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

I encountered the man near to an alley-way last night
He demanded my money, like a fool I chose to fight
It really wasn't as if I'd got very much cash
But the vagabonds behaviour was excessively brash.

So I told him that I wouldn't give it to him
And he pulled out a knife with a blade long and slim.

He then got so angry and he yelled to me GIVE!!
Or I'll stab you with this and you'll just cease to live
But I just wouldn't give up it's not how it's meant
I died with a look of utter be--wilderment.

So I'm writing this poem from up here in the sky
And Peter and my new friends, well we all say Hi!


©Joe Wilson - Utter bewilderment...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

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 child of the fifties, born in mid-forty-nine
We hoped for a future where all would be fine.
But many like me became angry young men
Things just weren’t so fine,  it was like that back then.
The class system flourished, it was ever thus
Kids from estates discouraged from fuss.
The woollen school blazer was so heavy in the rain
Barathea too expensive,  so much lighter again.
But the grammar school system saved so many of us kids
Success was on merit and we rose from the skids.
“You’re the top two percent who’ve got into these schools”
They delighted in telling us, the such snobbish fools.
And then it’s to work and a living to make
You give such a lot just for crumbs from the cake.
And surviving it all was a fight on your hands
The boss on your back with his pointless demands.
Men called for strikes which meant countless lost days
And wages reduced I recall through the haze.
The making of goods soon slipped into the past
Strike followed strike, it just couldn’t last.
But that was the then, and it can’t be retrieved
Ships, pits and steel in which folks all believed.
People took sides, but both sides were so wrong
Communities torn open that were previously strong.
A generation of workers were thrown on the dole
Made to feel of no value by those in control.
When crossing a picket line unsticks family glue
Through it the wives bore the brunt as they do.
Some men retrained to escape from such follies
Others just survived gathering supermart trollies.
And then we moved on into bright retrained days
Technology beckoned and computers amaze.
Learned how to programme them to do work for us
And all about memory and the serial bus.
Then we started to write and note it all down
And the hard looking back made us think with a frown.
It had not been so bad, as the anger suggests
Though life seems to be such a series of tests.
Part way we took turn to raise kids ourselves
Notes put to one side at the back of dark shelves.
With no one to teach us, we plodded down that road
Our children, so wondrous, sound paths they both strode.
Each has now married and set out for themselves
It’s past time to get back those notes off the shelves.
Sitting at the  keyboard and pondering life
Casting one’s mind back to those days full of strife.
It could have been different, I think that, we all know
But protagonists have muscle that they do like to show.

©Joe Wilson – Perhaps it was just an illusion…2015

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – The Road to Purgatory…2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Some lives are always violent…2015

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

And in the night when demons call
You hide inside your troubled mind
And hope you’ll not be found in thrall
By evil devils who are so unkind.

They seek you out to make you pay
For all the bad that you have done
The demons call most every day
Their endless war that can’t be won.

Till in the end they send you mad
A life can not be lived like this
And take your life you will, it’s sad
In your last breath, eternal bliss!

©Joe Wilson – When demons call…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

I see the lights of distant towns
yet hear the noise of happy sounds
while sitting, seeing in my cave
in total silence
……….…..like the grave.

My cave's a room
within a house
where I sit quietly
….………..as a mouse.

I cannot think
as thought is gone
from brain which stopped
……..…….it can't go on.

And so to dust
my body goes
reduced by maggots
…………...and fed to the crows.

©Joe Wilson - Desolation...2015

It was a solemn affair
The funeral
Everyone who’d ever known him
Was there
Some even liked him a little
But most
Had just come to make sure
He was dead.

Amongst these folk a little arm
Reached up
To hold a grown-ups hand
His lad
His eyes squeezed tight, so tight
Lest he cry
To him at least he’d been
Just Dad
To this young boy the man had been
His Hero
Criminal in life the man had left behind
The Innocent.
Only time would tell if that would
Remain the case.

©JRW2014

His mate sent a letter to his girl back at home
All the houses in their road put out flags
They were led to believe that the war wouldn’t last
By Christmas they’d be back at home smoking ****.

But it wasn’t so, he was still there on Christmas Day
With others just like him who were terrified
He’d heard they’d played footie somewhere miles away
But they carried on shooting and more men died.

