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Joe Wilson Sep 2014
He was thinking of flowers and the one he loved...

His first thoughts were of jasmine for her elegant grace
And lovely hibiscus for her beautiful face.

He thought about hyacinths as she was so sincere
Yellow tulips, he was hopelessly in love it was clear.
The red roses he gathered for their passionate love
And forget-me-nots together till the heavens above.

He picked orange-blossom for the children she bore
With larkspur for her beautiful spirited core.
Her lack of desire for great wealth to unfold
Meant he put to one side any marigold
He sprinkled them with daisies for her innocence
Adding some black-eyed Susan for encouragement
Then he wrapped them all up in a very large mass
Of beautiful gardenias for a joy that will last.

©Joe Wilson - He was thinking of flowers and the one he loved...2014
Joe Wilson May 2015
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
Joe Wilson Feb 2015
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
Joe Wilson Dec 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
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
And so it was his past caught up
a dread for many many years
it was time to face reality
and belay his darkest fears.

A time to face a painful truth
he’d never known this child
he’d left when he was just hours old
and the loss had made him wild.

A soldier he’d been sent abroad
to fight for others’ errors
and in the deepness of his mind
he remembered years of terrors.

They’d captured him and half his men
his captain they had killed
and made the rest including him
dig the grave and get it filled.

When he came home he was a wreck
who drank himself to sleep
and though he had had several jobs
they were impossible to keep.

He later found his faith again
and now he has a certain peace
but the fear of meeting his son at last
was filling him with unease.

He wonders if he’ll understand
and how it will work out
but the boy had come and sought him
now he waited full of doubt……..

©Joe Wilson – His regret 2014
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
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
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
He lives his life holding a superstitious breath
And his mania is of other people’s or his death
If ever he encounters a funeral any day
He dives over a wall till it’s passed by his way.

He’ll wander round graveyards and look at the stones
And tell you the nature of the owner of the bones
For if flowers were growing he’ll tell you for free
The bones of a good person lay down underneath.
But if weeds there are growing they’d died in disgrace
For flowers could never take root in this place

He saw a white moth once fly into his home
So straight-away he said that to him death would come
And he totally refuses to call at his best friend’s flat
For he’s driven me crackers and I've bought a black cat!

©Joe Wilson – His weird mania 2014
Joe Wilson Mar 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
Joe Wilson Dec 2014
It’s two in the morning in this New Year’s Day poem
he’s cold-sober and hopeful for a good new year’s start
just six months ago he’d almost lost his way home
but she’d found him and led him back to her heart.

It’s an amazing thing, this love, he now knew
alone he was lost like an empty tin can
but this woman in his life was amazing too
she was vital to this mere foolish man.

He gazed across now at her so lovely face
and whispered “I love you,” she smiled. “I know.”
he isn't so much feeling the New Year’s embrace
as holding on tight and letting the old one just go.

©Joe Wilson – Holding on tight… 2014
Joe Wilson Feb 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
Joe Wilson Aug 2014
They sat in blankets as they tried to keep warm
penniless with no heating and no coal to burn
while outside they heard the violent storm
the blizzard of snow and ice all churn.

Slowly they both began to freeze to death
there was no-one to help or ease their plight
they were just poor and lonely old sisters
who would probably die in the dark of this night.

They were just another statistic of winter
a cold one much worse than some others
they had eked out their money on eating
so they now huddled together like lovers.

There are so many who suffer in winter
and we really should spare them a thought
we should all keep an eye out for our neighbour
as help due to their pride is not sought.

It is dawn now and the sisters are frozen
one died and the other breathes slow
but there is no-one to even take notice
and in a short while like her sister she’ll go.

©Joe Wilson – huddled together like lovers…2014
Joe Wilson Mar 2015
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
Joe Wilson Apr 2015
Everything is ugly, no beauty is found anymore
The unhappiness of troubled youth, garbage strewn by the fold
Those lumbering fools down on the farm, where habits are such a bore
All serve to think you ill of me, and the love for you I hold.

The cruelness of mortal life, is so vile as it unfolds
I wish that I could change all that, and show it just to you
And all the glory of the heavens, and stories yet untold
Tell of the love I hold so dear, my heart belongs to you.

©Joe Wilson – If could feel as I do…2015

Written in the style of W B Yeats (1865 - 1939)
after rereading The Lover Tells Of The Rose In His Heart
Joe Wilson Jan 2014
If you are with someone
If you stay with that someone always
If almost every thought includes that person
If you care for them like no one else
If you try really hard never to hurt them
If you try desperately never to disappoint them
If you stay awake until they sleep to be sure they’re safe
And if you rise early to watch them wake so that you can see in the new day together
You are enjoying being in love with that someone
In the way I enjoy being in love with you.

