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Mar 2016 · 665
The raven’s awful call…
Joe Wilson Mar 2016
Still here I lie in Death’s dark shroud
Just more than dust beneath the ground
And even as they left this place
I heard the raven’s awful sound.
For those above had known me dead
And brought me here in six-foot box
Where even as I could not scream
I felt the dread from Death who mocks.

And as the bugs then through me roamed
As earthly bodies, mine did rot
My soul did not depart this husk
Such was the punishment I got.
And all the pain I still could feel
As rats gnawed at my hands and toes
There’s more to death than we may think
When blood through veins no longer flows.

Way up above the raven calls
The last call they will hear
He makes it as the scythe now falls
For soon they’ll come to join me here.

For if in life they’ve conscience clear
Their soul will soar on Heavenly peal
Though if like me a sinner they be
They’ll die in pain, a living meal.
They severed my head from my body
In years it’s never been found
I could never beg forgiveness
For who would have heard the sound.

Two hundred years in this dark Hell
The bugs and rats long gone
Just dried up skeletal bones remain
And the soul of a less than holy one.
Once, time stood still for just a while
For one short moment I waited
But then I saw the Devil’s smile
For in truth, he is never sated.

And yet once more the raven calls
As someone meets their doom
In six-foot holes beneath the earth
They’ll lie forever in this gloom.

©Joe Wilson – The raven’s awful call…2016
Joe Wilson Mar 2016
And finding ourselves
What next!
What wonder of technology
or genius thinking
could ever
thousands of years
of prejudice
and contempt,
and not the least,
Nothing that could replace
an acceptance of each other
and a coming together
of hearts
and minds
in realising
that all pervading truth.
We all live here,
we all die here.
Harmonious living
is surely less problematic.
(Here you can insert any WAR you choose),
for it has always been
Man’s greatest weakness
the thing which undermines him most
and yet seemingly,
his greatest undertaking.
Man is such a violent beast
we almost deserves no place here.
For in our selfishness
we destroy
the very beauty
of the planet itself.
Perhaps it’s time
we finally realised.
is not a practice run.
It is the real thing.

©Joe Wilson – Who in the Hell do we think we are…2016
Joe Wilson Mar 2016
Carefully, he laid the book on the table
He’d been re-reading Oliver Twist
In those terrible poor Dickensian times
He often wondered how the poor could exist.

The rain poured down heavy on the windows
The sky matched his mood, it was grey
For after they had both done their eight hours of work
They had picked up a parcel today.

Journeys to the food bank were in silence
Both felt an extreme sense of loss
That they had to rely on charity and handouts
From a government who treated them as dross.

The food banks get more, the poor get more poor
It was ever thus and shall ever be
He wondered what Dickens would think of it all
About poverty he thought, no change he’d see.

He’d look to the Houses of Parliament
No changes would he expect to see there
Then he’d look to the poor who still roam the streets
And see a government that still didn’t care.

Then he’d put his quill to notepaper
And tell them exactly what he thought
And ask if they’d do something about it
Or whether their  votes had been bought.

All this the man mused as they emptied the box
As a solitary tear ran down his cheek
Then he held his wife and child in his arms
And he wept, for he just couldn’t speak.

©Joe Wilson – I wonder what Dickens would think…2016
Joe Wilson Feb 2016

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.


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.


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
Feb 2016 · 840
The seat of democracy…
Joe Wilson Feb 2016
That that is seat of such wisdom
The home of our so-called democracy
Shamefully now filled with self-servers
In seats oft retained by hypocrisy.

It remains as it was and ever shall be
Ye, even from birth in Ancient Greece
The privileged make wealth and all of the rules
We the mob, are just there to fleece.

And in that place of such pretence
They hack at each other like fools
While under the guise of good manners
Disdain and sarcasm their oft-wielded tools.

And now we the mob, get to view the exchange
They presume that it keeps us amused
But we voted for representation
And we’re not, trust and faith are abused.

For democracy to work for the masses
Those elected must place people first
But sadly, this is rarely ever the case
It will remains that for which we all thirst.

