You are the other half of my completeness
You are the half that makes me whole
You are the goodness that my heart will cherish
You are the mate to my now settled soul.

You are the peace within my breast
You are the essence of all that’s best
You are the one who brings the smile
You are the reason that I feel blessed.

You are the one I’ve loved these years
You are the one in my love-filled heart
You are the one who has shared my fears
You are the reason that I seem smart.

You are the one who has dried my tears
You have loved me with no hesitation
You are the reason that I breathe each day
And I love you without reservation.

©Joe Wilson – You 2014

The wind was howling and the trees were bare
I called your name, there was no one there
The darkness gathered all around
And stillness – there was not a sound.

It was then I saw Him watching me
With eyes so sad that I could see
He felt the sorrow and sensed my pain
He knew I’d not see you again.

He surrounded me with a kindly peace
As if He knew there was no release
And all my tears welled up inside
Emotions that I’d tried to hide
All came tumbling, tumbling down
And fell like raindrops to the ground
And in that moment I think I knew
What He, Himself, had once been through.

I stood and looked into the night
Of Him there was no longer sight
And thus I left that Holy place
Myself at peace, and you in grace
And though my life will just go on
Forever now we’ll be as one
But when I go back to that place
I’ll hope to see His peaceful face.

©Joe Wilson – A Place of Tranquility 1994 (re-edited 2014)

He cast a long sad look along the horizon
And gazed down on the planet’s Armageddon
For man was battling on to it’s destruction
Destroying all that fell in their path.

Placing man on the Earth had been troublesome
But the intellect of man had given Him hope
They could work out the problems that beset them
Yet all the killing and shooting and bombing had to stop.

He’d placed races of different hue and differing creed
Putting them in all manner of places far and wide
But man’s warlike nature seemed reason enough
For them to find their excuses for genocide.

What was it with the ****-sapien class of mammal
That had them at each other’s oft exposed throats
It was not the result of something that He had create
But a flaw that was in the essence of man.

©Joe Wilson – The long sad look…2014

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

There's something re-assuring about the tick of a clock
It counts off the moments and marks out the days
We know where we are and where we should be
It keeps the world moving without hesitancy.

But do we confine ourselves by wrapping in time
Are we constricted in this sectional way
What if we threw off the comfort of the norm
And took back the freedom of an old timeless form.

The world that we know would be drastically changed
Financial institutes would behave so deranged
Criminals would take over as 'opportunities' presented
Charlatans and fraudsters... - "The World Goes Demented".

So the thing that we find is 'there's no other way.'
We depend on the start and the end of each day
But if time stopped existing not one of us would care
We'd soon cease to function and then we wouldn't be there.

There's something re-assuring about the tick of a clock...



©Joe Wilson - The re-assuring clock...2014

I

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.

II

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.


III

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

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

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)

Our odd tale is set in the Old Wild West
Where stories like this are imparted the best
It tells of the feud of two bitter old men
Who argued quite often and fought now and then.

The fact of the matter is that each had a ranch
And running between was a large river branch
Each claimed the river to be just his alone
They argued the point right down to the bone.

Family members were brought into the fight
Over the years shots were fired left and right
Amazingly no one on either side died
Goodness knows some of the best shooters tried.

Then one day against the family wishes of both
A man and woman from each side did betroth
As they loved despite anger that they had both known
Into each other's loving arms they had each flown.

They married in secret and needed a home
A small ranch was for sale where cattle could roam
So the new couple bought it and opened their ranch
It was just at the head of the large river branch.

And then dammed up the river and halted its flow
The ranches below had nowhere else to go
But they said to his parents and also to hers
"Unwatered cattle - or fighting! What's worse?"

At long last after dozens of years in a fight
Someone had seen sense and had some insight
And had forced the old rivals to both compromise
Grandchildren, not fighting each other - the prize!



©Joe Wilson - Bashing heads...2014



A fun story about the value of compromise, and the value of water.

Wendell! Wendell. Fetch a blanket for me please
No Wendell, the good one, that we got from the church
We've got visitors coming and I want to look my best
So you sit down quickly, don't lean and don't lurch.