He’d not really known how much a man could hate mud
But when it got in your food, then your eyes
And when you slept in it, and lived in it day after day
When men died in it their blood made dark dyes.

And the deafening noise of the guns just kept on
Till his eardrums had burst and made him deaf
The noise carried on like a dull thumping sound
He’d have run, but he’d got no run left.

All around him his friends were all dying
His mate with the letter had now gone
From the hundreds who’d been in the trench yesterday
Of the twenty-nine left, he was one.

What was this madness, again his heart cried
These men he must **** and for why
He couldn’t understand why the generals back home
Sent here all these young men just to die.

Then a round hit him just under his rib-cage
And the blood that oozed out was dark red
There was no medic nor anyone near him
So he bled out on his own till he was dead.

So another man lay in the mud dying
Still the reasons of why would remain
He just knew that those back at home waiting
Would get the sad telegram of pain.

©JRW2014

Our world cries out in sorrow again
People dying on lonely streets
And blood is shed and spirits crushed
It seems that history repeats.

Would that we could see the truth
Of all that’s good within our sight
That we would see our own great wealth
And help to ease another’s plight.

If we could see and do all that
And in ourselves we understood
Would we not find ourselves at peace
And know at least we’d done some good.



©Joe Wilson – The world cries…2014

…and so I stare at the metronome
as it counts away the beat
I lay my fingers upon the keys
after carefully adjusting the seat
but nary a delicate sound can I make
I played French Horn, the piano’s a mistake.

…but ivory keys  I would love to play
I’ll get taught somehow along the way
for I have heard no finer sound
in all the years I’ve been around
than when good fingers are laid on keys
to make great music designed to please.


…the classical sounds I learnt at school
I chose the horn as my delivery tool
for there was only a single grand
and sadly it was in such demand
but with my horn I had good tone
and skills in that field I did hone.


…time has passed and tastes have changed
and my life now is rearranged
I’ve not played horn in a very long time
I took to the pen and tried to make rhyme
while musical magic goes round in my head
often a classic or a jazz piece instead.


…with books and music and my muse at my side
I’ve lived a good life in a quiet countryside
but the one thing I’d like that I’ve still yet to do
is learn to play keyboard and play it well too
and one day I will, I’m certain of that
play a wonderful concerto…quite loud in E-flat!


©Joe Wilson – Musical notes…2015

O road take me back to my country home
Speed me quick for my heart missed it so
For wealth and good fortune I foolishly roam
Now home-bound I once again go.
To the trees and blossom of Springtime
Even to the bare twigs of Fall
Yet even to the frost of a cold Winter’s rime
In the country I feel I am all.

Once I travelled o’er great oceans deep
I saw beautiful skies so bright blue
Yet I dreamt of you whenever I’d sleep
In countryside of lovely green hue.
For much as I love the hill and the ride
And all of the beauty found there
If I couldn’t sense you here by my side
Such bounty would just seem so bare.

So over  great oceans I travel once more
I’m heading to you darling dear
My heart it is calling to one I adore
It beats faster as home draws me near.
O darling I can’t bear to leave you again
This journey is the last I’ll pursue
In the country with you, my very best friend
We will live under our sky of blue.

And on days perhaps spent in woods near the lake
Watching woodpeckers , jays and the brambling
We’ll sit by the lake with a picnic we’ll take
Watching lambs in the fields as they’re gambolling.
Our hearts will be full and so satisfied
We’ll walk hand-in-hand by the shore
We’ll play ducks and drakes and watch the stones glide
Who could ever want anything more.

At night our arms each other enfold
We’d lie in passionate embrace
Our love we’d give in manner so bold
And I’d watch your beautiful face.
I’d wonder how lucky a man such as I
Could ever have been so well blessed
Such thoughts would make me silently cry
As we lie in our cottage now at rest.

©Joe Wilson – My beloved and my country…2015

Thinking back now, knowing it wasn’t then the same
*** lives free and easy and the rest just a game
But recalling the names of my friends from back then
I find they’re so few now and I miss those young men
And I bless that I knew them as I take up my pen.

It was a time they called ‘swinging’ in the press of the day
But those of us there at the time just made hay
As we carelessly staggered through our wild teenage years
Racing round in cars with bad brakes and crunched gears
Till we arrived at adulthood and took on new fears.