©Joe Wilson – The seat of democracy…2016
Following yesterdays (24 February 2016) exchanges in the House of Commons, in which our Prime Minister resorted to attacking the Opposition Leader on his lack of sartorialism, and the general, but vicious banality of exchanges, these observations came to me. Those we elect behave like baying wolves trying to metaphorically draw blood from those opposite. We don’t elect them for this. Not one of them deserves our trust.

This of course is my personal opinion.
Feb 2016 · 507
Today shed I a tear…
Joe Wilson Feb 2016
Today shed I a tear for every lost soul
Lost in the furtherance of ill-conceived war
Lost at the hands of  a political goal
Lost now to good health, consistently poor.

As refugees they travel to find peaceful land
Relying on handouts from a charity trough
Reviled by so many who don’t understand
Who deny there’s a problem or just shrug it off.

Would a family not desperate get in one of those boats
And set sail over seas that so frequently ****
And give all of their money to who promises the most
Who manipulates their misery with such deadly skill.

Yes, shed a tear for humanity’s sake
Have we lost all compassion and good grace
Let us recognise the pain and the risks that they take
And be grateful that it’s something that we will not face.

But politics the *****, whose behaviour is arch
And the arms manufacturers and their riches
Mean more refugees will set off on the march
While so many lie dead in quickly dug ditches.

Man is truly his own worst enemy.

©Joe Wilson – Today shed I a tear…2016
Feb 2016 · 447
Not to be alone...
Joe Wilson Feb 2016
And so I arrive at the end of my day
Achieving so little in the time that I've had
But passage along my self-guided way
Meant I happened upon you, which made me so glad.
And on we carried in togetherness fond
A love so great and so true
We forged in life love's greatest bond
Yet now here alone I do so miss you.
For how can a one live a life all alone
The sharing, the joy, and the heartache
You lean on each other like you can't on your own
Helping each other in decisions you make.
Never did a man set his feet on God's earth
That didn't have a lover that increased his worth.

©Joe Wilson - Not to be alone...2016
Feb 2016 · 444
More good intentions...
Joe Wilson Feb 2016

Is the glass half-empty, is it half-full
Or perhaps there’s no glass there at all
Every event that I ever faced
Would have still taken place as I recall.
But my part in them, I controlled myself
For our will to think freely gives us choice
We should use our will now in the moment
With wisdom we’ve earned when raising our voice.
Attack the future with vigour and might
Fend off the negative thoughts that we hold
Face up to the days ahead with courage
For fortune favours the brave and the bold.
          Many are they who would bring you down low
          Free will can help you decide not to go.

©Joe Wilson – Glasses…2016
Feb 2016 · 430
More good intentions
Joe Wilson Feb 2016

Is the glass half-empty, is it half-full
Or perhaps there’s no glass there at all
Every event that I ever faced
Would have still taken place as I recall.
But my part in them, I controlled myself
For our will to think freely gives us choice
We should use our will now in the moment
With wisdom we’ve earned when raising our voice.
Attack the future with vigour and might
Fend off the negative thoughts that we hold
Face up to the days ahead with courage
For fortune favours the brave and the bold.
Many are they who would bring you down low
Free will can help you decide not to go.

©Joe Wilson – Glasses…2016
Feb 2016 · 439
Good Intentions…
Joe Wilson Feb 2016
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
A sonnet the inspiration for which I drew from William Shakespeare (Sonnet XXXVII)
Jan 2016 · 845
Lauds…(the 5th morning)
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
A sparrowhawk swoops down for food
Spring blue skies will lift the mood
When days go rushing by.

Children race to school pell-mell
There are some who miss the bell
When days go rushing by.

Spring blue skies will lift the mood
And garden tasks are now pursued
When days go rushing by.

There are some who miss the bell
Who’ll waste time catching up as well
When days go rushing by.

And garden tasks are now pursued
The growing season is reviewed
When days go rushing by.

For He will hear the church bell ring
As hearty, thankful voices sing
When days go rushing by.

The growing season is reviewed
A sparrowhawk swoops down for food.
When days go rushing by.