©JRW2014
Joe Wilson Nov 2014
My heart belongs to only one
I gave it to her so long ago
And she has held it quite gently
Through Summer suns and Winter's snow.

And when I've been found wanting
She's helped me and held me close
Goodness!! She is so beautiful
She remains my English rose.

I could never have lived without her
There has always been such grace
And every morning when I awake
I see and love her beautiful face.

We are now so very much older
But our love still keeps us close
A lifetime spent in my lover's arms
I've been blessed beyond my hopes.

©Joe Wilson - I have been so blessed... 2014

This poem is dedicated entirely to my beloved wife, Daphne.
Joe Wilson Nov 2014
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
Joe Wilson Dec 2014
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
Joe Wilson Oct 2014
This land has been robbed of all that it had
Nothing is left, even for the slick and the rich
Crumbling edifices to our capitalist greed
Our world no capacity now left for its need.

There were those amongst us fought agin this
Imprisoned in jails within our own tortured selves
Not enough of us tried to stop the horrors we saw
Now nothing is left, our charade is no more.

Your fathers all fought in such ****** campaigns
There fathers too, and there fathers before
New weapons of destructive powers previously unheard
That slaughtered the innocent in ways cruelly absurd.

Buildings left standing with all inside dead
People didn't matter, but the real estate did
And thus the corruption swept over the Earth
We were judged by our value but not by our worth.

It angers me now as I feel guilty shame
For I didn't do enough and that makes me as them
And for you with the mess whatever is left
There's a world that was rich and is now so bereft.

One thing is certain, save the wealth of the land
The one crucial thing that we never did foresee
Don't go down the pathway of war-like inventions
Create things for peace and for better intentions.

Think in these ways and you may stand a chance
It's a message I couldn't ever iterate to much
War and corruption lie together in bed
Growing good crops gets communities fed.



©Joe Wilson - In mortal pain...2014
Joe Wilson May 2015
Undressed, she hooked him, a feast for his eyes
Wearing only deceit like a shawl
But still he found himself trapped by her lies
As he waited for night when she demanded his all.

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

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

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

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


©Joe Wilson – In passion…2015
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness
in the small sparsely furnished room.
The only sound that may have been heard
was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe
with the hood pushed carefully back in order
that his head would bared before God. He was
breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way
as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page.

The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell
but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome
before him. He was deep in thought and concentration
as he studied his Bible, something he did daily.
These were his moments of quiet contemplation,
but ones that he never shared, but with his God,
and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers.

He felt at Peace.

©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
Joe Wilson Aug 2014
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
Joe Wilson Aug 2014
He walked right into the wooden door
time seemed to stand so still
and then it was as if his life
was presented before him to be relived.

He first saw his beloved parents smiling
and Monty, the cocker spaniel he loved
he saw his grandfather with his snowy-white hair
then his brother stood beside him laughing
as a little boy again, at the gypsy who knocked
at the door and was trying to sell lucky white heather.

He saw his sister and her friend playing cards
in the parlour, and then his friends from school
throwing a rugby ball in his direction to catch.

Suddenly it rushed forward to his adult life
his wife, his children, the fun, and all the pain.

And then it stopped and he passed through the door

but

he never went home again.

©Joe Wilson – In Transit 2014
Joe Wilson Oct 2014
I remember
back to a time
when the black dog
hung around my neck
like a heavy yoke, I
could never be rid of
the terror that it
would not someday return
to seek me out and strike
me down again, and the knowing
how close I had come to succumbing.

I remember edging closer to the crowded
platform’s edge, too filled with fear to realise
the probable selfishness of what I was about to
do, only vaguely aware of where I actually was, but
just able to register that touch on my right arm
and the voice that quietly whispered, “I don’t really think
you want to do that.” I remember turning to see who’d said it
and seeing that there was just a crowd of people. Of the owner
of the voice there was no sign, but it had been enough.
It had been enough to make me realise where I was,
for the moment passed and I made my way back.

Back to the arms of the woman who had always loved me,
and who had carefully, lovingly, nursed me back to health
over such a long time. I wept. I put my head on her gentle
shoulder and I wept as I had never wept before. I wept for all
I still felt, and I wept for all the selfish anguish I would have
caused this woman had I let myself fall,

for that surely had been my intention.

©Joe Wilson – I remember…2014
This experience is my own. It followed a period of severe depression after a
subarachnoid haemorrhage in 1986. Thankfully the depression eventually lifted and has long gone.
Joe Wilson Jan 2014
As boys we sat atop a bridge
And saw the trains rush by
Steam flying out of funnel stacks
We watched them pass with a sigh.

The Royal Scot was a favourite
The Flying Scotsman too
But the biggest thrill we ever got
Was when The Mallard raced right through.

Such a beauty she was in livery
All blue and shining and bright
And to children like us in the fifties
She was such an amazing sight.

