I’m thinking now of my childhood
Of Dinky toys and a bright shiny trike
I travelled for miles going nowhere
On that beautiful three-wheeled bike.
It even had a boot on the back
Like a bread bin between the wheels
That I used to fill with books and toys
Only opened to best friend’s appeals.
The bike was bright red and I loved it
I raced round on it every day
Until that time when I was just too big
And the bike was taken away.
I missed that old red tricycle
It had been my companion for a while
But the two-wheeled cycle that Dad got
Soon turned my lips up in a smile.
It was a second-hand bike and quite grown-up
Hand-painted the darkest maroon
And I rode it for miles, this time with my dad
But it’s fun-giving days went too soon.
My next bike was blue, and a racer
Derailleur gears numbered ten
I wanted to ride out again with my dad
But he’d cycled his last before then.
My dad rode a bike for the whole of his life
Yet he never reached fifty-three
When I’m on a bike now, cycling along
I think of him riding with me.

©Joe Wilson – Riding a bike with my dad…2015

There's nothing worse on God's green earth
Than a woman with ultimate power
She'll time you when you sit on the throne
And it better not take an hour

Imagine if there was a Woman ******
Man would we be *******
You know, a woman who thinks she knows it all
But you would still swear she's a dude

A dinky little mustache beneath her nose
And a unibrow that looks like it's winkin'
I never noticed but the stubble on her chin
Kinda looks a little like Abraham Lincoln

This Woman ****** will change the world
And make slaves of all the men
She'd make a decloration that watching football
Would be the unpardonable sin

I bet you didn't know if you rearrange the letters
She's known to one and all
Just rearrange the letters in Woman ******
It's gonna spell Mother in law

And I'm hopeless,
Hopeless for the countless stars, in a blueblack sky.
Hopeless for the mist in the forest after the rain.
Hopeless for new places, old places
and the old places that I wont ever see again...
I'm hopeless for your hair in my mouth,
and your pillow arms.
I'm hopeless for thunderstorms and anthills,
puppy kisses and fuzzy sweaters.
I'm hopeless for me and you,
Hopeless in wondering if you and I are hopeless.
And wondering if we were ****** from the start...what a wonderful curse to break.
I'm also a hopeless romantic, poetry, sunsets, drunken statements of love, all that jazz
I had you at a hopeless arms length, but my hopeless heart had a different agenda.
I'm hopeless for delusional fairy tails, but with a twist. I've never made a good damsel in distress. I'll be the dragon, and you can be whatever you want to be. But if you ever become a knight I suggest something besides a dinky sword.
I'm hopeless for the ocean, for the snowflakes, for the wind
for moonlight walks, for autumn leaves
Hopeless for sundresses, sad loves songs.
Pokemon, books, books, books,
Hopeless for beginnings.
Hopeless for memories of you, hopeless for any memories at all.
Hopeless for my alone time, hopeless for my time alone with you
Hopeless for small houses in the woods, hopeless for fire
Hopeless for the scars on your arms and the scars on your heart.
I'm hopeless for my friends, and long nights spent with them.
Hopeless for ***, drugs and rock n' roll, sometimes all at the same time.
Hopeless for tears and laughter. Hopeless for rainbows and naps when I'm grumpy.
I'm hopeless for cigaretts and rivers, hot springs
and bats, hopeless for dancing and back rubs.
I'm hopeless because you are the reason that I am going,
and the reason that I am staying.

Lachrymose old man
touches fingers
through the pane with

Young boy, arm around
his dinky dog

Counting carriages
on the click-clacking
train

it was pushing toward the midnight hour
here was me
struggling with words gone sour.
in to the lazee boy
i go to sit and "read".
turning on the light beside me
when looking to the ceiling
a shadow play in progress
i see...
a little bug being hugmugged
by an inky dinky foe
this little bug he fought
back he tried so....
very hard to leave the dinner table
but the inky dinky spider was more than able.....
to rug n tug the poor little thing,
into his pantry to...
marinate until spring.
so hugmugged snugrugwrapped spiderzapped
was the little bug
little mr inky dinky
was proper impressed with himself
as he confessed
to friends later at the pub that little bug
almost had me...
he had the heart of a grub.

Whitecaps coffee-white, a bay frosty.
Sails, 99% white,
Always, gotta be one, black or blue,
Freaking tradition-breaker

White man with white baby,
In a white onesie,
Astride his daddy's tummy,
Dad, he ain't dressed warm enough.