Wendell and Agatha were a husband and wife
She was a little blunt now he sharp like a knife
They'd married and settled on the farm with its strife
To Wendell it seemed like the whole of his life.

They'd married in an old church afore records were kept
At least, Wendell thought that when he was being inept
But out in the fields were the flowers where he wept
And he'd dream of their beauty even as he slept.

He took Aggie out there on warm Summer days
Where they stayed and relaxed till the sunset brought haze
Then he'd drive her back home sometimes catching her gaze
And in it saw beauty just like in the old days.

Illness took so much of his Aggie away
There lives changed dramatically in every way
Her lovely dark hair had turned instantly grey
And now there was harshness in things that she'd say.

But Wendell loved Aggie with all of his might
He just took her bad moods as part of her plight
And not the great woman who he'd loved at first sight
Who'd always stood by him when they'd needed to fight.

So Wendell took his Agatha to the flowers each day
Where they sat for awhile admiring the display
And if a sad tear tried to run down his face
He'd not let her see it, he'd wipe it away.

©Joe Wilson - Wendell in love...2014

Just the faintest touch of sunshine
And another day began
Twenty-four beautiful hours that make
A day-long wondrous span
With seven of these together
A week is made each time
The weeks will then turn into months
Each twelve will make a year
And in every one of those with you
I hope my love was clear
For the rising every morning
Would be nothing if you weren't there
I'm so happy that you found me
And we've had such love to share.



©JRW2014

...(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

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

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

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

Glasses…


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

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

Portmanteaux packed and loaded,  a new life is my call
In going I am coming home, to rivers, forests and swan
And all the hustle-bustle I leave behind for all
As I start my life anew, as one.

In joyous solitude shall I bide, to be alone at last
I see it in the forest glade, among these misty leaves
The darkness and the shadows seem so very vast
And sleeping under ink-black skies deceives.

And so I travel homeward, a long, long journey home
Where waters lap so sweetly there lives a gentle swan
Which to the forest edge and by the glade does come
A gentle flutter of my heart so finally at one.

©Joe Wilson – Going home…

A poem in  the style of W B Yeats (1865-1939)
After re-reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I bet that as a child I climbed up many trees
Sometimes in tears running home with cut knees
I’d have played with Dinky toys and Hornby trains
And jumped into puddles after pouring rains.

I bet that as a youth I was petulant and daft
And sailed down a river on a home-made raft
I’d have ridden on my bike for miles and miles
Watching all the steam trains at railway styles.

And on a rugby pitch I’d have felt right in place
Charging down the wing or lying on my face
To clubs I’d have gone for the rhythm and the blues
We’d dance through the night like we’d nothing to lose.

I bet I met a lady who would love me forever
Who’d nurture our children and make us seem clever
She’d always keep me warm on the coldest nights
And be by my side when I get these frights.

I bet these things I’ve written may have all taken place
But the end-game approaches at an ever-quicker pace
I see it is the sort of life someone like me would need
But the memories have faded like an old dried up seed.

©Joe Wilson – I bet…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.

So take me up my quill of finest swan
To write what matters yet not much less
For thus my thoughts are now shrivelled and gone
Thus left empty-headed I must now confess.

Wouldst that I could perhaps tarry a thought
As headlong it rushes before mine eyes
A serious, nay, even a gentle sort
To halt such a one that my mind defies.

Thence  would I rush to parchment brand new
And write with such haste my thought down in inks
Afore it was lost to the sky so blue
Stealing the words of devotion methinks.

For if my quill wouldst move swiftly as thought
Twould  tell of the  love from thee that is sought.

©joe Wilson – So take me up my quill…2015

Winter creeps across the land
where mighty oaks and birch trees stand
and insects hid beneath the ground
face certain death if they are found
by mice or rats...and foxes too
nature's food chain survival glue.

But up above then canopy
buzzards hunt by two or three
they square the ground on high patrol
in search of rabbit or tasty vole
life's bitter struggle is borne this way
the same tomorrow as yesterday.

And as the winter creep moves on
the weakest creatures now all gone
rats and rabbits...mice and voles
bed down for winter in food-stocked holes
yet o'er the land where we draw breath
there's barely sign of this fight with death.