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(the 5th morning)…2016
Jan 2016 · 310
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
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…


©Joe Wilson – Bang…2016
Jan 2016 · 402
Lauds…(the 3rd morning)
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
Etched deep in human nature found
Is not the plight of others bound
In loneliness, they cry out.

Fallen by the way, so many
Whose lives could change with love, if any
In loneliness, they cry out.

Is not the plight of others found
In depths so low there is no sound
In loneliness, they cry out.

Whose lives could change with love, if any
Caught in cultural hegemony
In loneliness, they cry out.

In depths so low there is no sound
Trampled far beneath the ground
In loneliness, they cry out.

And God, who is their single friend
Such failings He must ever end
In loneliness, they cry out.

Trampled far beneath the ground
Etched deep in human nature found
In loneliness, they cry out.

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(the 3rd morning)…2016
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
If this is it
Then so shall it be
Such is final.

Leave it as it is.

I am but a swine
Cast out by my own.

Even in the heat of pain
I will regroup and fight.

The slash of swords I will withstand

Until such time as it is no more.

And then, who cares
I want to live.

©Joe Wilson - Me…(Aku) a tribute to Chairil Anwar (1922-1949)
This fine Indonesian poet died the year I was born.
Most of his work was censored.
Jan 2016 · 1.7k
Lauds…(2nd morning)
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
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
Jan 2016 · 476
Joe Wilson Jan 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)
Jan 2016 · 336
Beyond that hill…
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
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
Jan 2016 · 245
Growing up...
Joe Wilson Jan 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
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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
Oct 2015 · 352
The Road to Purgatory…
Joe Wilson Oct 2015
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
Joe Wilson Sep 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.
Sep 2015 · 312
The beautiful moment...
Joe Wilson Sep 2015
Satisfyingly exhausted
Small beads of sweat
On both our backs
Arms entwined, we sleep
For now at least
The world will keep.

©Joe Wilson – The beautiful moment…2015
Sep 2015 · 310
A grand plan…
Joe Wilson Sep 2015
And so at last it comes to this
A choice betwixt that place, or bliss
Struggling through a life of pain
Working hard for little gain.
The semblance of my life’s refrain
Is echoed o’er the world’s domain
As slipping now I start to miss
Life’s final sweet and tender kiss.

But yet, I fight and will not go
I’ve been here once before, I know
Fighting then to stay behind
Brought back to life by those so kind.
I’ve felt it though, so I won’t mind
When time is finally called I’ll find
As slide I into ebb and flow
No tiny imprints left to show.

We are here son
We so do be
But when we leave
We are set free.

We are as but a grain of sand
And dying once, I understand
We’re here to help within our span
To nurture life, do all we can.
Embracing differences of man
As tiny parts in this great plan
And if we sense it’s something grand
Perhaps we’ll feel that mighty hand.

©Joe Wilson – A grand plan…2015
Aug 2015 · 392
When she left…
Joe Wilson Aug 2015
When she left, there was nothing
There was nothing left to be seen
Seen there to be no evidence
No evidence she’d ever been.

Been around awhile since then
Awhile since figuring it out
Figured out it was a foolish dream
A dream that left me in doubt.

Left in doubt, yet she seemed so real
So real, now I’m so bereft
Bereft as I’ve never felt before
Before there was nothing when she left.

©Joe Wilson – When she left…2015
Aug 2015 · 398
There was an old man...
Joe Wilson Aug 2015
The funny old man just turned up one day
He opened his case so the music could play
All the sounds you could hear would come from ‘the thing’
And the funny old man would then start to sing.

‘The thing’ was a squeezebox, and yet a trombone
There were certainly strings, and in parts, xylophone
Yet I’m sure that I remember a small kettle drum
And if you got too close it started to hum.

His life was right there in that battered old brown case
Each place that he went, the old thing had it’s place
He was a street entertainer, of some note I might add
And people gave generously to the clever old lad.

He would suddenly appear as if like a wisp
When he spoke, which was rare, he had a slight lisp
The case would be opened and out came ‘the thing’
And to it’s accompaniment the old man would sing.