Some of us got married and our lives felt complete
A few drowned in alcohol and lived on the street
While others tripped out just that one time too many
On the drugs that were freely available to so many
You literally could get them at ten for a penny.

But most of us moved on and we raised families
With mortgages or rent life was no social whizz
And our children carried hopes for things we’d failed to do
Such an ordinary tale that reflects me or you
But it all helps to bind us together like glue.

Now we find ourselves older and wiser perhaps
Managing to sidestep some of lifetime’s worst traps
And we pause for a moment and think of those days
Many of them spent in a drug-induced haze
And we’d not change a thing, we just shifted our gaze.

©Joe Wilson – Moving on…2015

I hear the wailing cries that call
They’re calling out to me
They call to draw the sailors down
To the shore at the bottom of the sea.

No one can ever resist their call
And so I fear I must go
If ever I find my way back home
Would I even really know.

The wailing calls grow louder
My captain lashed me to the mast
But the calls are strong and they took him
And I don’t know if I can last.

It matters not if you stop listening
For they find their way into your head
You just have to get away and onto dry land
Or they’ll pull you down to the sea bed.

At last I see dry land is yonder
It is almost within my reach
but the ropes that tie have undone now
And my feet can’t quite touch the beach.

I hear the wailing cries that call
They have now come to get only me
My mind is so full of their wailing
That I’m lost and can never be free.

©Joe Wilson – The sirens call…2014

With a languidness the great bird lifted itself off the branch,
It was much older now but it still had a mate and young chicks to feed.
From the hide across the hill the hunter could hear the steady beat
of those great powerful wings, slowly pounding out their regular note.
He watched, fascinated by the beautiful golden colours that gave the bird its name
as the great creature soared off up into the air, to begin its slow steady scout for food.

Now that the eagle was aloft you could almost hear a pin drop, save for the odd sound
of running water slowly trickling down the hillside into the burn far below.
The hunter had quietly settled in this spot some four hours ago before dawn,
he was comfortable and had set his rangefinder on the eerie right from the start.
Now he just had to wait, but patience was one thing that he had in spades.
His skills as a ****** had been fully tested in foreign lands some years before.

Too many of the enemy had appeared in the cross-hairs of his rifle sights
and when they had they’d never reached the end of that day, he was that good.
That had been the problem, being that good you get called on more until…
He swore he would never again pick up a rifle containing live ammunition,
so here he was preparing for the perfect shot with his ****** rifle,
waiting to put a tranquiliser dart into this majestic golden eagle above, to protect him.

He never expected that this work would be so fulfilling, but here in the hills
He found job satisfaction and this work was certainly worthwhile, and no one died.
The eagle had spotted something for he was starting to rise and tilt his wings.
The hunter had watched him for days and had become very familiar with his method.
He would circle to come in from behind of course, but this canny chap had a trick,
he would come in so low he was never really in the prey’s field of vision long enough.

There was the prey, a rabbit who wasn’t too alarmed yet, but that would soon change…
and there he goes, darting about in a zigzag trying to throw the monster off his trail
with the hunter watching the eagle down, and as he lined up to swoop at the rabbit
at almost a hundred miles an hour, the hunter fired and the great bird fell to the ground.
He fired at the point where the eagle was closest to the ground, not wanting to hurt him.
The rabbit lived and the hunter packed away his rifle and walked back down the hill.

Others would do the tagging and the hunter would wait for his next call……

©Joe Wilson – The Hunter…2014

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Man v man…2015

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

Carelessness



His large toolbox fell with a crash from the car
Spanners and wrenches and nails spread afar
But he gathered them all as best as he could
And piled them back into the boot as you would
Then he started the engine and set off down the road
Feeling quite weary from the day's heavy load.

It hadn't occurred to him to look under his car
He was tired and his journey was really quite far
But a large six-inch nail had got caught in the tar
And it punctured a tyre in a fast moving car.
The driver of that was too reckless that day
And the speed he was going was so fast they now say.

The car made a lurch and spun out of control
Then it veered to one side as it started to roll
It spun as it rolled and hit the side of a coach
The glass in the sides smashed like a cheap five-bob broach
But the damage was done and some passengers fell down
Right into the path of the car spinning round.

