There were so many of them, and they were so ill
But he was a nurse and he went of free will
Into the heart of Ebola-filled houses
Full of sick husbands and children and spouses.
In extraordinary suits that covered the body
With death a reward for doing it shoddy
They covered up everything one’s eye could see
This image is of courage to people like me.
But if you should think that it wasn’t too bad
Let me dispel those fool thoughts that you might have had
For many of the nurses and some doctors too
Died along with their patients, as some brave people do.
This nurse was infected like others before
But he’s fully recovered and gone back to help more.*

©Joe Wilson – Only the brave…2015
A small tribute to William Pooley, a nurse who survived
being infected with Ebola and returned to Sierra Leone.

He sits very still in concentration
In his search for the memory within
And he lets his mind go wandering free
As he looks for the answer to what will be
And then he spots it and grasps the thought
The only solution, his last resort
So finally he looks out of his eyes
To see the problem that his brain denies
He can now remember how to climb the stairs
But chooses instead to sit in one of the chairs
The answer has all but flown away
The stairs will wait for another day
And later with the thought completely gone
He no longer remembers there ever was one.

©Joe Wilson - Lost... 2014

Easing into the day in languid torpidity
he slowly unwinds to face the sun
and like every other sloth before him
he moves so very very slowly
you wouldn't even know he’d begun.

©Joe Wilson – Just lazing about 2014

Let’s hear it for the sloth :-)

Moonlight casts out its magical spell
Again I feel that deep pleasure
Yet when you gaze upon it’s face
It loses lustre by no small measure.

For such is your beauty that all else will pale
When everyone meets you they smile
Your kindness just simply amazes my heart
You make each of us feel worthwhile.

O lucky man I, that I got to share
A lifetime spent here by your side
Immersed in such love and your radiance
With a heart that is bursting with pride.

And now here in twilight I gaze at your lips
That have kissed me with such sensuous touch
And I know as I smile and think of our life
That I have and I still love you, so very much.



©Joe Wilson – Moonlights casts a spell…2015

I look in wonder at all I see
each flower, tree, bird and bee.

All these amazing things on earth
that fill its air and all its girth.

But what do we civilised animals do
we cut them, burn them, shoot them too.

We ravage forests for our own needs
ignoring harm we do to breeds.

We only think about ourselves
of stocking up our winter shelves.

Or eating so we get so fat
you don't see 'animals' doing that!

We fill the skies with poisonous gases
killing each other with bombing passes.

Destroying wildlife habitats
to build new roads and boxy flats.

That stop the waters soaking in
and flood the lands that we live in.

And then we have a conference
where those who care get all incensed.

As promises and targets are pencilled in
with chance of action's wearing thin.

In years to come when it's too late
we'll wonder why we let it wait.

©Joe Wilson - There is only one Earth...2014

It's getting a little late...

I have everything and yet nothing, nothing at all
I lie sometimes thinking and it’s you I recall
A smile here, a touch there, a moment for us
But perhaps not enough to even discuss
But though they've been few and a long time apart
They've imprinted you firmly into my heart.



©Joe Wilson – Everything and Yet Nothing 2014

He was often a little shy round the opposite ***
His shyness caused so often his mates to be vexed
But this lady he decided he’d ask for a date
Though he fully expected a miserable fate.

So he asked her to dinner one summer long ago
And to his utter bewilderment she didn’t say no
They fell for each other and they talked all night long
And from that night on his heart filled with song.

Each Valentine’s Day he sends her a rose
He oft writes her poems or occasionally prose
His love no bounds nor does her love for him
Each feeling their hearts are filled to the brim.

No longer that shy like he was once before
They married and he carried her over the door
She bore him two children who they love oh so much
Their love so ethereal, bewildering to touch.

If ever you meet the person who makes your heart glow
And you’re both free to love, then perhaps let them know
You’ll both read the signs and then maybe it will be
That you too will have a life as happy as me.



©Joe Wilson – No longer shy…2014

Undressed, she hooked him, a feast for his eyes
Wearing only deceit like a shawl
But still he found himself trapped by her lies
As he waited for night when she demanded his all.