She was the four four six eight
And she ran on four six two
You couldn’t see her funnel stacks
For speed they were hidden from view.

They’d built her up in Doncaster
Through a wind tunnel she had passed
And when she flew along the tracks
You caught a glimpse and gasped.

Steam trains of course don’t run now
Except on heritage lines
But smelly and ***** as they may have been
They were a glorious sight in their times.

©JRW2014
Joe Wilson Dec 2014
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
Joe Wilson Jan 2015
Has man ever really stopped and looked
at all the beauty that Nature has cooked
arrayed throughout the world to see
by stumbling humans like you and me.

Deserts filled with shifting sand
moved by winds and Nature’s hand
creating dunes of epic scale
compared to this we are so frail.

Rill and brook, stream and creek
all a river’s end they seek
as they head for oceans wide
moving always with the tide.

Filled with fish of every size
sometimes caught for dinner’s prize
and on their trek it’s life or death
they struggle on for every breath.

Through the forests these rivers flow
passing trees whose names we know
they’re the lifeblood of our world
new breath with every leaf unfurled.

Too often though we cut them down
turning green land into brown
and yet somehow there are still flowers
grown by Nature’s greater powers.

They brighten days in glorious hues
so many colours, too many to choose
in meadows watered by rivers’ flow
past those trees whose names we know.

And on to seas with sharks and whales
the mighty Blues with their giant tails
whose flukes are wider than football fields
what majestic beauty the ocean yields.

To care for our planet we would do well
it’s a living thing not just a shell
it isn’t ours to destroy and maim
it’s future health should be our aim.

©Joe Wilson – It isn’t ours…2015
Joe Wilson Jul 2015
In moving through our hope-filled lives
A fork so oft presents itself
And choices made, we set to strive
Determined, we abandon stealth.

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – It is who we are…2015
Joe Wilson Dec 2014
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
Joe Wilson Mar 2015
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
Joe Wilson Aug 2014
He sits there reading, happy enough now in his own company
what is it he reads -ah yes – a Tale of Two Cities
a favourite, but one which evokes an old memory
of long ago when was just a young man.

Of a time when war raged across Europe like a plague
when it was in the grip of a madman bent
on seizing power everywhere and not caring how
and men like him and many of his friends went.

But then there seemed a real purpose to it
and besides, he met Françoise and loved her so
and later with many of his friends now dead
it was over so he went back home with Françoise instead.

Now she also is no more, killed by muggers who were armed
and he sits all alone, no girls, no sons
wondering why his country’s leaders
can never see the futility of all the guns.

Once more the planet rages with war
once more there will be unnecessary deaths
he finds himself wishing the impossible thought
the non-invention of guns, and it leaves him short of breath.

Sadly men would have just found another way to **** each other
– and that is the real problem. It never goes away.



©Joe Wilson – …it will never stop…2014
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
The taste left by the bitterness of anger
unlike that which is caused by over-indulgence
cannot be forced away by milk of magnesia
but by humility, understanding and forgiveness.

Oft times it is humility which leads to
a thoughtful understanding which in turn promotes
feelings of forgiveness that are quietly kept
but which serve as unspoken personal antidotes.

But what elation when normal calmness returns
to fill the soul with so much joy and peace
If anger serves to do nought else – then appreciate
that pleasantry which follows the ire’s release.

©Joe Wilson – I was angry, but it passed 2014
Joe Wilson Mar 2016
Carefully, he laid the book on the table
He’d been re-reading Oliver Twist
In those terrible poor Dickensian times
He often wondered how the poor could exist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – I wonder what Dickens would think…2016
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
he thought of all the horrid things
he would have liked to have said to his boss
for he was a very nasty piece of work
a fleeting thought and then it was lost

he’d have told him how much he despised him
and that he thought he was well past his prime
but the thought passed as quick he had it
as with all thoughts now he hadn’t the time

he’d have said lots of thing to some others
there were many many words they had used
but the one that had hit him the hardest
was when his boss had used the word ‘accused’

but then he had been stealing the money
he’d spent it on gambling and cars
but he was lousy at picking the winners
and spent a lot too much time in the bars

but he couldn’t face a lifetime in prison
he couldn’t have lived with the shame
so he felt that a fast trip down earthward
was the only way of saving his name

and so he was now on that journey
one he’d never taken before
it’s a once in a lifetime experience
when you jump from the fiftieth floor.

©Joe Wilson – Jumping 2014

‘a bit of fun – for me if not for him!’
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
It rained
It rained down on me
– and it wouldn’t stop!

The torrent of vicious blows just wouldn’t stop
They beat me
They beat me
They beat me

They wouldn’t stop

I was a boy…I was a child

Why wouldn’t they stop?

Mother!
Father!

Why have you abandoned me?

