Have your bad day.
I'll be either strong enough
For us both, or
Weak with you.

These are the times
Of butterflies and honeydew,
Adventure and laughter,
******* of the kind

That makes the left side of
Grown men numb.
Popcorn and sofa cinema,
Good days and some not so.

Go ahead. Have your bad one.
It comes with the package,
And I don't need you to be tear-
Free, to love you.

Stain my best shirt.
Worry me with a frown.
Cry me an ocean of tears, be
Afraid that I'll leave, shake
If you must, with your every fear.
Just don't ever believe that
I'll drown.

Have your bad day, princess.
Have a year of them.
Just make me aware of them.
I'm the knight in white at
Your side to stay.
Challenge me;
I need scores of dragons
To slay.

He sits cross-legged with fingers poised
His needle threaded with fine silken cord
As a bright new pattern takes over all thought
He starts a new coat very soon to be bought.

In each and every coat that he’s made
A customer’s future has been finely inlaid
For the tailor is also a very wise man
And he makes people happier whenever he can.

This maker of scarves and coats of all sizes
Won praise from the King, who gave him nice prizes
The new coat he’s making is for the King’s son
And he’ll sew in much wisdom and lots of good fun.

When the day comes that the boy takes the throne
He’ll be filled with such wisdom as never he’s known
The tailor talks not of such things, he won’t tell
He just smiles to himself to see all that is well.

©Joe Wilson – The Wise Old Tailor 2014

Written for children to enjoy

Though willing hands are always there
To feed her, dress her, and brush her hair
Disease has crept through her with stealth
Some things just can't be stopped with wealth.

The frailty was quite slow at first
She couldn't fasten her shoes at worst
But then it weakened her gentle heart
And eventually it tore her life apart.

And though she prayed with all her might
She started soon to lose her sight
She fell down often and broke her hip
And life began to fade and slip.

In time she couldn't leave her bed
And dreamed her dreams of Christ instead
For she well knew he'd suffered worse
Than her small Earthly painful curse.

Now in her mind in fear she weeps
Her life but spent in fitful sleeps
She waits in hope for His Holy hand
To lead her to the Promised Land.

©Joe Wilson - She waits in hope...2014

Punk lips in perpetual paralysis,
and they're too afraid to let them kiss.
Too afraid to try to let it last
because of the blurs in their past.

I think the kids are in trouble.
Hanging out with temporary people;
making the wrong times never stop.
Smoking dreams with glass lovers
to indie sonnets and neon power pop.

The world knows they can pretend,
and it's their hearts they can't defend
from the illusion of what they could be,
and the loneliness of what they'll never see.

They skate the pavement until the sun sits,
and drink ***** from water bottles until their hurt slurs.
It's the preparation of tomorrow and what it may not bring
that makes every moment before, everything.

They're scared because it's real,
and I'm scared because they're scared.

It's Friday night at the sorority house.
You struggle to find the perfect blouse.
For the party of the year is happening tonight.
So you make sure everything is completely right.

Subtlety was left with your coat at the door.
I'd expect nothing less from a party-hopping *****.
I've no place to judge if promiscuity be your choice.
But it's the same decision that makes my friends rejoice.

Your claws sink in to the first bro you see.
Tonight he is everything you want him to be.
Muscular, tall, and a great head of hair.
You hardly notice him pretend to care.

You leave the party and end up at his place.
His pretentious lines cause a smile on your face.
Then he brings his mouth close to your lips.
Not the ones on your face but those between your hips.

As you lay in his bed, your hair quite the mess.
The words you uttered for those to bless.
You ask yourself if there's anything better.
Than being a mark on his varsity letter.