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

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

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

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


©Joe Wilson – In passion…2015

The rains seem to have finally subsided
At least it seems so for now
Mopping up the sodden devastation
Amid many an insurance row.

Some now say that dredging will not work
But surely history proves that it’s right
Though never a complete solution
At least it reduces the plight.

But politics now comes into play
It’s crucial to be seen in the right
So decisions that were taken only yesterday
Can so easily be changed overnight.

Climate change is with us for good now
It’s become part of our way of life
And solid steps will need to be taken
To end frequent bad weather strife.

But Chancellor’s have always cut budgets
And none have done more so than this
In fact in all of the service programmes
People see themselves staring into the abyss.

It’s all about how they look to the voters
For we carry their careers in our cross
For otherwise I think most politicians
About the plebiscite just wouldn’t give a toss.

We have wards now closing down in our hospitals
There are schools that are never repaired
A benefit system, though flawed, is besieged
Yet the rich tax avoiders still get spared.

So the land, like these other things will lose out
The efforts will cease as will the rain
Till the next time that the heavens all open
And ordinary folk again feel the pain.

There are houses that are ruined forever
Some insurers refusing the bill
Flood defenses that seem barely adequate
Properties from before empty still.

On sodden fields where houses keep rising
And new concrete covers over flood plains
Where tenants often get such poor insurance
And the country just never sees the gain.

But it’s the ‘I’m alright Jack’ way of the politicos
Who mostly live in their ivory towers
They’re the ones who aren’t making decisions
Yet the ones wielding all of the powers.

So the’cross’ is our one powerful weapon
It’s the most powerful thing in the land
We should all make so sure that we use it
And make all of these fools understand.



©JRW2014

He died in a pool of disgust
after a lifetime of self-loathing
a life in which he had abused people
their trust, and even his own family's good name.

He had been a terrible person by his own reckoning
and he was filled with remorse -- but also self-pity.

It was thus that he found himself before his Maker
and he fully expected errors had been made in the direction
of his post-life travel arrangements.

His Maker looked at him and said,
"You are one sorry son,
and you've been a great disappointment."

"I", he spluttered.

"Interrupt me not, for I am not in the least finished.
You have stolen yet not hurt, you have hurt though not killed,
you have killed but only in the name of your country,
peace and negotiation and compromise seemingly beyond
the gift of human understanding."

he heard him say,
for he was far too afraid to look upon his countenance.

"You have cursed and been ungodly
but you have cared for your old neighbour.
You have drunk to excess and yet have always
got to and done a days work.

Heaven only knows how sometimes.

You have had fights in the streets
though you have indeed tried to reform.
You have never listened to My Word
when I could have helped you and
it surely pained me to see you struggle.
You are one mixed-up man."

He was agog as his sorry life was so
painfully listed before him, and
he was sorely afraid of his fate.

His Maker went on, "However,
you are basically a good man adrift.
somewhat confused and in a morass of self-doubt,
and I would not cast you down to my
Greater Disappointment below,
where you would surely not enjoy
-- a single moment.

Get yourself in here lest I change my mind.
Do not think that this is the end of it, for
you have much to redeem yourself for
and my rooms are many."

Without another word his Maker disappeared
and he was amidst a wondrous throng.
He felt completely enlightened and knew
he had been saved. His heart was so full
and he felt a goodness he'd never known.
He truly wished he could pass this feeling
on to those he had left behind and that
he could make up for his past wrong-doing.

"You will my boy," he heard. "You will."



©Joe Wilson - All that is... 2014

I see a fine looking lady sitting on a hill
Pretty flowers all around her and she’s sitting so still
She is watching a little girl play with a ball
She smiles at the sight and is totally enthralled.

The little girl laughed as she chased the ball down
If she got too far away the fine lady frowned
One time the ball ran over my way
So I rolled it right back, she continued to play.

The lady then opened a hamper to eat
There were biscuits and cakes and many a treat
The little girl tried a small sandwich at first
Biting it gingerly with her tiny lips pursed.

She was smiling again as she ate a cream cake
That was much more enjoyable, there was no mistake
After fruit juice and tea it was all put away
They gathered their things and called it a day.