O what a great voice, it soared like a rocket
And every man’s hand went straight to his pocket
Then suddenly, he lowered his voice in a verse
And ladies gave money from out of their purse.

To other street artists this wasn’t such fun
They consorted to see what ought to be done
They thought if they made him look really quite bad
That would be the end of the crafty old lad.

There are things you can do in the swell of a crowd
Things, if you’re honest, about which you’re not proud
They slipped him a ‘Mickey’, and he lost voice control
But ‘the thing’ saved the day with a fine barcarole.

He carried on for years till he got really old
His voice now much quieter and a little less controlled
One day he announced that he would soon retire
But he’d do one last show in a hope to inspire

The day of the show was so sunny and bright
Folks had strung bunting, it was such a good sight
A buzz of excitement as they wait for the man
Then suddenly he’s there and the whole thing began.

He sang all the old songs and the people all cheered
The competition too, who had usually jeered
It soon became clear though, that the old man was ill
When he came to the last song the audience was still.

He finished with a new song to the ahs and the sighs
So many who were listening had tears in their eyes
Then with a rueful smile on his own tear-stained face
He just disappeared, and likewise, his case.

©Joe Wilson – There was an old man…2015
Jul 2015 · 365
The demon’s touch…
Joe Wilson Jul 2015
Would that I could spare you pain
You feel the demon’s touch again
I’ll wrap you in my loving heart
Where demons can’t wrench us apart.
And as you lie in sleep’s repose
Protect you, I, against all those
Who bring such wicked dreams to you
I’ll take my sword and them pursue.

With honour pure and blade so true
I’ll drive those demons out from you
And peace and such serenity
Will be returned to you and me.

Would that life could ever be
As straightforward as poetry.

©Joe Wilson – The demon’s touch…2015
Jul 2015 · 258
Joe Wilson Jul 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
Jul 2015 · 276
Purgatory is Hell…
Joe Wilson Jul 2015
By choice he always sits alone
He makes capacious notes
Rarely moving very fast
Never raising
--- old dust motes.

He never talks, nor glances up
He keeps about his task
And what he writes of
No one knows
--- nobody thinks to ask.

For a thousand years he’s sat there
Quill moving slowly at work
Memories hiding in his head
What secrets
--- in there lurk?

And in this library of the dead
Where all about is still
Is every single written word
In dark ink
--- from his quill.

Tasked to record every thing
That happens everywhere
He’s scratched away for many years
In punishment
--- that he thinks fair.

On Earth he did the foulest deeds
In Limbo he pays the price
Knowing he’ll never leave this place
He was told
--- on good advice.

The Devil finds all the sinners
And they don’t all burn in Hell
There are punishments far, far worse than that
As this man
--- would surely tell.

©Joe Wilson – Purgatory is hell…2015
Jul 2015 · 264
It is who we are…
Joe Wilson Jul 2015
In moving through our hope-filled lives
A fork so oft presents itself
And choices made, we set to strive
Determined, we abandon stealth.

And crashing forward at pell-mell
Pride takes hold, we sometimes fall
Yet as time rings the final bell
Our friends, we hope, may then recall.

That we were loved, that’s all we pray
And not forgot like some old book
As we loved them and life each day
In all the things we undertook.

Thus in the library far beyond
We’ll sit and gather our friends around
And to life’s question we will respond
By words and friendship we are bound.

©Joe Wilson – It is who we are…2015
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
Anger rises, an outlet sought
A kind of peace not easy bought
It never used to be like this
The signs of cracks and things amiss
Can send us down the dark hallways
That lead to melancholy days.

Of pain and heartache on both sides
Who ever thought there were free rides?
We have to stand and keep our nerve
And fight for principles we serve
Of honour, love and dignity
And once again, our hearts set free.

Sacrifices must be made
A bright future, a good fair trade.