It scythed through their legs in a horrible way
The sounds of the screaming just wouldn't go away
And six folk lost their lives as the carnage went on
Imagination strained it was something beyond
The driver of course he was one of the dead
As the car wrapped around him and damaged his head.

The other man arrived at the end of his trip
Grabbed his box from the boot with a good grip
And set out to do the job he'd come her for
But could only find three six-inch nails not now four
He was sure he'd purposely put four of them in
He'd just have to and get another one again.

Joe Wilson - Carelessness...2014

Many years ago I witnessed a similar accident to this. As with most accidents it didn't need to happen.

We were just a bunch of teenage boys
Who’d grown up playing with Dinky toys
Who now sat in this Master’s class
Exams upcoming we had to pass.

With Fowler’s Usage in his hand
He strode amongst our hapless band
And taught us all of composition
And how to use a preposition.

He always wore a teacher’s gown
That seemed to match his careworn frown
With his long chin we called him Drac
While flirting ink-bombs at his back.

His language classes were of renown
And in them none would play the clown
He made it ever seem such fun
Including always everyone.

He also taught us English Lit
The class that was my favourite bit
Though as most favoured Shakespearean pickings
My personal choice was always Dickens.

While Edward Lear wrote tales of Nonsense
Charles Dickens had a social conscience
Writing tales of deprivation
Still he entertained the nation.

Our Master taught me all of this
And lost in books I am in bliss
And I thank Tom Davis for it was he
Who opened my eyes and set me free.

©Joe Wilson – The Master 2014

Winter has dumped her bounty upon us again
In snow-covered landscapes which to some are a pain
‘Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible’
Tractors pulling cars and more patients in hospital
Eventually it thaws and it all goes quite hoary
Returning our pothole-filled roads in all of their glory.


Spring is on its way though, so be of good cheer
Plants that were hidden now start to appear
Remember resolutions you made at New Year
In front of your friends who’ll remind you I fear
Now get on your bike as you promised you’d do
Get fitter this year, it’s a good thing to do.


Summer comes in with a rush of bright colour
Up comes the grass and the mower bag gets fuller
Mimosa and marigolds are out in full show
Mild summer breezes are starting to blow
Even as the nights start to draw in again
Red skies at night hold off much of the rain.


Autumn arrives with the wind through the trees
Unsticking leaves that have held on with ease
Taking them all on a trip through the air
Upstart that it is drops some here and some there
Many leaves are golden, others are bright red
Now dying back ready for winter instead.




©Joe Wilson – Seasonal Acrostic…2015

Have we really lost our way
Open warfare every day
Perhaps if some could compromise
Earnest talks could open eyes.

Sparing children from seeing death
Plaguing memories till dying breath
Rights of all, to live and be healthy
Interfering warmongers who only get wealthy
No money, the poor go to food banks
Guess you dine anywhere if you sell tanks
Somebody making a fortune from others.

Each bullet fired can **** someone’s brothers
Talks round the tables among heads of state
Extracting solutions before it’s too late
Roses should be given by lovers on a date
Not on the gravestones of victims of hate
Armageddon is the end-game we fear
Let’s step back from the edge,  it’s dangerously near.

©Joe Wilson – Hope Springs Eternal…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?'

Silence.

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.'

Silence.

Ezra smiled.
Ezra slept.

©Joe Wilson - Ezra's final conversation...2015

Near Derrington in country lanes
where hawthorns rest as Autumn wanes.

The redwings come and take their fill
gorge on berries ‘gainst Winter’s chill.

The cattle low and chew the cud
a weasel kills and draws fresh blood.

Carp to bottoms of ponds descend
as fields adopt their Winter trend.

A fox or two may yet appear
circling buzzards in skies so clear.

Though both are on the hunt for food
death in nature can seem so crude.

A toad may croak across the pond
hidden from view by reedy frond.

An hour one spends amidst all this
Rewards the soul with utter bliss.



©Joe Wilson – In country lanes… 2014

Bathed in sweat he climbed
Out of his pit of despondency
And even as he struggled on
Its tentacles gripped in tight restraint
For life’s traumas can drag a man down
But nothing, nothing, can prepare him
For the pains suffered by those he loves so much
When there is absolutely nothing he can do to help.

…and that is the ******* problem.

