll delight in the love of their children
Yet with bullets and bombs they simply destroy.

They have written great theories about peace and war
Yet still man seems so driven to destruction
The authors of their very own Armageddon
Which approaches from out of their own construction.

These are the thoughts of just one concerned man
Many others have thoughts such as he
If the Father and the Son are as faith dictates
Why do they allow frail humanity to be.

II

Man is the author of his very own doom
With thoughtless disdain he heads for his tomb
Yet such in itself one could just tolerate
If he didn’t make others all share his sad fate.
And as one may take up his pen for to write
So many more take up arms to join in the fight
And as the blood of innocents spills deepest red
Innocent victims count for most of the dead.
But yet the one with trigger in hand
Would also like to understand
Why he can’t love and be at home
With his wife and children, or reading some tome.


III

The die gets cast by the hidden ‘others’.
Who can’t accept that we all are brothers.
It will go on --- war is not yet done
Man may well yet reach his Armageddon…

©Joe Wilson – Faith – or Armageddon next…2016

Welcome to my world, I’m glad you could come
We’ll sit and swap stories, and perhaps partake ***
Adventures we’ll talk of, of right beating wrong
As we talk like old friends, we’ll compose ode-like song.
The world we will set on the right course again
As ours will be filled with true gentle men
And ladies, our equals with tales of their own
Would make us see reason by raising the tone.
The world carries on as we all have tea
Lots of nice food shared out equally
Till the dream
                ...would then finish
                          ......as dreams always do

…and I wake to my real and more cynical view.

Joe Wilson – False hopes…2015

Going down the stairs on that March Saturday afternoon
I looked out of the landing window at the torrential rain
It was then that I heard a loud hollow thump as he fell
And I was never to see my father alive again.

I was just a little shy of my thirteenth birthday
It was the unhappiest and saddest of my days
My mother now a widow had lost her best friend
And the pain that followed hurt in many ways.

Five brothers and our sister had lost a rudder
To the ship that is a family going through life
And the empty place not filled beside the table
Strikes at the heart as with a rusty knife.

Time passes and my brothers number just one
And my sister makes us three and not now six
For over four decades and five my kin have fallen
And that’s one statistic nothing can ever fix.

Never fail to love the ones you care for
Never fail to tell them how much you care
For sometimes if you turn around for too long
You turn your head and they’re no longer there.

©Joe Wilson – Family down 2014

Anxious
sweating
palpitations and fear
results day coming
internal tears.

Hope for the best
plan for the worst
taking the test
mentally immersed.

News again good
sweating all gone
lying relaxing
afraid? not this one!

©Joe Wilson – Fears…2014

This reckless place that is my mind
That shows me much, though oft I’m blind
Has nonetheless led me to you
A glorious, amazing thing to do.
And that alone brings other pain
That I might not see you again
For as we age our body’s tire
I say ‘who cares’, I call me liar.
But side by side we love and chat
Laughing, remembering this and that
And in your tender arms in bliss
O Lord please let us go like this.

For all eternity we will stay
As lovers, as we are today.

©Joe Wilson – For all eternity…2015

"I think therefore I am" Descartes once said
But with no thought left is one then dead?
For now, my head is full of thought
Some is random and some was taught
I fight so hard to keep it full
Against inevitable ageing's pull
I'll write my words, do crosswords too
Anything that will stir my stew
I'll fight it every which way too
By always finding things to do
But if it finally comes to pass
You'll find me in the old long grass.

In the warren that is my mind
I remember that I must be kind
Ere long will I remember that
Growing frail is such a ****!

©Joe Wilson - Frailty... 2014

"Cogito ergo sum" "Je pense, donc je suis" Rene Descartes (31 March 1596 – 11 February 1650)

Portmanteaux packed and loaded,  a new life is my call
In going I am coming home, to rivers, forests and swan
And all the hustle-bustle I leave behind for all
As I start my life anew, as one.

In joyous solitude shall I bide, to be alone at last
I see it in the forest glade, among these misty leaves
The darkness and the shadows seem so very vast
And sleeping under ink-black skies deceives.

And so I travel homeward, a long, long journey home
Where waters lap so sweetly there lives a gentle swan
Which to the forest edge and by the glade does come
A gentle flutter of my heart so finally at one.

©Joe Wilson – Going home…

A poem in  the style of W B Yeats (1865-1939)
After re-reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree

Though I am weakened with old aging bones
Yet still I would rise for my daily chores
And aching in joints from falls on the stones
I’m encouraged by my ‘keep going clause’.
And yet callow youth as I watch you play
My heart overflows with such ancient delights
In you I recall a memorable day
Soon to be followed by sleepless nights.
And now here you are with heart aflutter
Pure intentions kept in check by your fear
The delicate heart will sometimes stutter
Yet guides you for life if you let it steer.
      I feel so renewed as I watch the dance
      My heart blessed again by this new romance.

