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

It is what it is, a mantra of mine
And doing ones best and all will be fine
But life gets too complex and it no longer sticks
Somethings are frightening, too frightening to fix.

Many times you see, a solution’s not there
You just have to struggle because life is unfair
So you carry on regardless and accept the harsh fate
And pray for the answer before it’s far too late.

At the end of the day it is what it is
Answers came too late and you lost your fizz
Dejected and penniless you’re now on your own
Down in the gutter of life all, alone.

©Joe Wilson – Life in the clichés…2015

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

Why does Man so burden man
By treating man so badly
Does Man just sit and shake his head
And watch those vulnerable, sadly.
Man should rise and take the strain
To ease the suffering of man
For Man has power within his grasp
To do all that he can.

Those Men may hold the power
Those Men do have the wealth
But every five long years or so
The man moves you round with stealth.
For man is the real Puppet-master
Man just a mean Punchinello
And when it gets right down to the point
Man is corruption’s bedfellow.

As Man feasts at the table
Another man goes broke
Uncaring Man pollutes the air
While another man must choke.
Despite the wealth that Man has though
Man creates austerity
Yet man becomes a greater man
Than Man can ever be.

©Joe Wilson – Man v man…2015

In wandering o’er these Staffordshire hills
Hills so green with long valleys deep
Deep below where the waters seep
Seep as rills and streams to flow.

Flow the streams down hillside falls
Falls in cracks from glaciers formed
Formed in Ice Age afore land warmed
Warmed enough for all to grow.

Grow and age in beauty shaped
Shaped by wind and sun and rain
Rain that fills the rivers deep
Deep and flowing to the sea.

Sea surrounds this isle of ours
Ours to love and care for well
Well we may like salty sea
Sea you keep, its streams for me.

Me and all of nature’s joy
Joy for all the world to see
See yourself our tree-filled hills
Hills of home I’m wandering in.

© Joe Wilson – Hills of Staffordshire…2015

Thinking back yet again to my childhood
And the shoelace I couldn’t quite fasten
To the many ways Mum used to help me
With those little skills parents pass on.
Six children to love and she really did
She would though, she was our Mum
As well as soothing our often cut knees
She cooked all the  food for our tum.
She’d **** our socks and wash our clothes
And iron things we don’t iron now
Then all of it would just disappear into drawers
As if done by magic somehow.
But Mum didn’t have it anyway easy
Dad died at just fifty-two
And Mum struggled on and raised us alone
But at night-time she cried, we all knew.
As the new day began there would be not a sign
Of the heartache her nights brought to her
She got on with the task of raising her brood
To her feelings she’d rarely refer.
Dad had grown vegetables to feed us
He grew dahlias for my mother, his love
They’ve both been long gone now from this place
Now they stroll hand in hand up above.

©Joe Wilson – When Mum darned our socks…2015

I’m thinking now of my childhood
Of Dinky toys and a bright shiny trike
I travelled for miles going nowhere
On that beautiful three-wheeled bike.
It even had a boot on the back
Like a bread bin between the wheels
That I used to fill with books and toys
Only opened to best friend’s appeals.
The bike was bright red and I loved it
I raced round on it every day
Until that time when I was just too big
And the bike was taken away.
I missed that old red tricycle
It had been my companion for a while
But the two-wheeled cycle that Dad got
Soon turned my lips up in a smile.
It was a second-hand bike and quite grown-up
Hand-painted the darkest maroon
And I rode it for miles, this time with my dad
But it’s fun-giving days went too soon.
My next bike was blue, and a racer
Derailleur gears numbered ten
I wanted to ride out again with my dad
But he’d cycled his last before then.
My dad rode a bike for the whole of his life
Yet he never reached fifty-three
When I’m on a bike now, cycling along
I think of him riding with me.

©Joe Wilson – Riding a bike with my dad…2015