©Joe Wilson – It’s personal…2015

There was I
And now I’m not
I’m lost like you
In life’s gavotte.

The world it spins
We all stand still
To make a move
We need the will.

Who will start
Will it be me
Or shall I wait
Well we shall see.

©Joe Wilson – Yet at a standstill 2014

Relentlessly the hard rain falls
Filling rivers, then people’s halls
From coast to coast across the land
Built-on flood plains, foolish plan.
Water’s nowhere left to run
Clearing mud off floors – no fun
Twenty years, no rivers dredged
Agencies failed to keep their pledge
To support environments welfare
I wonder if they really care.

They say that it will get much worse
More than one has left by hearse
Meanwhile winds have picked up too
Downing trees as roofs unglued
Causing damage at bills untold
Premium help-line costs unfold

The political football has now been tossed
As always, it’s the ‘us’ who've lost.
Ministers forced into too-late action
Doing it to just gain vote traction.
It should have happened years ago
Sadly it’s how we always go.
Nothing happens till lives are lost
And that becomes the priceless cost.
Somethings that can’t be replaced
Perhaps at last it might be faced.

©JRW2014

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

Part One

A man left a prison this morning
he'd been there the last fifteen years
when he walked down the mean streets of Jesup
he'd resurrect all of their fears.

He was a man, no different to others
though he kept himself to his peace
but the anger all stored up inside him
was destined for violent release.

A young girl had been murdered in Jessup
and he'd been a stranger in town
they said that he'd beaten and stabbed her
he hadn't, but they still sent him down.

His first thoughts were for retribution
he'd beat them and they'd feel the pain
like he felt when they kicked him in prison
again...and again...and again.

Now he travelled to seek not just vengeance
he needed to get back his name
so someone was going to suffer
and others would pay for his shame.

He'd walked out of prison in Jackson
and boarded a train to Mobile
By Greyhound he reached Pensacola
where he rested and took time to heal.

Part Two

In Jesup he woke with a headache
to the loud urgent ring of the phone
he remembered that night and that poor girl
and he let out a long quiet moan.

It was Hedley the new County Sheriff
he said for the man to go down
he could call at his office in Jesup
or pack up his things and leave town.

Such a bright sunny day as he stepped out
not one single cloud in the sky
a gunshot and a burning sensation
The man fell and knew he would die.

To Hedley the man was real guilty
keeping peace meant he wanted him out
he thought back to the slaying that morning
the dead man's last words cried like a shout.

A young man had rushed up to help him
there was nothing to do he could see
but as he died the man whispered something
"Tell the Sheriff son, it never was me."

A young had suffered so many year before
and the case had been closed a long time
but the wrong man had gone into prison
or his death had no reason or rhyme.

The girl needed justice as the man did
Sheriff Hedley would never be the same
for he promised the girl and the dead man
he'd catch her killer and clear the man's name.

Epilogue

A bullet was found by the dead girl
a matched one lodged in the man's heart
the second one carried a thumb print
for the Sheriff, a good place to start.

©Joe Wilson - Where was the justice then...2014 (re-shod from 1992)

While those around him were going mad
he stood completely still
then he saw what he was looking for
picked it up and went to the till.

The madness took him by surprise
it was truly beyond belief
so when he’d found what he wanted
he’d left with a sigh of relief.

Things were thrown and tempers flared
it was well beyond the pail
and that was the only visit he made
to a January sale.

©Joe Wilson – The January Sales (his only visit) 2014
[just a bit of fun]

I often wake up in the night these days
and if I lie very still and quiet
listening to the house I’m rewarded
as it makes all the nightly noises
that I find are so very reassuring.

Crack!! I recognise that sound
as the little lumps of ice falling
down a chute at the back of the fridge
as it defrosts itself by some
magical force once again.

If I wake soon after I fall asleep
I can still hear the creaking sounds
of the furniture as the springs
seem to relax and get themselves ready
for those who will use it next.

Should I wake nearer to dawn I hear
the gentle gurgle of the hot water
as it makes its way along the pipes
warming the house for the new day and
getting us all ready to rise and face it.

When the day is bright I hear the roof tiles
as they tighten up when the warmth of the sun
slides over the trees at the bottom of
the garden and gradually release their
wonderful rays of light on the house.