I often see them both up on the hill
I sit here and watch them and smile
The girl calls me Daddy, the fine lady, dear
And we all leave together for our home close to here.

©JRW2014

As a boy he’d not really imagined
What his life would be like as a man
Oh he’d had lots of dreams like all boys did
But he’d hoped he could be Superman.

But of course life doesn’t turn out quite like that
And he’d moved through his youth at a pace
As a man he’d set forth and in a grown way
Got a job and joined in the rat race.

On the way he met a woman and she loved him
A woman who even now has such grace
They bought a small house in a village
And moved in and lived life slower paced.

The rat race proved too much for his taste
He got out and then slowed down his life
He started to write down his thoughts every day
And he spent more precious time with his wife.

Many years have passed by in the village
The shop’s gone, and the Post Office too
And some of their old friends aren't alive any more
And they think of them fondly, they do.

They’re getting on now as age takes the years
They still love each other more every day
And they’re happy that they chose to live this life
For them it was always the way.

©JRW2014

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson - Scars...2015

In woeful ignorance man toils away
A crust for the table, for his kin
Wealth creation with barely a whisper
Is so often the wages of sin.

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – One planet , one goal…2015

Moulded together in love and pain
They were always by each other’s side
That’s how for life they chose to remain
Each to the other was their pride.

Heartaches came and went yet still
They were steadfast in their love
Held together by their simple will
They fitted like a hand in a glove.

They aged and their bodies grew fragile
Yet that love still carried them along
As a thing that was always so, tactile
It sustained, it was so very strong.

And then one day they were there no more
But their love was now so cast in stone
That devotion to each other went right to the core
As holding hands they passed into the unknown.

©Joe Wilson – Holding hands…2015

So tired I drift in long deep sleep
In thoughts of you that keep me warm
Inside a place of peaceful dreams
I find you in ethereal form.

And holding hands in sweet repose
Retelling words of love and faith
While wrapped in dream-like timeless mist
My arms enfold to keep you safe.

As wakefulness returns at dawn
No longer are you there to see
But opened eyes can now reveal
Your earthly form lies next to me.

Retelling words of love and faith
And wrapped in ageless passion we
With open eyes and open hearts
Who else but you could be with me.

©Joe Wilson – Words of love and faith…2015

In moving through our hope-filled lives
A fork so oft presents itself
And choices made, we set to strive
Determined, we abandon stealth.

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – It is who we are…2015

He remembers
back to a time
when the black dog
hung around his neck
like a heavy yoke, he
could never be rid of
the terror that the pain
would not someday return
to seek him out and strike
him down again, and the knowing
how close he had come to succumbing
to the excruciating pain of the blood
pouring out of his brain and down his
spine only to lodge in his vertebrae.

He remembers edging closer to the crowded
platform’s edge too filled with fear to realise
the probable selfishness of what he was about to
do, only vaguely aware of where he actually was but
just able to register that touch on his right arm
and the voice that quietly whispered to him “I don’t
really think you want to do that.” He remembers turning
round to see who had said it and seeing that there was just
a crowd of commuters all going about their business, of the
owner of the voice there was no sign, but it had been enough, it
had been enough to make him realise where he was for the moment
passed and he made his way back, back to the arms of the woman who
had always loved him, and who had carefully, lovingly nursed him back to
health over such a long time, and he wept, he put his head on her gentle
shoulder and he wept as he had never wept before, he wept for all pain
he still felt and he wept for all the selfish pain he would have caused this
woman had he let himself fall, for that surely had been his intention.

©JRW2014

Wouldst that I could walk with you
Down verdant paths near forests deep
While buzzards hunt from lofty view
Nocturnal creatures gently sleep.

To silent ripples of narrow brook
Your gentle hand fills mine
A journey ere long undertook
My life with you divine.

And as we stroll in Nature’s thrall
My heart and yours as one
I cannot bear to think of times
When these such things are gone.


©Joe Wilson – Ere long… 2014

By choice he always sits alone
He makes capacious notes
Rarely moving very fast
Never raising
--- old dust motes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Purgatory is hell…2015

His death could oh so easily have been avoided
At eighteen he was far far too young to die
But the belief that lay within him was so powerful
Now his family have just the memories and they cry.