©Joe Wilson – Sonnet…2016

As a boy he’d not really imagined
What his life would be like as a man
Oh he’d had lots of dreams like all boys did
But he’d hoped he could be Superman.

But of course life doesn’t turn out quite like that
And he’d moved through his youth at a pace
As a man he’d set forth and in a grown way
Got a job and joined in the rat race.

On the way he met a woman and she loved him
A woman who even now has such grace
They bought a small house in a village
And moved in and lived life slower paced.

The rat race proved too much for his taste
He got out and then slowed down his life
He started to write down his thoughts every day
And he spent more precious time with his wife.

Many years have passed by in the village
The shop’s gone, and the Post Office too
And some of their old friends aren't alive any more
And they think of them fondly, they do.

They’re getting on now as age takes the years
They still love each other more every day
And they’re happy that they chose to live this life
For them it was always the way.

©JRW2014

Slowly she took a bite out of the peach she was holding
A small trickle of juice glistened on her little chin
She didn’t care, nor stopped to wipe it away
She just looked about her taking everything in.
And in that innocence I think I felt
All the years of joy that we had had
When watching our own two children grow
And the simple pleasure of just being dad.

Slowly they grow and make their own way
Out into the world of unknowing
To hopefully be happy and find that in life
Contentment comes from kindness you’re sowing.
And later perhaps they will understand
That money and wealth aren’t the thing
It’s simply observing your children
That will make a loving heart sing.

©Joe Wilson – Growing up…2016

I’m just sitting here, inside this shell
The feeling’s returned that I know so well
I need to do such a natural thing
But I cannot move, nor even ring
Out to anyone who goes by
And they will not look me in the eye.
I wonder if they wonder, if I have a brain
Obviously I have!! Or I’d not feel the pain
Not the hurt from the bones that are crooked and bent
But the being ignored: as if my life meant …. NOTHING.
In time they will wheel me off to the place
That sharpest reminder to me of disgrace
Then they’ll clean me and dry me, and put me to bed
I could easily give up and wish myself dead
But I am important; if only to me
So I’ll sit here and watch, and hope things will be.
One day, perhaps, the ill will subside
And inside my head I’ll not have to hide
I’ll travel away from this place at long last
Ah, but what foolish dreams…the die has been cast.

© JRW1990
I wrote this poem in memory of my mother who suffered for five very long years after having multiple strokes. By the time she died the poor woman had had approximately seventeen.

Hard Fights And Very Small Triumphs. A life … A death.


The small private ward was now peaceful, but stark
No one was lying asleep in the dark
A young man had fought there all night for his life
She’d waited outside, his pregnant young wife.

The fight had been lost and there was no disguise
That could easily cover the hurt in the eyes
Of the doctors and nurses who’d seen the man’s pain
As they’d struggled to save him, as they’d struggled in vain.

Above and along in a different room
A baby emerged from a young mother’s womb
It was pretty and perfect as babies should be
The cord had been cut and the baby was free.

The husband and wife knew that they had been blessed
When their daughter was placed by the new mothers breast
She drank and she fed as her journey began
And they thought about names as they started to plan.

Very soon after the young man had died
His wife lost her baby and everyone cried
At the terrible waste they had witnessed that night
All wishing that they could make everything right.

But life in a hospital has to go on
There’s always more caring that needs to be done
Others will wait where the pregnant wife sat
But with happier outcomes, they all pray for that.



©Joe Wilson – Hard fights and very small triumphs. A life … a death…1994

Speeding along not a care in the world
the young man and his beautiful girl
driving in an open-topped E-type Jag
they were happy
...............................and life was a whirl.

They were racing along the motorway
fast approaching Gravelly Hill
when a tanker jack-knifed in front of them
..........I can hear their screaming still.

They had nowhere to go but under
the trailer, however, was too low
and I, in a car a short distance back
saw both of their heads suddenly
........................................................­.go.

One head rolled onto the hard shoulder
and sat there staring right back at me
while the other bounced over the railing
and fell into Witton
.....................................for all there to see.

It put me off my lunch I can tell you
for that's where I was going at the time
and if it wasn't for the fact that it's totally true
it would be a case of the ridiculous
.....................................from the sublime.



©Joe Wilson - Heads, you lose...2015

The love that binds our sensitive hearts
Has powers so full of magic
Upsetting its delicate balance
Can cause damage so often tragic.

With all your heart you must work at love
Stay the course, don’t falter
The heart responds to kindness
For true love not to alter.