It is life and it should never, ever, be taken for granted.

©Joe Wilson – The tells 2014

Woven throughout the passage of time
a life image of every soul
each setting out on its journey
and striving to reach the goal.

Often falling along the way
each choice a test of fate
and wrong decisions that will be made
results we don’t anticipate.

A bitter word here, a kind word there
differences that we settle
choices for peace or violence
oft put us on our mettle.

Encounters on the way we make
can cause us so much ill
but choices that we make for good
will linger with us still.

And so we make our journey
each move is new and fresh
the aim to be true to one’s self
from that day we leave the crèche.

Perhaps we choose a mate ere long
to help and guide us through
the best ones are the ones we love
they help to keep us true.

We have our faith, a private thing
it helps us as we travel
and when we stumble and we fall
we sometimes will unravel.

It’s then we test in our belief
and sometimes we’re found wanting
but guidance from within the faith
can make our tasks less daunting.

And so we pick our way again
our faith perhaps restored
and certainty that lives well spent
are blessed and never bored.

If we work hard and we believe
and keeping faith try not to stray
a time will come at journey’s end
when we will see the better day.

©Joe Wilson – Keeping faith 2014

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

My heart aches, but not for you
For you nestle here beside me
Lying peacefully in my arms
Head resting on my chest
And I am in Heaven.

My heart aches, but at your presence
For I have never deserved you
I couldn't have imagined
You could love me as you do
And yet you really do.

My heart aches, but for our parting
For I must go and yet may never
See your beloved face again
And my heart breaks in pieces
As now I leave this final time.

©Joe Wilson - My heart aches... 2014

An innocent man though charged was he
For crimes so vile too despicable to bear
But sentenced to servitude indefinite
Behind dark bars his now wasted life.

The Winter days dragged long and weary
Penetrating cold congealed his once pure heart
The hurt he felt, humiliation now complete
His need for revenge, or pride at least, restored.

He sat and waited and counted off the days
Till then his moment kept at length
But time would come when he would strike
And hurt, and life would be undone.

No more he’d take from them the crumbs of fear
The lies of those who for so many so little cared
Would be swept aside as the truth so brightly revealed
No wrong he’d done, as die he now would, his conscience clear.

©Joe Wilson -A dark kind of retribution...2014

Waking from an eternal sleep
To see that fate had played a hand
But destruction wrought upon the world
Was impossible to understand.

The air is still so polluted
Though not as bad as once before
At least the belching chimney pots
Don’t push out black smoke any more.

Swathes of roads through forests
Means magnificent trees are gone
That vital part of the equation
Giving oxygen to every single one.

Not content with destroying all of those
We pollute our beautiful rivers too
Putting pesticides across out the land
That are eaten by wildlife, and me and you.

We fill our greedy faces
With processed food that’s poor
So many children these days
Don’t see real food anymore.

And then, as if that’s not enough
We **** each other too
What on earth do we do that for
It’s obsolescence for me and you.

©Joe Wilson – Our fate…? 2014

I looked over yonder
And what did I see
An elephant, yellow
By a big pink tree.

Elephant, yellow
This cannot be
Are my rheumy eyes
Playing tricks on me!

When I looked round again
I saw grass of red
Surely that grass
Should be green instead.

And then a blue horse
Trotted into the scene
’twas the funniest place
That I’d ever been.

I took a step further
As I was feeling bold
Whence a group of green angels
Carried me into the fold.

The rivers there were purple
And the oranges were grey
And everywhere I looked about
People were at play.

The happiness was warming
I felt it in my heart
I loved just being in here
I felt I was a part.

And then a very loud voice
Did sonorously boom
“Who do we have here now
In this lovely coloured room?”

My name is simply Joe
I very meekly did call out.
For I was far too bothered
To raise my voice above a shout.

A huge door then just opened
And I simply passed right through
A large bearded man then said
“How do you do.”

I said, “What was that place
Where the loud voice boomed.”
He said, “That Mr Nosey
Is the oddments ante-room.

“Anyway Mr Nosey
what is it that you want.
I’m waiting for a party
from a crash in North Vermont.”

“I’m a very busy man you know
Why are you even here?
Go off and get yourself back home
And drink a lot less beer.”