Men have always gone off fighting for their ideals
And their kinsfolk are the one’s put under strain
For the sickening news that often gets brought to them
Turns their once sun-happy days to ones of rain.

It doesn’t matter a single jot whose side they fight on
The resulting family heartache is still the same
There are those who would use these young men’s keenness
And exploit them in their own political game.

There’s a funeral now as another boy is laid down
And his family are beside themselves in grief
But governments have been this young man’s killer
Politicians stole his heartbeat like a thief.



©Joe Wilson – A stolen heartbeat…2014

Slowly she took a bite out of the peach she was holding
A small trickle of juice glistened on her little chin
She didn’t care, nor stopped to wipe it away
She just looked about her taking everything in.
And in that innocence I think I felt
All the years of joy that we had had
When watching our own two children grow
And the simple pleasure of just being dad.

Slowly they grow and make their own way
Out into the world of unknowing
To hopefully be happy and find that in life
Contentment comes from kindness you’re sowing.
And later perhaps they will understand
That money and wealth aren’t the thing
It’s simply observing your children
That will make a loving heart sing.

©Joe Wilson – Growing up…2016

A man can fancy himself a lover
He can fool himself so well
But without he’s kind and thoughtful too
He’ll remain a man for whom no one fell.

We foolish men with egos writ large
Our pride makes us oft so foolhardy
And in arrogant fashion we think we’re the best
Like a hero carved out by a Thomas Hardy.

And yet when we give all we are to the one
To the one who can bring joyous tears
That person will give all they are in return
O true happiness! You just grow through the years.

Love will make your heart shine bright
It will lift away your fears of lonely
For when you’re with the one you love
It is never a time of being the only…

©Joe Wilson – We foolish men…2015

Twenty-three pairs of chromosomes
That’s forty-six in all
Are in the human body
And generally having a ball.
Until something goes very wrong
And trillions of molecules go wild
And cells grow odd and multiply
In bad ways not required.
And in any part of the body
Those cells can go awry
And sadly that often means cancer
To the likes of you and I.

There’s a battle raging through your body
And another going on in your mind
You’ll be asking all kinds of questions
And want answers of every kind.
Then you’ll wonder if this was your fault
If you’d done something to cause this vile hitch
But no, as your body is under assault
Rest assured it’s ‘cause life can be a *****.
But fight the *****, that’s what you must do
Because really you've no other choice
And beat the thing back and make sure you win
Those who love you will breathe out and rejoice.

©JRW2014

I felt the smallest of glimmers of a poem
it was there near the front of my mind
then something more pressing needed doing
the glimmer just vanished leaving nothing behind.

Now I sit with my pen poised over paper
hopeful for its return like a friend
for it might show itself as it so often does
ideas in my head tend to follow this trend.

Then comes the rush as it all flows at once
I write with an amazing turn of speed
I have to get it down while it sits in my head
Till the last full stop satisfies that need.

All done now, I put pen and paper aside
leave the room with the ode in my head
later to return and juggle with the words
whether to use this or that one instead.

The glimmer of a poem just entered my head
this time I've made a note to remind
now I'll return my attention to this one
as I untangle these thoughts in my mind.

Joe Wilson - in ictu oculi... 2014

I was lying in ambush being totally still
When the red deer wandered into the glade
A handsome young buck about three years old
With fine youthful antlers he proudly displayed.

He was among a few other young juvenile deer
But he was clearly the one that stood out
And in a few years time at the annual rut
He’d be a new leader I’d got no doubt.

He already stood with that majestic stance
On his antlers the rights showed fine bearing
And when the others trotted with him for company
It was almost a smile he was wearing.

But he was mine now and I’d earned him well
I’d waited for him the whole of the night
And there in the centre of my reticule
He was standing alone in full sight.

I was fully prepared for what I was to do
My kit all in camouflage as was I
And just at the moment the young buck looked up
I shot and caught him in his perfect eye.

The slight sound from my camera spooked him
In a flash he vanished into thin air
But when I looked at the screen on the camera
His image was noble and was there.

It is ten years now since I shot him
And a fine leader he went on to be
I sometimes catch sight of him up on the hill
And just for a while he’s looking at me.