©Joe Wilson - The winter struggle...2015

The docks are so barren now, where once there was such fare
there’s no more shipbuilding, the work’s just not there
and yet when I think, when I dream, I can hear
all the fine sailing vessels that have long since passed here.

The docks were so mighty, all the work, all the men
it’s sad now to think, we’ll not see them again
and yet, if you think of the sails and the ropes
we’ll carry on dreaming, we won’t lose our hopes.

The docks stand so quiet, no stevedores can be seen
no lightermen move barges through the channels in between
and yet if you dream, you can still hear the sails
it’s a heart-lifting sound, the excitement never fails.

©Joe Wilson – Where once there were docks…

He sits reading the letter from his father
it is a small reach after all these years
and he is not sure how he will respond
his father was a hero – but he wasn’t there.

It has been hard growing without a dad
his mother never loved anyone else and
always waited, and waited, but he never came
he’d felt so let down, this hero, HERO
and he couldn’t even visit his son
he should feel bitter, and yet
being in the forces himself now
he sort of understands.

He wishes his mother was still alive
she would help him come to a decision
she never stopped loving him, always, always
defending his decision to stay away
he knew she would have agreed to his search
she would be happy for him, she would smile
and he would melt, oh how he missed her
how he’d wished for a mum and dad to love.

He would find him and he would take steps
to see him and ask him why he’d never come home
though he already knew the answer. He didn’t know him
and yet – he had always missed him- and now
he needed to know him – he needed
an anchor to his past life
as he himself was about to go away
he too having a child, a little girl he adored
and he was terrified he too would run away
and the thought was more than he could bear.

Was this just an excuse after all these years
or was he going to use his father’s guilt for his own ends
he wasn’t sure, but he knew that he would do anything
rather than do what his father had done to him
he desperately wanted to know his dad
he missed not having had him around but
he missed his mother so much more.

In the midst of all of his confused emotions

He needed answers…would this man give them……..

©Joe Wilson – His regret-the son’s story 2014

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

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

Glasses…


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

Were I a man less fortunate
If I could not my words express
Would I not humbly shun the light
And all my boundless thoughts compress.

My heart is full and begs release
Outpourings flow from deep within
And words flood out and take their form
Of love and pain, and life and sin.

To sit and wait these countless times
Considering this or that to say
Thoughts writ in beguiling form
Thus written they then speed on their way.

Characters flit betwixt mine eyes
So fast sometimes I cannot catch
Letters caught in melee furious
I place them here or there to match.

When all these letters are thus laid down
In words to make some form or sense
Then read by ones’ discerning eye
With open mind and no pretence.

Who reads these words I cannot know
But surely if when read they think
That thoughts they have become theirs now
Thus quill or pen make seamless link.

©Joe Wilson – to express oneself...2014

Hal drew his sword from it’s long sheath
and faced his nemesis on this dark heath
and fought for life and fought till death
his enemy taking his last foul breath.

Long times this family feud had raged
and in its wake young men had aged
for now the devil would breathe no more
till others rose to settle the score.

Returned he then to his peaceful life
sharing in joy with his new young wife
and she did bear him fine young sons
he hoped his violent past was gone.

But the devil will often find ways back
and thus with time came a new attack
so Hal’s son drew his father’s sword
this ancient duel his family reward.

The feud had lasted for ere so long
kinsfolk recalled it oft in song
of troubles over betrayals done
and deathly duels betwixt each first son.

And then one day Hal’s nemesis fell
and hurt them-self as he could tell
he lowered his sword and approached his foe
removing helmet let long hair flow.

This time it seemed there was no heir
but duty fell to the eldest there
and so the woman had taken up sword
for she too felt her kin’s reward.

But Hal had fallen deep in love
so swore that he’d not raise a glove
and she too felt her heart was won
the betrayal forgotten they were as one.

©Joe Wilson – A son’s tale…
This was just a story set in medieval England
where unimaginatively all first sons are called Hal.
I’ve tried to write it in that kind of style.

The night started slowly as we just sat and talked
We were waiting for our friends to arrive
We figured they’d be here by about half-past eight
As neither had finished work till gone five.