©Joe Wilson – St Peter, humour, and the cost of drinking too much…2014

I made a friend in May, it was  a long long time ago
In nineteen ninety four, that’s twenty years or so
By the door to a hospital we chatted and generally chewed the fat
Him there after a heart attack, me a by-pass, and that was that.

A table is what we spoke of and the fact that I needed one
He said, ” I’ll make one for you, but a condition, there’s just one
I’ll make you your new table and you must help me where you can.”
I wasn't sure what I’d walked into, but I agreed to my new friend’s plan.

So together we laboured at it, him working at his trade
Before long we’d made a table, even rails with carved rose ends
I'm not much of a joiner, to think I am is daft
But it was a genuine pleasure, seeing my friend alive at his craft.

Time has passed on so very much, a long time since that May
My wife and I sit by that table every single day
It’s withstood things you’d not believe and yet it is still game
And the friendship that was born that day, well that has done the same.

©JRW2014

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…


BANG!!!!

©Joe Wilson – Bang…2016

Up we go, up the stairs
To sleep or dream or play with bears
Under cover with ‘secret’ lamps
Beds turn into night time camps
Where special messages are passed about
“Only in whispers, you mustn’t shout.”
’cause we’re asleep our parents think
Our tired red eyes are on the brink…

Then “wake up children, time to go,
one more day at school you know.”
Off we race to get to class
To take some tests we hope to pass
Then running home at end of day
Homework, tea, and then we play
amazing games in the weekends
having fun with all our friends.

©JRW2014

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

A new life…


And so they gave her chamomile
To restore her sense of calm
But each and every person there
Saw pointlessness in balm.
She would now always live in fear
He’d died, she was on her own
And she who’d lived a  fragile life
Would spend her days alone.

And live she did, surprising most
A new life she took to
Her past fragility she shook off
In fact she even flew.
Around the world she travelled
To countries far and wide
And everywhere she journeyed
His heart felt by her side.
Until at almost ninety-nine
She then called it a day
Whilst jumping from an aeroplane
She kept her chute in stay.
But those who jumped out with her
Saw her face was so sublime
She shouted she was going now
To join him, it’s now time.
And so she fell down to the ground
Though gently she did fall
Carried down to  earth in peace
As if held by her lover’s thrall.

©Joe Wilson – A new life…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

I wish that I could see the dawn
That follows the one of my demise
For I could then tell all of you
If ‘there’ beyond is truth or lies.

And if I did see dawn it’s true
That to a better place we go
But if I don’t see that new dawn
Then I could never let you know.

And so your journey you will make
Some with husband, some with wife
And you will find out for yourself
If there  exists that better life.

©Joe Wilson – By dawn’s early light…2015

She was so young
she was poorly educated
she took drugs and drank far too much
she was so vulnerable
so very pregnant
so terribly scared
so desperately poor…and alone.

She took a step!

She took more drugs
and drunk more *****
and figured to die
she had nothing to lose.

But the baby!

It didn’t die.
She didn’t die.

Did she get help?
Was she given counselling?
Is she now able to breathe a sigh of relief
that someone stepped in for her!

No!

She is in prison.
She is charged with
attempted ******
of her baby.

Of course she was wrong.
But the law is too strong.
She needed help.
She needs help.

She is a victim too!

©Joe Wilson – I see no compassion… 2014

He woke up
thus it was a good day.

By the time he was dressed
he was just about ready
for his first cup of joe.

He walked down to the nearest eating place
and ordered breakfast, plus their largest coffee
– black.

The eggs were good, the bacon too and
though the coffee was only adequate
sadly it just had to do.

He got out his phone and called his partner
who must have been waiting for him
as he was there in minutes. He too had a coffee
– black.

He put some money on the table
and they both left.

So far it was still a good day.

Things change and sometimes
in the least expected way.

They got in his partner’s car and
his partner pulled away from the kerb.

They both heard the loud grinding noise
a lifetime before they ever saw anything.
the force of the out of control wagon
drove their car right over an embankment
and down a four foot bank into deep water.

Had they not been killed by the crash they
would have drowned anyway as the car was
buried in the mud at the bottom of that
particular gravel pit by the weight of
the wagon on top of it.

It hadn’t been a good day after all.
Not a bit of it.

©Joe Wilson – Unintended consequences 2014

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