©Joe Wilson – The shot… 2014

Tender is the heart that breaks at night
when hurt will come and cause such ache
and sleep will never come to stop
the tears that fill the deep dark lake.

A kindly word could change things
but so rarely is it heard
it would show the pain is understood
but she never hears a word.

He lies there too in his own thoughts
not beginning to understand
they loved each so much one time
their life  is not as was planned.

But how very different it could have been
if only they had both spoken
it had only needed some kindness
and now both their hearts are broken.

Tender is the heart at night that loves
as it searches for its soul-mate
it needs to feel that it is cherished
before it suddenly gets too late.

Tender is the lonely heart
tender the lonely soul
pride can make you drift apart
but your heart will bear the toll.

©Joe Wilson – Tender is the heart…2014

This reckless place that is my mind
That shows me much, though oft I’m blind
Has nonetheless led me to you
A glorious, amazing thing to do.
And that alone brings other pain
That I might not see you again
For as we age our body’s tire
I say ‘who cares’, I call me liar.
But side by side we love and chat
Laughing, remembering this and that
And in your tender arms in bliss
O Lord please let us go like this.

For all eternity we will stay
As lovers, as we are today.

©Joe Wilson – For all eternity…2015

He walked a willing mile
To see if all was lost
He made a dreadful error
And he feared the awful cost.

He walked the mile to see her
He knew he'd been so wrong
The slight that he had caused
The evidence seemed so strong.

He'd realised that he was wrong
Another had poisoned his mind
And he had been so gullible
He'd not been very kind.

Love's tricky path he realised
Was a difficult place to tread
With dark and cruel danger
If you let others into your head.

So now he walked the willing mile
In the hope of being forgiven
And though he knew it wasn't due
He'd grovel if he was driven.

She hurt so much as she saw him
Anger and love filled her heart
She'd make him earn her forgiveness
But she'd never drive them apart.

But she wondered why men were so foolish
Why they took other's words with such ease
Why sometimes they only worked at love
As if they were shooting the breeze.

©Joe Wilson - He walked a willing mile...2014

Scarred from the relentless passage of time
pitted with acid rain and covered with grime
forgotten by those who oft pass it by
gazed rarely upon by anyone’s eye.

A proud little monument in a field far away
with now faded words and a family shield
his nation had called and he’d gone off to war
though he and his friends didn’t really know what for.

And if you should wander and wonder at it
you’ll probably feel as if you have been hit
by the words that you see that are writ thereupon
“It is with such sadness that I bury my son.”

The last words they had came back home in a letter
“It can’t go on Father, it has to get better
the killing is awful, they’re young men much like us
Please kiss dearest Mother, and a Merry Christmas.



©Joe Wilson – His last words (25 December 1914)… 2014

The natural home of the poet
Is not among society’s elite
But away from the riches and finery
And the fat-cat country seat.

We’re the eyes for the one who’s the underdog
The one struggling hard for his kin
The one who lost out when they took all the jobs
Who stands in the food queue again.

We’re the questioning voice of the sickly
While hospitals have wards that are closed
Who wonder why governments say ‘We all spend more!’
And ponder where it’s been disposed.

We have Portakabin classrooms that just shouldn’t be
And walls full of mould in our schools
Yet pay and pensions in the Westminster bubble
Go up yet again, as we’re treated as fools.

It’s quite true we don’t wander around with the rich
For our hearts and our minds are elsewhere
We’re keeping a watch on corruption at large
And versing your created despair.

©Joe Wilson – Were we really all in it together…2015

Messages carried along
meandering lanes
without conscious input
by electronic impulses are
speeding across the sinews,
through the blood avenues
and down the back alleys
to our feet, on the footpath
of life
telling us
that pressing on
is the only

way

forward.

Meanwhile telegrams
travel to the very edges
of our arterial network
sending instructions
to our shoulders
and on
to our arms and hands
to move in beautiful unison
with our feet
thus
allowing us
to set out
using
our form of

propulsion.

And so we amble on
blissfully unaware
of the arduous tasks
our body will carry out
every second
of every day

for

all

of

our lives.