But the bottles of wine were lined up in rows
There were reds and roses, and there were whites
And as neither of our friends had arrived yet
Those bottles were full and clearly in our sights.

So we opened a red and a white one too
Mine a Shiraz, for I like a good red
My wife, well she started the white one
As a Pinot she much favours instead.

And the time it just got that much later
But our friends well they still hadn’t come
And as each of us was drinking the vino
Well it’s nice to raise a glass with a chum.

In the end our friends never did show up
It was next week not this, we were dorks
But we drank all the wine and enjoyed it
And now we’re just left with the corks.



©Joe Wilson – The wine bottle corks…2014

...nagging doubts (quelled)...

He arrived and saw her all alone
And wondered if she felt lonely too
Or if she had come here to their place with him
But then their eyes met and he just knew.

He still could feel the love of old
And hurt still from what she had done
But something told him she still cared
<em>Say something now or be undone.</em>

He slowly walked across the crowded room
His head still full of nagging sway
But seeing her so vulnerable, his heart reached hers
He took her hand and chased his doubts away.

Many years since that time have passed
Their love has grown and grown and grown
And of that time so long ago
They remember but keep their thoughts their own.


©Joe Wilson - ...oh the misplaced doubts of young men...2014

Black is the night
Black is the mood
Dark is the spirit
All evil imbued.

‘Tis now the zombies
Will walk the earth
Never finding peace
In their lifeless worth.

If they catch you
They’ll bring you down
Zombies live inside your mind
And not beneath the ground.

©JRW2014

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…’

The old hands don’t dust any more for Nell Pruitt
Since arthritis set in they just cannot do it
She shuffles through the flat with the aid of a stick
She was a proud working woman and it makes her feel sick.
To ask for the help that they don’t want to give
She’s certain that they’d prefer her not to live.

Nell had worked hard through the Second World War
One of the girls making bullets and more
Lots of her friends had gone of to the fight
Of some of them that was Nell’s last ever sight.
But she survived thankful and got married to Dan
Outliving their children was not part of the plan.

Dan passed away when he was just sixty two
Nell cried for a long time not able to move
Eventually though she worked her way through it
She was made of stern stuff old Mrs Nell Pruitt
And she did love the garden where she spent most of her time
Growing herbs for her friends, mainly rosemary and thyme.

Now the years have moved on and Nell’s hands are much worse
She looks on them just as another life’s curse
She’s seen the young doctor who’s treated her well
Not holding out hope from his face she could tell
So she shuffles about trying hard not to think
As the pain’s getting worse and Nell’s starting to sink.

©JRW2014

You were in deep thought when I last saw you
You never see me looking, I’m a shadow
I always admire your quiet dignified way
I want so much to speak, I have things to say.

I watch and wait and then see you leave
So what did my reticence even slightly achieve
I stand as that shadow each and every day
Hoping for the courage to just simply say.

Hallo, how are you, may I join you for a while
And perhaps I’d receive your radiant smile
But I’m just not that brave whenever I stop and think
I’m actually invisible and we couldn’t share a drink.



©Joe Wilson – In the shadows 2014

Racing now, well out of control
the charabanc rushed away down the hill
the man from in front who was carrying the red flag
ran after it with a powerful will
but the old charabanc had a full head of steam
and was not going to stop on its own
the driver it seems had left off the brake
and he too chased along as he moaned.

The speed limit set for this new kind of bus
was just four miles an hour at the most
but the speed it had gathered as it fair raced along
would easily get it first past the post
but this old charabanc was running on steam
so its boiler was pushing out clouds
and eventually all of the water ran dry
when it stopped in front of the crowds.

The driver caught up, the flagman caught up
as it happened there was no damage done
so they filled it with water and started it up
and sheepishly drove away from the fun
with the flagman in front with a frown on his face
as he listened to the charabanc’s hiss
for he no longer trusted the driver and his brake
and he was sure he’d not signed up for this.

©Joe Wilson – Charabanc on the run 1900

I dedicate this to my late grandfather-in-law, Norman, who as a boy carried the red flag. He later went on to own the company and I was very fond of him.