©Joe Wilson – A depressive state – but not as we know it…2015
Jun 2015 · 230
Can we ever really say...
Joe Wilson Jun 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
Jun 2015 · 489
Unconditional love…
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
Children weep over parent’s misfortune
But often say nothing of their own pain
And parents wrapped up in their own sad torture
Miss the hurt their kids feel once again.

If only we let ourselves see from their view
Perhaps we’d all better understand
If we just took that extra moment or two
Sometimes they just want a hand.

There’s no greater love than that of a child
But often, they feel over-awed
We don’t really need any book that’s compiled
To see they want love and accord.

The man in you will know this is true
The woman, of course she will know
It depends entirely on your point of view
But I like to see children glow.

©Joe Wilson – Unconditional love…2015
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
He stood in protest against the war
‘What the hell do we have children for?’
We love them, teach them of free will
Not bringing them up to maim and ****.

But politicians make their spin
And send our children off to win
Against an enemy of their creation
They put at risk our very nation.

He stood and argued long and hard
As they pushed him back yard by yard
Until one day the poor man died
And at his death a nation cried.

Yes, I remember Brian Haw
His ten year protest against all war
The shameful way they moved him on
It’s four silent years since he’s been gone.

©Joe Wilson – A tribute to Brian Haw – peace protester…2015
Brian Haw died of cancer the day before my birthday four years was a respectful birthday.
Jun 2015 · 414
An unfortunate badger
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
...(still in the manner of Ogden Nash)

This badger is large and of course, lives underground
He barks like a dog, and makes quite a sound
He’s got massive claws so I keep far away
But then, he doesn’t visit much down my way.

I recently saw him go after an eel
He walloped him hard and it made a loud squeal
Then next he tried to provoke a large cat
Which simply swanned off, well fancy that!

Old brock then went after a giant eagle owl
Well he’s not exactly your domestic fowl
The owl flew up with things left unsaid
But dropped a large message right on his head.

That badger, a glutton in more ways than one
Next tried to see off a massive white swan
Who just raised his wings in a mighty display
Old brock disappeared for the rest of the day.

Soon after the badger’s done his vanishing trick
All of the birds burst out fast and thick
And meeses and voles had their best time yet
Knowing old brock was asleep in his sett.

©Joe Wilson – An unfortunate badger…2015
This is purely a bit of fun. I did a previous poem in the style of Ogden Nash for a challenge on a different site. This is still in a Nash style, perhaps with a bit of Dr Seuss thrown in, and a bit of me.
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
All shopping comes to an impassable stop
As locks are locked on the door of the shop
And what we wanted to buy today
We probably don’t need anyway.

We gather our bits, and our pieces too
And dive in the car, that’s me and you
The kids will dive straight into the back
I suppose I should check before hitting the track.

Back to the house from whence we came
Ah! I see it, it looks the same
But then next door looks like it too
Except for a missing number two.

But then, their house is number four
Why would they want a two on the door
It would surely be a foolish task
I must remember one day to ask.

Our number two has been missing for days
But we know our house, and to it, the ways
Yet for a new number we went out and shopped
And late as always, by locks we were stopped
Though I don’t think we’ll bother to try again
As next month we’re moving to number ten.

©Joe Wilson - Locks…2015

The last two lines are added for fun
Only there to extend the pun
I know they stretch a simple quatrain
But as Nash might say, they shall remain.
Jun 2015 · 1.6k
Another sad statistic…
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
Harsh cold winds race down ***** back alleys
Bin lids are lifted and all taking flight
Ragged town foxes, heads inside dustbins
Cries of sheer anguish and they take off in fright.

Cold stillborn baby found in a  dustbin
Wrapped up in bin bags and filthy soaked towel
A bitter result of unlawful liaison
Another young girl has been treated so foul.

Search is now on to find the sad mother
Everyone knows that she will be ill
Soon she is found with wrists that are bright red
Only fourteen, lying perfectly still.

Another statistic of society’s indifference
As always lip service just isn’t enough
And still the harsh wind blows down ***** back alleys
Where young children find on the street, life is tough.