All these observations recorded,
Taxed and paid for, with dandy words
Floating by the nook, overlooking
The whitish sandy beach mapped
As Silver Beach,

Where I pray.

Whither white led?
A summary of twenty writes
In four labored days,
A poetry *****,
To say anything else,
Too little, too more.

Overstayed my welcome,
But a white cleansing accomplished,
With look-backs submitted, got some debts paid,
Bills marked overdue, resolved.

The children unblemished,
To new schools and new troubles,
I can only inky-dinky-rinky worry.

This fall is the season of produce or die.
Of these things I don't joke.
If I get pasteurized, won't be a good thing.

This my style after all.
Simplest, to the point where
Poetry is a luxury,
I can't always afford.

I want someone to love
someone to share food with
hold hands
play games with and just cuddle whenever
tease each other and wear their clothes
I want a love that'll last a long time
we wouldn't have to worry about the other of us cheating
we'd have each other and that's all we'd need
somebody's chest to hide my face on during scary movies
see each other as often as we wanted
go on road trips and rent small, dinky motels
go to drive in movies, whisper sweet nothings as we watch
eat at tiny diners or window shop together
waste an entire day at the park until the starts come out
catch lightening bugs in the summer
snuggle by the bonfire in my backyard
I want that easy, simple, truthful kind of love

The news of your engagement came
in conjunction with the news of the death
of a long-time family friend.

Sitting in that cafe, reading the Facebook status,
trying not to make a scene in front of my friends
who were studying their textbooks.

Memories of our childhood in that dinky
farming town, making plans for our future nuptials,
giggling under flashlight-lit bedsheets and pretending
to be asleep when our footsteps were heard on the staircase.

I see now that your plan has been fulfilled,
while I sit here, reading about it, wondering whether
to leave a comment or like it. Modern technology
has made social interaction strange and dissonant.

I see now that the line between you and I
has been tightened. That now you've been figured out
and I'm still here,
sitting under the bedsheets and trying so hard
to be look sound asleep
when I hear footsteps on the staircase.

Writing this piece was a trouble,
says the story of a lovely couple.
A dinky apartment of 2 BHK.
Each day as lively as a flower in a freshly made bouquet.
First light was marked with peck.
Followed with looking for specs on the head.
Before the office came a hug,
that was addictive as a drug.
Their love moved the machine,
and so was their routine.
Today was no different,
For the going to be parent.
The peck, the spec, the hug and lunch.
All love showered in a bunch.
An extra kiss for the bump.
Promised to be back before the moon came up.
Had to return early,
to take her to the hospital securely.
The staff started to prepare.
Sat reciting a prayer.
That happiness was no lie,
when heard his baby girl cry.
Their eyes were full,
when saw their daughter beautiful.

Half way up inside my ***, is a little kind of lump,
like a chum who lets me down, but i cannot give a thump!
Into next week..
'cos my eyes would start to leak.

It's become a constant presence, though a little bit unpleasant,
so don't tell anyone.
Shhh...
That's not it bursting I must stress, although I do confess,
I inserted a brush handle by the light of Susan's candle,
and made a ****** gush.

A sable number 2,
which you are welcome to,
and you can have  the mush.
The Amoco Cadiz, would have quailed at the outflow,
millions of surfers would have shrank and yelled "oh no",
this is not lush, please flush. And do rush.

So a reduction in the pressure of this dinky little fissure,
may not last so very long,
can't say the same about the pong.......

So a shilly shally poking, with a brush that now is broken,
and my pals are all a- choking while the question then is  spoken.
Why put a brush where the sun don't shine,
A roller does it better every time!

And has more coverage!

Get, get!
Get yourself some medicine.

Go, go!
Get that tap-a-tap running

Run, run!
Getcha fav-a-rite teddy bear
Yer tick-a-tack toy boat
Yer Grand Ma-Ma's portrait
Yer scenty-smelly bath bomb
Yer dinky-danky diary
Gonna have a bath with them!

Shut, shut!
Close that bath-a-room door and

Chuck, chuck!
The portrait into the tub-a-tub

Jump, jump!
the tub and
let loose the bomb and
take the drugs and
rip the mind and
throw the diary inside
and
take the razor blades
you hide
in the boat your mother
gave you as
a child
and

Rub, rub!
Metal into flesh and sweet wetness.
Let the bath turn thick and red and
Let the colours in your head
Converge and spit into the void
Because
You're already dead.

Yeah!