If you read this aloud with as broad a Lancashire accent as you can manage you'll get the idea I'm conveying. :-)

Angelic voices called to her
She faltered at beauty’s sound
She’d thought that she was doing well
Surprised that now she had been found.

The monsoon rains had brought her down
A fever struck so deep
Her strength gave out eventually
Her will began to seep.

She’d worked out in the harshest place
She’d dug and picked and sown
On land that others made profit from
The land was not her own.

She’d even had a child once there
And then just carried on
The baby wrapped up on her back
Her plaintiff cry so wan.

But now the time had come for her
Worn out at forty two
Amidst the constant poverty
Her death was nothing new.

They buried her and carried on
No tears upon their face
The crops still needed planting
Her daughter filled her place.

©JRW2014

Our journey is one that's fraught with danger
In decisions oft our choices make us doubt
But right to our final breath and from the manger
Guidance from our parents should help us out.

Oft-times we think ourselves alone.

The pain we feel can break us into pieces
With wreckage of us strewn across the floor
A gathering sense of wrong creates the creases
Of a life that doesn't want to breathe any more.

Oft-times we think ourselves alone.

Late at night when shadows begin their taunting
And the world will close itself behind locked doors
Is the time when sorrow begs the most affection
It's always someone's fault, even mine or yours.

Oft-times we really are alone.

©Joe Wilson - It shouldn't be this way...2014

I wander these passages
I’m searching for you
In my mental state
It’s the best I can do.
I don’t know who you are
Nor even myself!
I feel like a parcel
Just left on the shelf.
I’m aimlessly wandering
I’m not seeing you
And if I did
Would you seem at all true?
My thoughts are a jumble
They’re making no sense
And as I see no one
I find I am tense.
Why am I looking?
I’ve no real idea
And as I go wandering
I recognise fear.
It creeps now upon me
On my shoulder it sits
I’m getting more frightened
The fear comes in fits.
So what am I doing?
I haven’t a clue
I thought I was searching
Searching for you.
But I don’t know who you are
Nor even myself
So I guess I’ll just sit here
Alone on my shelf…


©Joe Wilson – Straying from my shelf…2015

The wind howled drowning out the shrieks of crows
As they harried and swooped at the buzzard above
Forcing him yet again to drop his hard-won  prey
And as the clouds thickened, and sky darkened,
All signs of light started to fade from the day.
A mighty thunderous storm was surely on its way.

Once more, I emptied the bucket, that now
Seems to permanently live in the loft
Always waiting, to catch that single drop of water
That somehow manages to find its way
Through the edge of the roof tiles, to drip
In perfect correlation with the rain.

Then it began…

It started with a gentle pitter-patter
On the sun-lounge roof  where it is always first noticed
Soon lightning flashed in its startling iridescence
Of pink and blue, to prove to us its presence
Shortly followed by the long mighty crash
Of  thunder as it tried desperately to catch up

And with it came a reservoir of rain

At the windows it rushed so break-neck fast
It seemed they would surely just burst or smash
A bird-table outside in the garden fell
With a loud breaking-to-pieces crash
And flower pots took to the air in unison.

Jugglers may spin plates around on sticks
I’ve seen more than a dozen spinning round
But the wind has no boundaries and hurled up high
Plastic pots of all colour and size and shape
Outside the window such a staggering sight
The pots now looked as if they were Heaven bound.

And then it stopped…

As suddenly as it had begun, the lightning disappeared
The thunder, after a last weak gentle rumble, fell silent
The rain changed to a light drizzle and finally stopped
It was as if it knew it had other places to call, and it had.
And in it’s wake the sun  peered wearily from behind the clouds
Daylight returned, and once more a sense of calm descended.

And as the wind gradually faded to a gentler breeze
And saplings that had bent over stood up again like trees
A small cascade of flower pots quickly fell to the ground
And added to the mess that the short storm had left
I turned my back and walked away to my den
That would be a tidying task for who knows when!

©Joe Wilson – The storm…2015

I didn’t realise. I was a fool
Just another government tool
Beavering away, working hard
Until I got the pensioner’s card.

And now my ancient bones all ache
I’ll need NHS for my health’s sake
But a third of contracts in sickness’ fray
Like my local hospital, they were given away.