©Joe Wilson – Another sad statistic…2015
Jun 2015 · 334
The end of the road...
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
Rain making trails down miserable windows
Heralding a new forgettable day
Mirrored his thoughts and down-in-dumps feelings
He stared through the glass with nothing to say.
A glass on the table from yesterday evening
Stale smelling whisky he’d somehow not supped
Sitting now, staring and thinking of dying
A dejected man, head in hands that were cupped.

Suddenly a hand shot out to the whisky
Whisky sent flying, glass smashed on the floor
He couldn’t be bothered to reach for another
So he uncorked the bottle and from it drank more.
All round the sense of his failure clung to him
He’d let down a wife and a family for sure
The way that he had he just couldn’t remember
As he lifted the bottle for just one more pour.

Slow and contemptuous of himself he rose
Very much faster he stumbled and fell
He hadn’t seen soap in over a week now
Yet strangely he never even noticed the smell.
A voice in his head told him drink down another
Another said you’ve had enough for the day
They were both in his head so to him didn’t matter
As he tipped back the bottle and drank anyway.

And that’s how they found him, a heap on the floor
Drunk like the others with a bottle in his fist
They took him, washed him, and bed him for the night
And wondered as always, if this man was missed.
Daytime arrives, and the sun fills the sky
The man, like the others, wakes up very late
But sunshine means little as he sips on his bottle
He’s much too far gone to the hands of his fate.

©Joe Wilson – The end of the road…2015
May 2015 · 199
A short note to my wife...
Joe Wilson May 2015
On such a glorious day as this
We left the aisle in wedded bliss
And through the years of joy, and pain
I’ve thought, I’d do it all again.

A journey such as we have made
Where love stands out and ill did fade
Was all I ever hoped to see
With one who’d know the real me.

©Joe Wilson–A short note to my wife…2015
Joe Wilson May 2015
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?'


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.'


Ezra smiled.
Ezra slept.

©Joe Wilson - Ezra's final conversation...2015
May 2015 · 250
Yet another old memory...
Joe Wilson May 2015
Her perfume lingered in my nostrils
It reminded me of days long since gone
Of Mother making us treacle ****
And the way the sun always shone.

It didn’t of course, it was just childhood
And we like to think back to the good
Things like the sun always shining
And Mother’s delicious pud.

People then, had no central heating
In winter with fires, the house was cold still
And the water we took up to bed would freeze
Through the night on the windowsill.

Mother’s love was of course, unconditional
As was Dad’s till the day he died
And Mum dabbed on ‘Lily of the Valley’
As she stood by his coffin and cried.

So now, when a lady walks past me
Who is wearing that scent from those years
She’ll probably be a lady of advancing age
Who’s experienced those times and some tears.

And I will drift back to my childhood
But I’ll push out the parts that are bad
As I think of the fun and the love that I felt
I’ve no desire to look back and be sad.

©Joe Wilson – Yet another old memory…2015
Joe Wilson May 2015
And so you reach your final scene
Will someone know that you have been
Did you enjoy a fulfilled life
Or was it filled with pain and strife
And did you ever stop and find
Enough surprise to blow your mind
Did music lift your spirits high
And books so thrill you by and by
Or were perhaps these not for you
You found more sporty things to do.

Did you find someone to love
Who made your heart soar high above
And was your faith a boring drone
That made you feel the need to moan
Or did it lift your spiritual tone
And let you know you weren’t alone.
Have you made a difference
Of complex times have you made sense
And have you done the best you can
Or been a swine or harridan
Is your humbleness well known
Or is your call a megaphone?

We are so many, we differ so
How others feel we sometimes know
But if we’re generous in our hearts
Friendships grow from gentle starts
And you can love just who you choose
The loveless are the ones to lose
As those who love care for the land
Embracing nature, no demand
And making way to journey’s end
When sometimes death seems like a friend
Perhaps reflect and leave this hint
We all should leave a small footprint.

©Joe Wilson – A small footprint to signify ones life…2015
May 2015 · 286
One planet, one goal…
Joe Wilson May 2015
In woeful ignorance man toils away
A crust for the table, for his kin
Wealth creation with barely a whisper
Is so often the wages of sin.