The comments of the ocean
Blend nicely with the brush
Of tipper topper dinky dinghies
That paddle all a hush

Ships sailing on the summer current
Keels are black and leery
With barnacles and treasures trawled at sea
They nose ahead worn and weary

I sigh a little on the plinth of my palm
Propped nicely 'gainst the ivory table
And clink ****** cups, you know
Those little things that make you remember

Shame? Not me. When I watch the birds
They hover without shame
Boasting of the clouds they've visited
And castles up high they are welcome to

Take, take, take the spring breeze that simmers in
I couldn't feel the grace of disgust
I couldn't, I'm too happy
With salt ground tea and seemly company.

< So how far back can you go then ?
How far down the Rope of Songs can you go ?
You were a Rocker weren't you, you liked Rock n' Roll
In the 80's you had a Walkman, you'd be listening to tapes and songs on the radio
You also wanted to be a drummer once, you loved the power and energy there
But what about the early days though, I'm interested particularly in the early days
How far back can you go I wonder
Yea! How far back and what memories do they bring up ? >

Back in the 70's watching Top of the Pops every Thursday evening on the BBC, essential viewing
With its exciting Whole Lotta Love intro
It was something exciting, thrilling
Waiting to see your favourite Band
And to see the Charts, how they were doing
In the Seventies there was Glam Rock, my eldest brother and me we were always arguing and fighting with one another, sibling rivalry I suppose
If he supported United then I'd have to support City...silly stuff
He liked the band Slade whereas I liked...I supported Marc Bolan and T-Rex
Solid Gold East Action I really liked that song
It was very fast, he rarely did fast songs Marc
Telegram Sam..."you're my main man"
Metal Guru..."is it true"
Twentieth Century Boy..."I wanna be your toy"
The hair on your neck would stand up when he'd come on...
Slade were good though, secretly I liked Slade too, they had great songs
*** on feel the Noise/ Girls grab the boys..
Coz I luv you...Mama we'er all crazy now...
Skweeze me Pleeze me "You know how to squeeze me..."
But there were lots of other good bands and so many great songs
We used to play cards for small money...pennies, a series of different card games, and we'd put on records while we played
We even learned to play Chess and we started a Chess League between us,
We'd always listen to the music as we played.

The Sweet's "Blockbuster" with its intro of police sirens, it spent about 5 weeks at No.1 in the UK Charts...
It reminds me of...of Fish that song...Fish on Fridays, we used to have fish every Friday, I didn't like fish there was bones in it
I wouldn't eat it then Mam would get angry
One time she took a mouthful of my fish trying to prove there were no bones in it
Then suddenly she started to cough and splutter and choke
A Bone had actually got caught in her throat
I thought it was my fault, I thought I'd killed her
She had to go to hospital to get it out
I was going to tell her "I told you the fish was dangerous"
That memory just came back to me when I thought of that song and that time

Yea! I liked Marc Bolan and T-Rex, songs like Metal Guru, Twentieth Century Boy
I remember I didn't like the lyric "Twentieth Century Boy/ I wanna be your toy"
It sounded silly to me that lyric, I suppose I wanted things to make sense
And when he did that song "New York City" with the lyric
"Did you ever see a woman coming out of New York City with a frog in her hand"
I thought then he was maybe losing it a bit
< You...you were a very serious child then weren't you ? >
I suppose I was...like a lot of children are...maybe I just wanted things to make sense.

< I'm interested in the early days, even the very early days and the memories you have
How far back can you go ? What about the funny novelty songs ? >
Chuck Berry had a No. 1 with "My Ding a Ling" playing with his Ding a Ling, we all thought it was very funny
Stayed at No. 1 for several weeks
"Gimme that thing, gimme gimme that thing (or Ding)" was another funny song
"Mouldy Old Dough" by Lieutenant Pigeon a keyboard song with the constant refrain of just "Mouldy Old Dough"
Cat Stevens had a song "I can't keep it in/ I gotta let it out/ gotta show the world..."
Novelty songs were important, they'd interest even your parents
They'd pass a comment "Ha! Ha! That's a funny song"
< And there were sad songs too, weren't there, really sad songs ? >
"Billy don't be a hero don't be a fool with your life" by Paper Lace about a young bride trying to talk her young fiancee out of going off to war, he doesn't listen and never comes back, he gets killed
The Government sends her a letter, she throws it away...
"Seasons in the Sun" by Terry Jacks, 'Goodbye Michelle my little one/
We've known each other since we were nine or ten/ We climbed hills and trees skinned our knees...ABC's / O! Michelle it's hard to die when all the birds are singing in the sky..."
You'd nearly be in tears listening to it.
We used to buy Top of the Pops compilation records with lots of hits on them
Sometimes Mom would like a song, 'Stay with me' by the band Blue Mink
"Stay with me, lay with me/ Love me for longer..."
Always reminds me of my Mom that song
'Killing me softly with your song' Roberta Flack was another
'Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree..."
At school every Friday the teacher would have a spelling test, I used win it a lot, I was good at spelling
The teacher used to give some sweets as a prize, I used bring them home to my Mum.