The heart is such a mighty thing
It will guide you through your day
Its steady beat sustaining life
As your emotions find their way.

Look after your heart, follow its lead
And you may yet find love
It’s as sure to be about you
As there are the stars above.



©Joe Wilson – Heart 2014

It was the being hungry that drove him as he carefully sorted through
the broken and rotting detritus that was left by me and you
he rarely found a full bag, nor ever an item that was clean
for people dispose of ******* in disgusting ways that he used to find obscene.

He’d walked with his head held high once
– another time in the past
But a fear of the crowded, noisy hospital wards
– had shown itself at last.

He found that he couldn't cope with the pain in the now far distant eyes
of the people who recently lost loved ones and their pleas and desperate cries.

He took off his white jacket and walked out of the ward one day
and try as he did he was never able to go back there again.

He still read books as he wanted to seem to himself at least to be trying
but it was all so many years ago and these days the hunger pain stung
and though he’d only had his street skills he had somehow survived
despite the cancer inside him that was even now eating away at his lung.

When he had enough bits that he could once again call a meal
he slipped away from the others in the street to find a quiet spot
for the one thing that he had learned almost straight away
is that anyone – anyone – will steal what little bit you've got.

He was used now to seeing dead bodies – as other street people died
from hunger and disease and other times – just from being alone
some of the older ones always seemed weak and so fragile
and in winter they’d often end up frozen – frozen to the bone.

The days were getting shorter now and he often felt very insecure
he knew that his lungs were getting much worse and cold would weaken them badly
the winter would bring his last days this time as he struggled so hard to cope
he’d never expected to die on the street but he’d do it now quite gladly.

©Joe Wilson – He became hungry 2014

It had been a while
it had been an age
since he last let his style
wander over the page.

He still felt such rage
which made him feel dire
but there'd be no next stage
till he'd put out this fire.

He felt so much calmer
as ink flowed 'cross the page
words were such a disarmer
he had issues to engage.

The more that he penned
the calmer he got
as he tried to amend
and move on from this spot.

But at the very last line
with his pen in the margin
he tore it up as a sign
and he'd write it again.

______

Anger all gone now
he looked at the cross
and he knew then that somehow
He was sharing his loss.

He felt again whole
as he laid his pen down
he felt back in control
from a peace he'd now found.

Presently he turned again to his labours
leaving his writing and going back to his lathe
and as he looked over at one of his neighbours
he thought of his son on a cross being brave.

Who'd not spoken of God
or of angels with wings
but of the land and the sod
and of bread, fish and things.

Ah the mysteries of life
are such a matter of faith
she was Joseph's wife
But ’twas God kept her safe.



©Joe Wilson – He looked at the cross...2014

He remembers
back to a time
when the black dog
hung around his neck
like a heavy yoke, he
could never be rid of
the terror that the pain
would not someday return
to seek him out and strike
him down again, and the knowing
how close he had come to succumbing
to the excruciating pain of the blood
pouring out of his brain and down his
spine only to lodge in his vertebrae.

He remembers edging closer to the crowded
platform’s edge too filled with fear to realise
the probable selfishness of what he was about to
do, only vaguely aware of where he actually was but
just able to register that touch on his right arm
and the voice that quietly whispered to him “I don’t
really think you want to do that.” He remembers turning
round to see who had said it and seeing that there was just
a crowd of commuters all going about their business, of the
owner of the voice there was no sign, but it had been enough, it
had been enough to make him realise where he was for the moment
passed and he made his way back, back to the arms of the woman who
had always loved him, and who had carefully, lovingly nursed him back to
health over such a long time, and he wept, he put his head on her gentle
shoulder and he wept as he had never wept before, he wept for all pain
he still felt and he wept for all the selfish pain he would have caused this
woman had he let himself fall, for that surely had been his intention.

©JRW2014

He walked a willing mile
To see if all was lost
He made a dreadful error
And he feared the awful cost.

He walked the mile to see her
He knew he'd been so wrong
The slight that he had caused
The evidence seemed so strong.

He'd realised that he was wrong
Another had poisoned his mind
And he had been so gullible
He'd not been very kind.

Love's tricky path he realised
Was a difficult place to tread
With dark and cruel danger
If you let others into your head.

So now he walked the willing mile
In the hope of being forgiven
And though he knew it wasn't due
He'd grovel if he was driven.

She hurt so much as she saw him
Anger and love filled her heart
She'd make him earn her forgiveness
But she'd never drive them apart.

But she wondered why men were so foolish
Why they took other's words with such ease
Why sometimes they only worked at love
As if they were shooting the breeze.

©Joe Wilson - He walked a willing mile...2014