Feeding bad habbits with love,
and rotten tree stumps with alcohol mixed ***** and *****.

Gasp for air,
breathe in poison,
exhale C^02
and bad dreams.

******* with death
and disillusioned junkies desperate for one last hit.

Fall forward,
catch yourself,
repeat until you have
and reached your destination.

Breeding hope
and sadness until you're not sure what you're hoping for
and what you're sad about.

Sleep alone,
wake up alone,
and spend all day searching
for someone to be alone with.

For an age I stared at that heron
my camera poised ready to prove
that if you stare long enough at a heron
the awkward buggers just will not move.

But the moment you put down your camera
and move your eye line a little to one side
the sod takes off while you’re not looking
and there’s loads of loud groans in the hide.

©Joe Wilson – The Unmoving Heron! 2014

You small green shining ball
Sweet or sour will you be?
If I eat you, will you make me tall?
To bring the moon beneath my feet!
If I leave you will you hate my soul?
And throw my love to dark eternity?

Another lonely night,
And I'm staring at the vast black sky.
It is the eve of my twentieth year
And I cannot help but compare it to yours.
A text at midnight; a present wrapped with a bow;
An I love you waiting, if you wanted it.
Here I sit, waiting as the hours roll by,
Jumping every time the phone rings
Because I hope not hope it is you.
You call me up so often, usually,
Just to break me like a promise.
You are back in the country,
I hear. Back to see me? No.
It is the eve of my twentieth year, dear,
And now I think I should stop writing to you.
This has gone on long enough, don't you think?
It is the eve of my twentieth year,
And a part of me left broken and unruly,
Not yet healed by mountains of therapy
And kisses and love,
Is aching only for you.
It is the eve of my twentieth year
And a part of me knows
That tomorrow I can **** myself.
No broken promises on my part.