The Eurovision Song contest (all the European countries would put forward a song), I remember being let stay up to watch Abba win in 1974 with 'Waterloo'
In their fabulous outfits...they looked like Stars, Giants to us, Norse legends from Sweden.  They were amazing!
And what about our own Dana, the young Irish girl from Derry who won the Eurovision for Ireland for the first time with 'All kinds of everything...remind me of you"
I was too young to be allowed to stay up to watch that one
But you could probably hear the adults shouting for Joy from the room below
Happy Nay amazed to see one of our own having done so well, being recognised, flying the flag for Ireland
And then there was seeing Thin Lizzy playing 'Whiskey in the Jar' on Top of the Pops, the first Irish Rock band ever to appear on the show
It was so exciting watching them on our old Black and white TV...an Irish Band one of your very own up there on the World stage
And what about Gilbert O'Sullivan from Waterford I think reaching No. 1 in the Charts with his lovely song 'Clair'
We thought it was a love song but at the end it was revealed it was in fact about a little girl he used babysit for...so sweet.
We used to get comics and magazines secondhand, bought at jumble sales (remember jumble sales)
There was a music magazine for young kids, mainly for girls I think
It was called 'Jackie', there'd be a few in our bundle
They'd have big pictures of all the current hearthrobs
Donny Osmond, David Cassidy, the Bay City Rollers
The young fans would go crazy for their idols
I remember Donny Osmond singing Puppy Love and his version of The Twelfth of Never...
"I'll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom
I'll love you till the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you till the poets run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never/ And that's a long long time"...
They were beautiful words about loving, a forever love
And Baby I love you by The Ronettes "Baby I love you/ I love everything about you...
All singing about this wonderful mysterious thing called...called Love.

<Can you go back further than that?>
When we'd go up the village where the amusement arcade was
There'd be songs playing, there were dreamy songs
Albatross by Fleetwood Mac, A whiter shade of Pale by Procol Harum
There was an instrumental I remember called "Sylvia" by the Dutch band Focus
There was a lovely leggy blonde girl named Sylvia in my class at school
And yes! I think she was actually from Holland
(We had a few foreign girls in our class)
Y'know I think she fancied me...did Sylvia
She used to smile at me a lot.
I have a memory of being at the fairground in the Summer with its swing boats and bumper cars
It's roundabouts with the horses and swings, the shooting gallery, the stall for throwing rings over things and taking a prize home
I remember candy floss and ice cream cones
I remember playing the penny slot machines in the amusement arcade, all the different machines
I remember a song "California Man" by The Move... wonderful Summer days.

In the Sixties an Elvis or a Beatles film was a big deal
I remember A Hard Days Night in brilliant black and white
And then "Help" in wonderful colour
Trying to get a fabulous Ring off Ringo the drummer's finger... great songs
Watching The Banana Splits "One Banana Two Banana Three Banana Four/All Bananas going right through the door...
Remember The Monkees"Hey!Hey! We're The Monkees/You never know where we'll be found... We're the young generation and we got something to say"
Last Train to Clarksville, I'm a Believer... great songs too
Remember The Age of Aquarius "This is the age of Aquarius..."
The Sixties yeah!

<Did your Mom and Dad have a Singles collection, the old 45's. Do you remember?>
On our old Dansette record player Roy Orbison singing In Dreams and its B side Sharadoba a magical Egyptian sounding song
And also It's Over about a love affair breaking up
And its wonderful B side Indian Wedding, that was my favorite song among the 45's
It told the story of Yellow Hand and White Feather two Indians getting married
But then going off into the swirling snow never to return
Gone to the Land of the Rising Sun...
You'd listen to them over and over again those songs and that wonderful haunting voice.
<And what were you thinking about, what would be running through your mind when you'd be listening to those songs?>
I remember I wanted to be special that I'd have some special powers and be able to do great things
Something that would make me stand out and that people would be amazed
Maybe some of the girls too, would be very impressed.
My Dad he liked Jim Reeves, he had a lovely velvety smooth voice
He sang Billy Bayou 'Billy Billy Bayou watch where you go/ You're walking on quicksand/ Walk slow/ Billy Billy Bayou watch what you say/ A pretty girl is gonna get you one of these days...
He sang a lot of slow love songs "Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone and let believe that we're together all alone...
Anna Marie... Anna Marie
Four Walls to know me...