People’s views all treated with disdain
The Health Service reeling from such internal pain
While the wealthy go private, it’s simple for them
The ire of voters won’t be so easy to stem.



©Joe Wilson – The Family Silver Sale or The Stafford Hospital Lament… 2014

Blow hard the wind on the stony seashore
blow all the cobwebs from out of your soul
sadness and sorrow no longer belong there
it's time to refresh and feel once again whole.

Crisp are the winds as they ease fears away
starting a dawn of a clear brand new day
face to the sun and look forward to life
go for the future and a purposeful way.

Look to tomorrow, there's no going back
beyond the horizon and over the crest
move honestly forward and aim to do well
and effort and promise will help with the rest.



©Joe Wilson - Moving forward 2014

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

She sits alone with her ancient thoughts
she's sat till she's covered in grime
she never moves from her rocking chair
she just wiles away the time.

What does go on inside her head?
what does she really think?
the pain has made her look so sad
with eyes that rarely blink.

Her hands are hard and calloused
the cracks are etched so deep
you sense she feels some fearful hurt
but never does she weep.

Some say she's sat for thirty years
They say she loved a sailor
It's also said all hands were lost
The prey to a ghostly whaler.

That ship set sail from Mulgrave Port
With fifteen men on board
The seas were rough and wind was hard
but fin whales beckoned Nor'ard.

A listing ship in thick fog banks
the crew fell to watery graves
they now haunt the eastern seaboard
or rest beneath those stormy waves.

So the old crone will sit there forever
she knows that her man won't return
she'll sit there and rock while she's waiting
to join him when Death calls her turn.

©Joe Wilson - Lost ships...2014 (originally 1992)

It was just a shadow
but the way it moved
scared the bejeebers out of me.

I was just about to put the key in the door
when the ******* shadow
passed through me and cast itself
right down the hallway

…and then it was gone.

It was raining and very windy
and after a short sharp shake of the head
I dismissed it and entered
and switched on the lights
– all of the lights.

Hang on…
How had a shadow been cast in the pitch black darkness!!

I was already miserable enough
I’d had a really difficult day at work
Dealing politely with someone you’d call a ****!


Suddenly – there was a sharp rap at the door
which upon opening revealed
children, one, two, three, four
“Trick or treat, Mister”, the young leader said
at which I grinned heartily
and recalling the juvenescence of earlier days
I was rushed back to reality and to him I said
“Trick”
fully expecting and prepared for a hideous mask or something.

In less time than it takes to say ‘Abracadabra’
the whole scene before me
turned red
I couldn’t make out at first what I was seeing
but then I realised that everything, everything was red.
Houses, trees, cars, even all the people
were all red.
Fiery red!!

I was in Hell – and I was terrified.
There was a long deep laugh
coming from – I didn't know where.
it just surrounded everything
including me – what was going on?

And then I remembered.
“No!! Treat!!,
I shouted at the top of my voice
and just as suddenly as it had all appeared
it vanished.
“That’ll be a dollar Mister.” the youngest lad said.

I gave him five dollars
and closed the door
and locked the door
and very firmly slid the bolts home
and put the chain into its slot too.
I went into the study and poured myself
a very large whiskey,
and sat down, still shaking,
in front of the fire.

I had never been so scared in my life.


©Joe Wilson – Trick…definitely not a treat…2014

You’ve been waiting for a transplant for a long time
Now a poor man who’s matched has just died
He agreed to give up his organs at death
So is fate now at last on your side?

But, the colour of his skin is not the same
And you’ve insulted his race in gross measure
He donated his organs with love in his heart
To give life to another to treasure.

Add hypocrisy now to your list of sins
For you’ll take the organs that are given
Perhaps when you wake you’ll be wiser
And from you the ignorance is driven.

He was a man, he had a wife
He had two children too
In fact you stupid bigot
He was just the same as you.

©Joe Wilson – On bigotry…2015

He looked out of his fine high-ceilinged office
He looked down at the city far below
With sleeves rolled up and his blood pressure mounting
Profits missing meant workers had to go.

He didn't care where they would come from
Little people never registered on his screen
He was totally focussed on making dollars
In that he was absolutely obscene.

