In life as in so many things
Mercy needs angelic wings.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

Could we all not better choose
Those who sadly, often lose.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

Mercy needs angelic wings
A darker soul yet sometimes sings.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

Those who sadly, often lose
Fail to see the hidden clues.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

A darker soul yet sometimes sings
A peace will fall as new day brings.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

And God will watch and study all
To see what madness will befall.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

A peace will fall as new day brings
In life as in so many things.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(2nd morning)…2016

The peacock proud, pushed out his chest
As giant bullfrogs croak their best.
Alone, yet never lonely.

Dawn breaks and day now beckons
To work  we soon will go in seconds.
Alone, yet never lonely.

As giant bullfrogs croak their best
The factory bells succumb their test.
Alone, yet never lonely.

To work we soon will go in seconds
God looks on all of Life and reckons.
Alone, yet never lonely.

The factory bells succumb their test
As life begins anew with zest.
Alone, yet never lonely.

And God will watch the nations’ health
For there He knows is real wealth.
Alone, yet never lonely.

As life begins anew with zest
The peacock proud, pushed out his chest.
Alone, yet never lonely.


©Joe Wilson – Lauds…2016 (with full appreciation of W H Auden)

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

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)
At year end oft, we think to say
Look back no more, as comes new day.

Some will see it with their spoons engraved
Though sadly, many remain enslaved.

But Hopeful ever, we press right on
As we search for good in everyone.

II)
In store and warehouse food is bailed
Urgent supplies for when crops have failed.

While shattered lives in tents on hillsides
Families caught in the refugee tides.

As earthquake victims lie underground
Courageous rescuers listen for sound.

Some must rely on drug-lord’s favours
In lives that no sane person savours.

Yet here are we in our clean safe home
From which we’re always free to roam.

III)
Complaining often, we fail to grasp
The richness of our situations
In truth we live in comfort zones
Free from terror and deprivation.
Whilst some no luck they ever see
Until in death at last they’re free.

IV)
And who should tackle such terrible woes
It should be us, plain as your nose
So we elect fine politicians
Who mainly only serve patricians
From whence they mainly are derived
Plebeians forgotten, of voice deprived.
For even though your vote was cast
And Bills you disapprove get passed
You only get to vote one way
And never really have your say
Your troubled mind creaks with unease
As those in charge do as they please.

V)
And in inertia nothing moves
The rut of hopelessness just proves
That though we feel the pain of others
Around this Earth we all are brothers
The comfort zone adapts to fit
The place within in which you sit.

VI)
Meanwhile, those victims still in tents
Await such help as we have sent
Which waits in ports in rotting state
While shares are argued in debate.
We did our bit they all will cry
But did that stop young children die??


©Joe Wilson – Those who are at the end of the queue, always…2016

Silently
Like a stone falls
Into a bottomless well,
A day begins in Purgatory.

Souls go about
Their unseemly business
Moving in their own misery.

Yet all of one accord would say
When asked where they were going
To Hell to suffer unholy wrath
Where the fires are always glowing.

For that is where we all are sent
In life we were unknowing
But wickedness
And our way of life
Bred these, the seeds
That we were sowing.

And as we sow, so shall we reap
We get cast down into the deep.

©Joe Wilson – The Road to Purgatory…2015

Undervalued, as she had been her entire short life
She fell into her small simple cot, exhausted
It was eleven twenty-five and so cold that night
And four that morning since she’d left it in dread.

Given up by her frightened parents at only seven
She was just as other girls in her village
Carried away by the merciless men
Who’d terrorised the area to ****** and pillage.

A ****** no longer at just eight and a half
A mother before she was thirteen
She’d had absolutely no schooling
She didn’t even know the word obscene.

The one single thing that she did understand
Was the pain of being beaten all the time
If she wasn’t fast enough at bringing their food
She was thrashed like it was a crime.

And now here she was…exhausted
She was only eighteen, but so old
And the only thing she ever got from her Lord
Was her death that night from the cold.

A six year old motherless child all alone
She’ll be safe until she turns eight
And then just like her dead mother
She’ll be cast to the men and a terrible fate.

©Joe Wilson – Some lives are always violent…2015

There are nations around the globe where this is still a common occurrence, even in so-called civilised countries. It is the 21st century, we should be able to stop this horrendous monstrosity.