<Tell me about Christmas, the Christmas songs?>
Christmas was a magical time in our house, we'd have the Christmas tree with all the decorations and coloured lights on it
We'd have long concertina like decorations going from wall to wall, so colourful
And lots of glittery things
The songs... Slade singing 'Happy Christmas Everybody', Wizard singing 'I wish it could be Christmas everyday', Mud singing 'It'll be lonely this Christmas (without you to hold)' sounded like Elvis
Johnny Mathis singing 'When a child is born',
'Little Drummer Boy'...
In those days because of school and family you had a strong sense of belonging, having friends, attending birthdays and sports and community events and church
I remember the Christmas party in Primary school (Kindergarten), you had to bring your own treats
I'd only have some biscuits and diluted orange juice
Most people were relatively poor in those days
I was a bit embarrassed having so little
There was one boy and all he had was a bottle of milk to bring
Some used make fun of him, kids could be cruel sometimes.

I remember the teacher brought in a tape recorder once and taped every boy and girl's voice and then he'd play them back
I used dread when my voice would come up
'Cos suddenly the whole class would erupt in laughter
For some reason my voice sounded funny when taped
Even the teacher used smile
I felt so humiliated nay destroyed with them all laughing at me...
I remember... I remember singing the Christmas Carol 'Angels we have heard on high' with its chorus
"Glo..ooria, Gloria in Excelsis Deo"
It was Latin I think but I didn't know this
I thought we were singing "Gloria in a Chelsea stable"
I thought to myself "Jesus must be a supporter of Chelsea football/soccer club" heh!
We had Perry Como's Christmas album with the story of 'Frosty the Snowman' and 'The Christmas Song' ...
"chestnuts roasting on an open fire/ Jack Frost nipping at your nose/ Yuletide carols being sung by a choir/ And folks dressed up like Eskimos..."
And Bing Crosby of course, singing White Christmas
I think we all dreamed of a White Christmas
At school we'd sing 'Away in a Manger' and 'The First Nowell'
Y'know if I sing those songs even now to myself, I can... I can almost remember...

<What about the other songs you learned at school, funny songs, sad songs and the memories they bring up? >
There was a song 'Those were the days (my friend we thought they'd never end)' it was in the Charts
I think the teacher taught us it
The people in the song would be having a great time laughing and drinking and dancing in the taverns
But as they'd grow older their lives would change and they'd get lonelier and sadder...
'Puff the Magic Dragon' I remember there was a very sad bit in this song
Puff and his childhood friend would have so many great adventures together
But then one day, his friend he came no more (he'd found other toys to play with)
Poor Puff was left bereft, he slowly slunk back into his cave... this used to make me sad...
We did patriotic songs 'Roddy McCorley' (goes to die on the Bridge of Toom today)
We had a songbook at school, I still have it
It had lots of old folk songs
Oh! Susanna, Skip to my Lou, The Camptown Races
"Michael Finnegan beginagin/ He had hairs on his chinagin/ Poor old Michael Finnegan"
We used laugh at that song
"What are we going to do with the drunken sailor... early in the morning "
'Marching through Georgia' "Hurra! Hurra! We bring the Jubilee/ Hurra! Hurra! The flag that sets us free...a rousing song
The teacher would play a musical instrument, a melodica I think it was called
She'd blow into it and it had keys on top that'd she'd finger to create the notes
She divided the class into those who could sing and the others, the Crows she called us who couldn't
I was among the Crows
It made me feel bad being called a Crow.
In Primary school we used to play soccer during the breaks
It was usually the Boys from the Housing Estate versus the rest of us from the Village
There was never any tactics, the whole team en masse would just run after the ball LoL
I remember I used to get angry sometimes probably because of something someone had said to me
When I was angry I'd become like The Incredible Hulk
I'd go through the whole lot of them, beat them all
I was Unstoppable
I was the first boy in my class to ever score a goal using my head
The school would also have soccer leagues and we'd get put onto teams
But we were so small compared to the bigger older boys we'd hardly ever get a touch of the ball
But I... I managed to get a goal once which was unheard of from someone in our year
I was so happy.... delighted! My teacher even announced it to the whole class
That I'd scored... I was so chuffed
When I went home and told my parents though they didn't seem to think it was anything special....
My Dad he liked accordion music, he liked The Alexander Brothers from Scotland
They had a song 'Nobody's Child'
"I'm Nobody's Child, no one to love me/ No mother's kisses no mother's smiles/ I'm like a flower just growing wild..."