This is not what it says

This is not a home

This is my nightmare.



©Joe Wilson – Just a boy…2014

Life could be harsh in orphanages in the nineteen-fifties.
I’m ever grateful that I only heard of this and didn't experience it myself.
Joe Wilson Aug 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 :-)
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
They set out together a long time ago
there was a keenness to their gait
whatever was going to be thrown at them
they’d take in their stride and then leave to fate.

They made many new friends along the way
with hearts so stout and true
and some friends are with them still today
’cause they’re good people through and through.

Their journey took them far and wide
it has been one hell of a ride
there were hardships aplenty along the road
but they never left each other’s side.

And now they are here in the twilight years
the journey’s not over for them yet
the gait is less keen and they have their fears
but they've got plenty of mileage in them yet.

©Joe Wilson – Keep going…2014
Joe Wilson Aug 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
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
The peacock proud, pushed out his chest
As giant bullfrogs croak their best.
Alone, yet never lonely.

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

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

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

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

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

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


©Joe Wilson – Lauds…2016 (with full appreciation of W H Auden)
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
In life as in so many things
Mercy needs angelic wings.
Forgiveness, the rarest gift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(2nd morning)…2016
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
Etched deep in human nature found
Is not the plight of others bound
In loneliness, they cry out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(the 3rd morning)…2016
Joe Wilson Jan 2016
A sparrowhawk swoops down for food
Spring blue skies will lift the mood
When days go rushing by.

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(the 5th morning)…2016
Joe Wilson Mar 2014
beating heart
throbbing brow
dying then
living now
make the most
of time you have
or you’ll regret it
later.

find a soul-mate
love them hard
give your heart
play that card
make the most
of time you have
or you’ll regret it
later.

care for one
they’ll love you
be as one
make life anew
make the most
of time you have
or you’ll regret it
later.

ignore advice
stay on own
lonely life
die alone
you made the least
of time you had
you did regret it
later.



©JRW2014
Joe Wilson May 2015
It is what it is, a mantra of mine
And doing ones best and all will be fine
But life gets too complex and it no longer sticks
Somethings are frightening, too frightening to fix.

Many times you see, a solution’s not there
You just have to struggle because life is unfair
So you carry on regardless and accept the harsh fate
And pray for the answer before it’s far too late.

At the end of the day it is what it is
Answers came too late and you lost your fizz
Dejected and penniless you’re now on your own
Down in the gutter of life all, alone.

©Joe Wilson – Life in the clichés…2015
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
Did you call last night, I never heard a sound
just the distant hum of a soul quite nearby
only another lonely person passing by.

Life on the street as a lonely old *****
Under the bridge and out of sight
I live in a loneliness in my own plight

But things you left, things I saw
bits of messages left for me
why won’t you go and let me be.

Is it the ***** or is it the drugs
why can’t I make out the words
it makes no more sense than all the dog turds.

Did you leave anything when you called last night
I’ve thought once or twice about ending my life
But I’d get more drugs if I sold the knife.

How the hell did it get to this point
I’m always to far gone to care
I’m not even sure that I’m even there.

©Joe Wilson – Life, or is it…2014
Joe Wilson Jun 2015
All shopping comes to an impassable stop
As locks are locked on the door of the shop
And what we wanted to buy today
We probably don’t need anyway.

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

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

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

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

©Joe Wilson - Locks…2015

The last two lines are added for fun
Only there to extend the pun
I know they stretch a simple quatrain
But as Nash might say, they shall remain.
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
Looking back I see a time


Before I was happy

You were not there, only

A crushing pain that

Tried to break my heart



Then you came…and I was saved.

©Joe Wilson – Looking Back 2013
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
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
Joe Wilson Dec 2014
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)
Joe Wilson May 2014
I

Laugh  with you openly happy
Often about things of no note
Vital times that we embrace together
Every ounce of my love I devote.

You are my bedrock, you are my muse
Oft times alone I am of no use
Until once more you’re here as you choose.



©Joe Wilson – Love 2014
Joe Wilson Aug 2014
I saved my childish heart for you
and luckily for me you took it
our life of glorious ups and ups
across the world or just next door
I would never have wanted anyone else
I couldn’t have loved you more.

Who could ever imagine
how amazing a person could be
the goodness and love you’ve given
you’ve given only to me
and why I ask was I ere so blessed
we make our choice with a heart that’s free.

There are times even now when I catch
my breath and feel a wonderful sigh
of contentment at my very full glass
and I smile as I think of my riches
it’s as if I’d been given all of that bread
and eaten all of those fishes.

After these thoughts my pains just ease
I’ll deal with those another day
and in your beauty I will bide
I’ll not change a single thing
but listen to your beating heart
and hear my own heart sing.



©Joe Wilson – Love will always win…2014
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