©Joe Wilson - The unseen journey...2015

He was at the end of the line
His wall had been reached
Palliative care was only stopping his whine
It was now high time to practice
--- that which he had always preached.

They’d tried of course, many times
There had been operations galore
He was now so covered in ugly scars
That his so often cut chest
--- was all puckered and sore.

He decided no more
And consulted his list
Of the things before death he would do
And he noticed he’d put another parachute jump
--- that somehow he seemed to have missed.

He gathered his pain
And went to the club
He arranged a jump fairly quick
Then he thought about life and he thought about death
--- and he sensed that the timing was slick

On the day of the jump in unbelievable pain
He decided he’d not pull the cord
But it made him feel  like he was a quitter
So he did
--- and he floated down to the sward.

He may of course now just die in his sleep
Or get run down by a car or a bus
But his choice was to get on with life as it was
Sod the rest
--- he couldn’t stand the fuss.

©Joe Wilson – Choices…2015

Can any of us ever really say
We’ve done all we possibly could
Protected the weak, helped someone today
Or perhaps just nurtured a new growing bud.
For if we think that we’ve done all that
And in relaxing we feel satisfied
Why is there so much of the *** for tat
For which too many people have died!!

I look into my inner soul in hopes of seeing light
But, even aware, there are still degrees of dark
I try to think only good of all, and that in itself is a fight
For there are those of evil intent whose wish is to leave a mark.

But onward we must carry the strive
For a peaceful solution to ever arrive.

©Joe Wilson -  Can we ever really say…2015

Walking down the narrow footpath

That skirts along the tiny rill

I see the leaves all going red

But clinging on to branches still.

The redwings picking berries

Till their crops are all packed full

It’s all hubbub and chatter

Never a moment is dull.



And by the time we next walk round

The village green adjacent

The chill begins to penetrate

We are in Autumn nascent.

Trees growth begins to falter

The sap gets drawn back down

And leaves begin their annual fall

And land in heaps without a sound.



Slowly all the leaves fall down

The sycamore and ash and lime

The ground is strewn with many kinds

We’re in the Autumn prime.

But wait…there are a few leaves left

They rattle as strong winds blow

They’re oak and beech still hanging on

They’re often the last to go.



©Joe Wilson – Autumn’s arrival…2014

The dark night now surrounds me
I am all alone in my world
There is no one here distracting
I am thinking now of my girl.

I was always such a lucky man
I have children, one and two
Last year I almost lost my son
This year my daughter too.

My son had a head-on collision
Almost twelve thousand miles away
But now almost eighteen months later
He is now fully back into play.

But my daughter, my beautiful daughter
Chemo treatment made her go bald
But she’s back on the upside now smiling
I weep when her bravery’s recalled.

Of course she will still need some treatment
But she’s better, and we’re now almost cool
And I know by the end of her kid’s holidays
She’ll not need a headscarf for school.

I think of my son, I think of my girl
I’m grateful my luck has been fine
For if I was to lose either of them
I just couldn’t finish this last line……….



©Joe Wilson – My Children 2014

Wandering in my mind looking for reasons
I came across far more questions than answers
Why are so many children of the world dying
Why are so many many mothers crying
Why is God so cruel to them – but I know
It is mankind that is cruel, it is man.

Why was man put here to be so unkind
Why are we here at all if not to find
A way to learn to treat our sisters
A way to learn to love our children
A way to learn to respect our elders
A way to learn to love with dignity.

Some choose a path that takes them to God
Some choose a different way and yet still hope
Some take a path that leads to their dying
And leave behind their widows and children crying
Can we not yet see that utter pointlessness
Nor see all of the good that we should bless.

A little child lies dying in a hospital crib
Her mother so unwilling now to depart
The shortest of lives that the wee thing lived
Like a stake has been driven right into her heart.
She was killed in the crossfire unintentionally
But she’s no less dead, can we not yet see!

A Cruelty Unbearable…2014

Golden skies greet the land
as night throws off its mantle
dawn slowly emerges from the shadows
to welcome the new day so gentle
trees sway in the soft breeze
while birds chatter as they wake
to the bright sunshine that is
a beautiful warm November day.
As the day moves on the blue **** fly
having taken their daily fill of nuts and seeds
but feeders, still bearing their bounty,
are soon fallen upon in frenzied melee
by sparrows and starlings, a riotous sight,
till soon they too will fly away
at the start of evening dusk display.
All day long they constantly chatter.
All day long they feed.
All day long we are blessed by their company,
and thus we are always grateful.