I used to sleep alone in my room
You'd be afraid there in the Dark on your own
There'd be a nightlight on the wall all lit up
A religious picture, the ****** Mary holding the child Jesus
I'd get Mom to leave the door open so I could faintly hear the voices downstairs
Sometimes I couldn't hear anything and I'd be afraid everybody had gone and left me
So I'd get up and sit on the landing listening
There was a few times when I'd actually go down the stairs
I'd be so relieved to see them all still there
I used sing songs in the dark to keep the fear away, songs we learned at school
"We're going to the Zoo Zoo Zoo/ How about You You You/ You can come too too too..."
Old MacDonald had a farm E-I-E-I O! and on that farm he had some...
"10 green bottles standing on a wall/ And if one green bottle should accidentally fall/ There'd be nine green bottles standing on the wall...
Sometimes I used recite poems we'd learned
"Two little blackbirds singing in the sun/ One flew away and then there was one... One little brick wall lonely in the sun/ Waiting for the blackbirds to come and sing again "
I also remember trying to recite to myself the multiplication tables...

<There were funny rhymes and nursery rhymes wasn't there? >
Christmas is coming/ The Goose is getting fat/ Please put a penny in the old Man's hat/ If you haven't got a penny a halfpenny will do/ If you haven't got a halfpenny God bless you...
Hickory Dickery dock/ The mouse ran up the clock...
They could be strangely violent sounding
Jack and Jill went up the hill/To fetch a pail of water/ Jack fell down and broke his crown/ And Jill came tumbling after...
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall/ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...
Three blind mice/ See how they run/ They all run after the farmer's wife/ She cuts off their tails with a carving knife...
Girls are made of all things nice... sugar and spice/What are little boys made of/ Frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails...
Adam and Eve went up my sleeve and never came down till Christmas Eve...
I remember the early games we played, Snakes and Ladders, Ludo, Tiddlywinks trying to flick little plastic counters into a tiny plastic bucket, also playing draughts and marbles...

<Can you go back any further ? >
My Mom singing in the kitchen doing her daily chores singing some song off the radio
Dickie Rock an Irish showband singer singing
"Come back to stay/ And promise me you'll never stray/ I promise that I'll be true...
Sean Dunphy another Irish singer singing "If I could choose" (came second in the Eurovision Song contest)
Tom Jones 'The Green green grass of Home '
There was a lot of easy listening type songs on the radio Burt Bacharach type songs
Andy Williams, Englebert Huberdinck (Please release me let me go/ I don't love you anymore), Doris Day maybe
There's a lot I can't remember now
Val Doonican another Irish singer who'd made it big in the UK
(Had his own TV program for many years on the BBC)
He had a big hit with the song "Walk Tall"
"Walk tall and look the world right in the eye/That's what my mother told me when I was about knee high...
I remember one magical Christmas we got a present of a plastic projector
It came with several slides, they had wonderfully colourful cartoony pictures on them that told a story
We'd turn off all the lights and project it onto the wall
I remember it was like magic, the colours they were so vivid, they were like the colors off stained Glass windows...
The colour of things was very important when you were a kid, they'd almost create feelings inside of you
Colours came first... before words ever did
We often didn't understand the grown ups with their big words...
I remember getting collections of different kinds of toy soldiers and then staging battles
I remember collecting little toy Dinky cars they were called, that was their brand
And Matchbox cars (another brand) ... even today when I see certain colours of cars I am reminded of those old toy cars I used to play with... strange

<What are your earliest memories then? >
There was a question I always wanted to ask the adults but I never did, I thought it kind of funny and didn't want them to laugh at me
The question was "Why does Life always show me ?" An existentialist question even then.