There will be no Earth that the week shall gain
As the land gets destroyed by the rich
Desperate to draw all last ounces of wealth
From every last exploited ditch.

But the poor need to feed and clothe their flock
So the workload is for them to do
And the ones making profit as forests disappear
Sit a long way away blaming you.

And they talk of the wonder of the planets
The chances of life on another
It’s nonsense of course, it won’t happen
When they can’t even live with each other.

We have but one planet that we all live on
So its protection is our primary aim
It’s time that we acted together
Before Earth bleeds to death from our shame.

©Joe Wilson – One planet , one goal…2015
May 2015 · 207
False hopes...
Joe Wilson May 2015
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
                 dreams always do

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

Joe Wilson – False hopes…2015
May 2015 · 282
In passion…
Joe Wilson May 2015
Undressed, she hooked him, a feast for his eyes
Wearing only deceit like a shawl
But still he found himself trapped by her lies
As he waited for night when she demanded his all.

Hard in desire, yet still deeper in contempt
In passion she drives him to pain
And dark of the eye and with wild hair unkempt
She demands him again and again.

And so again in deep embrace
In thrusting joy and symmetry
They slow right down, it’s not a race
Moving to heaven with intensity.

He of course, just kids himself
They’re lovers, there’s no deceit
The thoughts he has in passions stealth
Help make the act complete.

Many times he’s lain in this nest
He wants for nothing here
And as he sleeps in grateful rest
From his eye seeps a satisfied tear.

©Joe Wilson – In passion…2015
Joe Wilson May 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…’
May 2015 · 206
A lifetime of gold...
Joe Wilson May 2015
Each day he tried so very hard
Her tender heart to win
She’d often smile at this silly card
Putting unopened notes in a tin.

For many years it was this way
He kept on trying so hard
Until one day she looked his way
And kissed this silly card.

She then began to read his notes
She took them from her tin
And on the wings of love it floats
The love he’d penned within.

They courted then and fell in deep
A love of purest gold
And love they did from wake to sleep
Until they both grew old.

They rarely left each others side
It’s where they liked to be
He said, there was no one else, with pride
You were all there was for me.

Decades on, and growing old
The spark of love still glows
Daily still his wife is told
“I love you”, and my love still grows.

Now hand in hand they fall asleep
And pray to see tomorrow
They only hope they go as one
To spare the other sorrow.

But yet, they wake another day
They smile and still try hard
Her beauty keeping age at bay
He's still her silly card.

©Joe Wilson – A lifetime of gold…2015
May 2015 · 306
Joe Wilson May 2015
He looked in the mirror at the map of his life
Covered in scars from the surgeons’ knife
A line down the centre from a life-time ago
Faded, but hideous, from a time of his woe.
The scar on his leg was from ankle to knee
Not something he’d ever expected to see
There’s cuts on his wrists and backs of his hands
Where the cannulae went in attached to drip stands
But all that remains are the bits of scar tissue
Nothing at all, not really an issue.

We all have these scars, they mark who we are
Some can’t be seen, there’s more hidden by far
But they serve to remind us that we aren’t alone
We all need help sometimes, we’re not on our own.

There’s another impressive scar on his head
But if it wasn’t there, he’d surely be dead
The same with the others, they’re ugly old things
But they mark off the years, in the way of tree rings.

©Joe Wilson - Scars...2015
May 2015 · 1.2k
Sinful surfing…
Joe Wilson May 2015
Now is my passion genuine,
Or fuelled by lustful need to win
I must have you within my arms
Held tight together,  sharing charms.
Forbidden love, but do we care
Wrapped in sin, we make love there
While all around, the world goes mad
For this snatched moment we are glad.

And as we lie, our passion spent
The skies are filled with dark portent
The cuckold is life’s tragedy
He lost his lover’s love to me
He couldn’t ever set her free
I took her to Eternity.

©Joe Wilson – Sinful surfing…2015
May 2015 · 359
A young man’s fancy…
Joe Wilson May 2015
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
A jump into the 16th century...
Joe Wilson May 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
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