©Joe Wilson – November morning… 2014

Hard Fights And Very Small Triumphs. A life … A death.


The small private ward was now peaceful, but stark
No one was lying asleep in the dark
A young man had fought there all night for his life
She’d waited outside, his pregnant young wife.

The fight had been lost and there was no disguise
That could easily cover the hurt in the eyes
Of the doctors and nurses who’d seen the man’s pain
As they’d struggled to save him, as they’d struggled in vain.

Above and along in a different room
A baby emerged from a young mother’s womb
It was pretty and perfect as babies should be
The cord had been cut and the baby was free.

The husband and wife knew that they had been blessed
When their daughter was placed by the new mothers breast
She drank and she fed as her journey began
And they thought about names as they started to plan.

Very soon after the young man had died
His wife lost her baby and everyone cried
At the terrible waste they had witnessed that night
All wishing that they could make everything right.

But life in a hospital has to go on
There’s always more caring that needs to be done
Others will wait where the pregnant wife sat
But with happier outcomes, they all pray for that.



©Joe Wilson – Hard fights and very small triumphs. A life … a death…1994

Show me no mercy for I was in the wrong
Things that I’ve done where I didn’t belong
Wipe out my sins with the blood from my veins
Spill it from my body and burn my remains.

Through centuries past I have pillaged and stole
Always ahead of the God-fearing role
Take me to hell for I fear I am lost
Actions I’ve taken always carry a cost.

But wait, I’ve been saved for reasons unknown
For what manner of evil will I have to atone
Must I roam centuries more looking for peace
Why not just **** me and speed my release.

It seems I’ve been given a new Holy task
To seek out all evil in which sinners bask
And steer them from evil and back to their God
Or smite them and bury them under the sod.

I venture forth now to quell rising tides
Of evils and witches and other things besides
The hand of my sword is now cloaked in God’s will
I get one final chance to honour Him still.

©Joe Wilson – The Traveller…2014

I’m just sitting here, inside this shell
The feeling’s returned that I know so well
I need to do such a natural thing
But I cannot move, nor even ring
Out to anyone who goes by
And they will not look me in the eye.
I wonder if they wonder, if I have a brain
Obviously I have!! Or I’d not feel the pain
Not the hurt from the bones that are crooked and bent
But the being ignored: as if my life meant …. NOTHING.
In time they will wheel me off to the place
That sharpest reminder to me of disgrace
Then they’ll clean me and dry me, and put me to bed
I could easily give up and wish myself dead
But I am important; if only to me
So I’ll sit here and watch, and hope things will be.
One day, perhaps, the ill will subside
And inside my head I’ll not have to hide
I’ll travel away from this place at long last
Ah, but what foolish dreams…the die has been cast.

© JRW1990
I wrote this poem in memory of my mother who suffered for five very long years after having multiple strokes. By the time she died the poor woman had had approximately seventeen.

Her perfume lingered in my nostrils
It reminded me of days long since gone
Of Mother making us treacle ****
And the way the sun always shone.

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Yet another old memory…2015

Down came the rain
And washed away the sin
It couldn’t ease the pain
That war had left it in

How scarred this Earth
How scorched the land
For such is caring’s dearth
By humans’ evil hand.

Profit and loss
The price of war
How ‘they’ call the toss
While raking in more.

This Earth feels the pain
Even washed clean by rain
While ‘they’ steal the gain
Till little will remain.

©Joe Wilson – Earth…the innocent victim…2015

My thoughts today are of our old home,  Clem
I’m wistful and so slightly sad
All the time that has passed since seeing them
No longer a young boisterous lad.
I miss the trees and the creak of the gate
Of the cottage where once we did live
The river that flooded when it was in spate
The forces that will not forgive.

O this town is a fine place to find us, Clem
Though it’s not like being back at home
So today I’m wistful for our cottage again
For the hamlet from where we did roam.
And if son, you’ve these thoughts as mine
As you’re going  about your day
Be ready to gather those things of thine
For soon we’ll be back on our way.