We lived by the sea so you'd be lulled to sleep every night by the flowing up and flowing back of the sea... the tide... its gentle swaying back and forth motion
We had a black cloth picture/painting on the wall, a night scene with swans on a lake and an exotic house in the background with the Moon shining
It was so quiet and peaceful to look at...
My bedroom wallpaper had lovely red or pinkish roses
There was a colourful flower design sewn onto my pillowcase
It used to be lovely getting into bed with fresh linen...
I remember I used to get funny dreams even then, sometimes scary dreams
But I remember you were always safe 'cos in the dream you had a special ring you could put on and then the scary dream would go away (I've often wondered after was that maybe where Tolkien got his inspiration for The Lord of the Rings and Wagner the music composer for his music opera "The Ring")

<Can you go back...any further ? >
Going back further, you're almost falling off the edge of the world there
To a time... to a time when there were no words
When a child comes into the world they have no words
There's only... only The Silence... The Great Silence,
Silence is a strange thing, you can hear Silence
The fact that you can hear it means it must be changing from moment to moment
It too is just like a music, it's probably the first music
Without it there could be no other
The Music of the Spheres someone once called it
It just stays there in the background... glistening... your constant companion
Probably the first sound you ever heard, and probably the last you'll ever hear
It can grow very loud
It wasn't threatening, there were no monsters in it
Not until you went to school and learned words and heard scary stories
Did the monsters come
Words they can cast shadows... sometimes very long shadows...
There was a cot with wooden bars, I remember having a blanket with lovely warm colors on it, soft light blues and yellows, wooly sheep, Bo Peep or Bears or something
We had a golden coloured curtain with lots of designs on it in the bedroom
I remember if you looked hard enough you'd start to see faces in the curtain
Sometimes they would frighten me, they'd look very sharp and angry looking or maybe very sad unhappy looking...
I suppose today I still see faces, in my mind, in the great curtain of all my memories, all those I ever met and knew...

I remember looking at my Mom's face and not knowing what she was
Babies their a complete clean slate, have no words, they know nothing of this world
Gradually they warm to their Mom's affections and come to trust her and bond with her.
Because you had no words when very young there'd be huge gaps in your consciousness
When your consciousness would be completely clear and still
The silence and stillness would envelop you
... and there was something else... something else there... something deep in the silence
Out of it would come something very strange and quite wonderful
It'd come upon you suddenly...it was like your consciousness was changing, opening up
It was like you were descending into some great... some great complex
Your eyes would be closed but still you could see it and feel it... you were part of it
And it was so natural and so familiar...it was where you came from...it was Home
There was a first part that would lead into another part... and then another, all different
Yea, it had several stages and you'd pass through each stage from the outside going inward right to the very last stage... the very Source of Life itself
And you'd be completely at ease with yourself, you'd be completely at Home there
It'd come every night... that Special thing.,. that Special Place
Y'know sometimes when I see a little baby asleep in its pram, I know... I know where they are
Their away now, away in that Special Place
Far faraway from this world of care, so peaceful and so quiet there
Guarded by unknowingness and the Great Silence
With no fear or confusion there to bedevil it
Knowing only a relaxation so deep and a great Stillness within...

But me! I was the youngest in my house, I was always fighting with my brothers
And I was a terrible worrier just like my Mother
I'd be worried about school and the teachers, and trying to understand my (school) lessons
And there'd always be problems, arguments, confusions... humiliations and cruel harsh words spoken
At night I remember I used shake my head vigorously as if trying to rid my mind
Of words that had been spoken, words that hurt or stung...or confused me
I used bump my head gently against the wall
But no! I couldn't escape them... my peace it was broken now...it was gone
And that Special Place just like in the song Puff the Magic Dragon
It came no more...it was lost to me.

I suppose this is all I can remember, all I can recall
I guess this is where I must have come in
I suppose I must have reached the end... the End of my Rope here.

I sat down after being told,
by the old hungry *****,
Not to worry but there was,
a better spot then this one,
Of course,
The pedistals that sit outside,
occupational windows,
That familiar unknown feeling,
O That town they call Dinky,
There sat a confusing aura,
the pious religious freak said aura,
he talked and gave change,
yet the skull girl,
you could tell,
didn't want any of it,
The scene was joined by Tank,
His armada pockets full,
towering and proclaiming,
fits of oratory rage,
them ******* in Washington.
He saw us and scared the poor muertos,
The friends she was waiting for came and fled with them,
I lumbered after her under duress to myself,
breaking Tank's train of thought
I'm sure,
To tell her sincere,
There are normal people here,
To which her friend said after
they'd gained distance,
"   You must have a target on your back or something!"

Deep-fried success!
Dinky potatoes
and little Schwarzenegger
on a hornswoggled bun,
oh yes--
How they soothe my lubes,
breathe my bubbles,
and skip *** straight to breakfast.

Paddling through images on my phone--
they are the only life boat in sight
a little floating canoe in the middle of a mighty ocean.
The tide is turning, trying to advert some ugly storm that's rising up;
debris fills the whirl pool as it slowly tempts to drag my anchor in.