A little way down from his high pedestal
Was where those desperate celebrities abide
Where they sit wafer-thin in dark glasses
As they feed like piranhas on the crowds.

And though the Hollywood moguls will use them
Because they are the puppets that they are
All memories of where they all came from
Are now just a small thing in the past.

Lower still you will find politicians
All waiting for the moment that is theirs
When they have the glory of the 'fifteen minute fame'
Before they fall back to their own obscurity.

We on the other hand gather down in the street
Like sheep we wait there in the hope that we'll meet
A top businessman who might give us a position
Or perhaps for a glance at a celebrity snob.

And just up above the media vultures hover
As they hope for a juicy story to break
They'll not care a fig for the lives they devour
Just the ratings for them are at stake.

As they say 'T'was ever thus' and it shall ever be
And it seems that frankly it can only get worse
You see my fine friend it's not the humans involved
It's simply the size of the ever-growing purse.

©Joe Wilson - Well we know where we belong don't we? 2014

If I raise my head I can see out the window
But I know it’s raining I can hear it
I’ll not raise my head
Why the hell is it raining
I’m supposed to be going for a job interview
And it’s raining…******.

I’ll be soaked to the skin and my hair will be
plastered to my ****** face again
just like it was at the last of these things
Where I was the blasted wet interviewee.

So why I ask did I not cut my hair?
I didn’t get it cut last time either
and I can draw a sad conclusion too
I don’t wan’t the job nor the mither.

So I know that it’s raining
I know I’ll get wet
It’s a thankless job anyway
So I’ll stay here in bed.

Get up, get up, lazy sod!
Oh God it’s my righteous inner-self again
**** and Blast!
One more pointless interview
coming up…



©Joe Wilson – A sort of pointlessness…2014

Where now the promises of five years ago
We’d all feel much better, but do we, O no!
Some having now to use a food bank
Children are learning in schools that are dank.


The roads have become a sea of potholes
Zero-hour jobs not much better than dole
Fewer police officers walking the beat
Feeling secure is becoming a treat.


The man at the top expounds thoughts anew
Deputy man has a different view
University fees we won’t let them change
In government though such things rearrange.


Rich businessmen avoid paying tax
Down below credit cards teeter at max
Inflation comes down as they try to impress
But energy bills never get any less.


The silent majority keep a stiff upper lip
As their security starts losing its grip
But it gets barely noticed in the Westminster bubble
For those less than rich will always spell trouble.


Naturally, of course, there’s a different view
From politicians cast in a different hue
All trying to wheedle their way to get votes
Filling our heads with more promissory notes.


Imagine if you will it’s December next year
Do you feel right now that you have less to fear?
Or is it the case that nothing has changed?
Just the furniture in Downing Street got re-arranged.


Maybe in fact it stayed exactly the same
And we voted back in this bad lot to the game
We can blame ourselves later, when we see what we’ve done
Ensuring that actually, we’ve really not  won.


©Joe Wilson – Where now the promises…2015

He was the sole survivor of a fairground ride disaster
and spent twenty-three months in hospital
– as they very carefully put him back together.
It had been such a lovely day for several friends
who had taken the ride, but when the bolts snapped
– they fell like dominoes on either side.

Only he survived, he’s full of anger, and weighed down with guilt
he’ll never walk again though, too much spinal fluid spilt
and though he recognises his Mum, he’ll never again speak her name
his larynx was crushed too in the fall and the new sound is not the same.

It takes so long but he taps each letter out on his new keyboard
then he blows in a cup and sound comes out through a strange cord
and although he doesn't remember his voice sounding so tinny as this
it is a voice of sorts, and it just has to do he guesses.

He’s up to Jack and Jill books now as his Mum helps him learn to read
it’s sad to see her in such pain when her eyes look into his and plead
but the words are hard to grasp now and he always does his very best
yet he lived while others didn't so some days he still feels blessed.

He hates it though when they wash him, a pretty nurse helps his Mum and when
– they wash him ‘down there’ he always wants to scream
he wishes that he could go to sleep and never wake again but then
– he feels the guilt and instead wishes he could wake to find it all a dream.

©Joe Wilson – Snap! 2014