©Joe Wilson – Dreaming of home…2015
Written in a style similar to O. Henry
William Sidney Porter (1862 – 1910)

Heavy the heart
Painful the burden
The messenger’s part
In passing the word on.

Deep are the creases
That now line his brow
The pain never ceases
It’s personal somehow.

His was the book
Which counted the dead
But each killing took
His hearts's peace instead.

They were his men
He loved them like sons
They’ll not sing again
Silenced by guns.

The letters he wrote
To tell of each death
Families he smote
By words of last breath.

The killing decided
There’s no final amount
Messenger lies dead
One more for the count.


©Joe Wilson – The letters…2015

Each side at pains to prove their own case
they can always justify their way
never considering their citizens plight
Ordinary people rarely having their say.

Then the bullets start to fly
followed by mortars and tanks
apartments get blown up causing homelessness
and then there's a run on the banks.

Foreign media all fly in
obviously to get a good scoop
around the demolished buildings
with their cameramen they all troop.

Folks entire livelihoods go up in flame
for them it has now all gone
they rely on the aid available now
it's just the choosing which one.

The cards have been dealt
a crisis may have passed
but the so needed PEACE
is unlikely...to last.

Joe Wilson - War zones...2014

She crushed his young heart with just a hard glance
he’d wanted for so long to ask her to dance
but with her haughty grin and that withering stare
he’d wished the ground would just swallow him there.

At the time they were both just sixteen years old
she had looked up at him and with a look that was cold
that had crossed over her face in such a harsh final way
he never thought he’d see her smile at him one day.

But he never gave up it just wasn’t his style
he thought that perhaps it would change in a while
so though he never pursued her he still always cared
and he made sure he stayed close but he never stared.

Then one day at lunchtime she spotted him nearby
and gave him a smile and in his heart he did cry
but cry out in joy at her beautiful face
and his heart just ran to her as if in a race.

She was not like the girl he had looked at before
but he too was no longer a child anymore
and in all of the years that had passed in between
she also had watched him and had followed his scene.

Both of them knowing that hearts now were full
and feeling desires for each other that pull
they fell into each others love hungry arms
and lived for that moment of love-driven charms.

They’ve never forgotten those love-hungry days
and they care for each now in so may ways
they’re always together even when they’re apart
for each gave the other the whole of their heart.

©Joe Wilson – A love that grows and grows 2014

A breath is being taken that’s so shallow
No sound the breathing now makes
The fear of death lurking in the shadows
Immerses the souls in fearful quakes.
For the breathing of man is a precious gift
Yet one taken as a right by this sinner
But the spectre in the shadows is yet waiting
As the rasping sound of death grows ever thinner.

A tear now slowly falls from the dying man’s eye
It lands with a mighty clap upon his pillow
For the man is in such pain while he is living
Yet he knows there’s more to come at where he’ll  go.
For not a word of simple kindness did he ever utter
A cruelty to fellow men was all he’d show
And he never gave but a thought to how we got here
But down there, it’s safe to say, he’ll surely know.

©Joe Wilson – His last breath…2015

Moving through the inky darkness
He leaps out suddenly at night
Stepping out from hidden corners
Where previously there’d been no sight.
            
Each night he hides in darkness maw
Awaiting all who pass
Until the sun begins to rise
By then he’s leapt his last.

No one’s surprised to see him
He follows us everywhere
For he is just our shadow
And of course…he’s always there.

Of course there are some places
Where he stays out of sight
It’s impossible to see him
If there isn't any light.

If you have your dog with you
He has a shadow too
And everything the shadow does
He makes the dog do too.

©Joe Wilson – Out of the darkness…2014

Impose your love upon my soul
That I may be alone no more
You reach inside my very core
With love that binds and keeps me whole.
My heart is under your control
What happy state this do I feel
Such joy as this has great appeal
Blessed am I in envious role.

And you, your happiness to me
Is of such vital import
That I would not with love cavort
To force what’s intertwined set free
For love as yours I fiercely sought
A love as sweet as it could be.

©Joe Wilson – To my very core…2015