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Joe Cole Aug 2014
When I was 10, maybe 11 we had a cat
A big old ginger tom
I don't think he ever saw a vet and he probably fathered hundreds of kittens
He hardly had any ears, they were so notched and torn, scars over his amber eyes
Anyway, our holiday fun was in the fields and woods
He would catch young rabbits and we would skin and gut them
Spit roast them over an open fire
Yes even at that age we could prepare a rabbit
After all we'd watched mother do it dozens of times
That old ginger tom always got his share
Come school time he would walk the mile and a half with us to the bus stop
And always meet us there when we came home
He was a flea bitten tick ridden scabby old thing
But he was family
1961 I joined the army and he saw me off at the door
That was the last time I ever saw that old boy
This is a true story from my childhood
Joe Cole Aug 2014
Where ever I go she goes
All those fantastic days and nights in the wild
Cold nights when she sneaks into my sleeping bag
And curls up against the back of my knees
But my Mollie is now eight years old
A good age for a Patterdale Terrier
They dont live that long
They spend their lives at ninety miles an hour
And never know when to give up
About four years ago she chewed up a six stone Boxer dog
He just wanted to play
But she didn't, and she only weighs 22 pounds
BUT like me she's getting old
And I have to accept that soon Mollie dog will be gone
Maybe one more trip into the wild in September
Then it will just be lonely nights
Yes, my Mollie is in the twilight of her years
Joe Cole Aug 2014
They shout, applaud and clap
When my poetry I express aloud
But the minute that my back is turned
They speak words of hate and scorn
Oh fickle friends with hearts and minds so split
Do thee not feel a tinge of guilt
Can you not have an honest word
Speak the truth about noun and verb
So word the honesty in your thought
The verbal ******* counts for nought
Just let the poets write
Joe Cole Aug 2014
They rode at night in robes of white burning crosses held on high
They had taken the vote and decided
On this night Silas had to die
Who were these men who rode that night
What were they in the day
One a county judge another owned a ranch
These some of the heroes who would hang Silas from a branch
What then was the crime that old Silas had committed
Simple, he went into town, went into the local store
But Silas crossed the line when he passed through the white mans door
So they ripped old Silas from his bed and hung him from a limb
And as his life left him one even sang a pious hym
Would it ever be investigated by the local law
No!!! Because old Silas he was coloured trash, his wife a coloured *****
Joe Cole Jul 2014
I cast my line into the watery murk
And hooked a Carvò by the neck
I pulled in vain the hold to break
But ripped the head off at the neck
Alas the Carvò did not die
Head and beret floated high
****** droplets fell like acid rain
Causing worthy poets grief and pain
The body was by fish consumed
But once again the Carvò cloned
Again to infest the HP site
With the foul desease of words he writes
Joe Cole Jul 2014
RELIGION
It has so many crimes to answer to
Yes crimes against humanity
I think back to the holy wars
Christian ( what a joke ) against the might of Islam
But who had the right to say what was right and what was wrong
The Spanish inquisition,  torture and death to non believers
Look at the various sects in Islam
Where by one it was considered just to shoot a 15 year old girl
in the head because she dreamt of being a teacher
Isreal, now the bully boys of the middle east ( With American backing )
Historically Israelites where a tribe within Palestine
But now Palestine (Gaza) is a state within Israel.
A British decision in 1948
Here I see a similarity between Israel and the early Americans
Emigrating West
And not caring about the tribes and peoples they displace in the doing
Greed and religion, the two curses of the world
My church is the fields and forests, my god is nature
I need no more than that
I make no apologies if I've offended any one of you or offended your beliefs
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