Smudges appear on the glowing screen of my preoccupation,
as the teary drops blotch out the imagery I cling onto.
Only gaining more wind as it descends to sink this dinky ship.

Cascades of waves streamline their way through my finger tips,
settling into the motion, the shambles of the scooter rip away from me
Trembling as the mind wanders from surface to drowning.

Face down in a public space,
without any buoy to hold onto
These rampant waves will water-board the mind.

The campaign to survive, sunk with final life boat
As the perfect storm was able,
to fatally take my breath away.

BABYCHAMS

Here under a large pub table
hidden by its tasselled cloth

in my own private theatre
of self

making my Dinky car
come alive

and run on high grade
imagination.

The chattering of aunts
like a foreign language.

I could never understand
the clatter of the lingo.

When suddenly a pair of female legs
****** themselves under my table.

Then another and another
each ******* into my space

like an iron maiden
of fleshly legs.

All  shapes and sizes
stocking...un-stockinged
skirts hitched up beyond
as far as possible
knickered...un-knickered
places scratched
never thought possible.

And I in the one breathing space left
unable to breath.

I was that French cartoon cat
chased by Pepé Le Pew.

"Le pant!"
I gasped
"Le phew!"

Aunts abandoning all their power
returning to being the girls they were.

The Babycham gone
to their heads.

And I forever
putting aside

childish things
and toys

wise as a Solomon
though thoroughly terrified

with this
the newest of knowledge.

I hope if you read this you're over 18...
I've written a poem you may find obscene.
I'm going to be ***** and graphic a while...
Some readers will shudder, yet others will smile
'cause this poem is nasty, off-color and vile.
This is one of my uncensored full-frontal verses
full of expletives, swear words, gratuitous curses
where I'm *****-mouthed, explicit, filthy, blue, crude...
so don't be offended.
I've warned you...
It's lewd.
You might want to stop if you're not in the mood.
At least I'm not sitting in front of you ****.
You can't  see the pierced parts or what is tattooed.
This is strict ADULTS ONLY.
It's all about ***.
It's poetic *******.
****.
Triple X.
Enough with the foreplay... Here goes... Wish me luck:
Boobie. ****. Winkie. *****. ****. Phooey!
If that isn't bad enough, let me be blunt;
Dinky and ******* and backside and cootchie!
C'est tout.   C'est fini.
That' pretty much it...

If you weren't amused why should I give a hoot?

I WILL NOT CEASE FROM MENTAL FIGHT

"Hush...hush!" he'd
suddenly shush

us kids
going" "Wot...wot?"

"Snipers!"

"Where...where?"
we'd whisper half scared.

"Everywhere...everywhere!"
he'd hiss under his breath.

Even in his beloved
red and yellow rose bushes.

( Fred shot in the head
still bleeding in Picardy ).

Or the *** in
the garden shed

which we'd storm
with a barrage of conkers.

"The bleedy blighter
got away!"

They had followed him
home from Flanders.

Or just...
never went away.

Mother said he'd
lost his....

but he'd play
marbles with us

kids
all day.

Rubbed his tolley
against his bonce

"Big Bertha"
he'd call her.

"Yer losing 'em...yer losing 'em!"
he'd sing with great gusto.

We had to let him win
or he'd swear like anything.

"Stop dat slanguage!"
Mother would swear at him.

He sang saucy French songs
"mes saucisson mes amis!"

but only when he be-
-came squiffy

which was more
than often!

Mother begging us:
"Don't listen...don't listen!"

But we inky-dinky
parley-vous'd with him.

A chorus of us kids
belting out:

"...Oh I didn't know how
to tickle Mary

but now I know how!"

"War is all about
saving your skin!"

Most of his mates
lost theirs.

He still calls them
by their names

as if they are
just...there.

"The ghosts of the sofa!"

They sit and watch
the radio with him.

"Manchester Utd 2 -"

He sings ADIEU LA VIE
and cries in French.

Left his left leg
in a trench

but still loves
to dance.

"I dance as badly or
as goodly as I did before

no less...no more!"

More and more
often he hides

under the stairs
eating raspberry jam

or marmalade
in the dark

crying now
in English.

Hiding still
from the Wipers' snipers.

He hates apple and plum
"all we...ugggh...ever got!"

And loudly the cupboard
it sings.

"...without food so long
I've forgotten where my face

is..."

(Fred lost his...)

I always remember him
coming out to salute

surrender to us
as he recites

in a little child's voice.

"When the Rock of Gibraltar
takes a flying leap at Malta

you'll never get yer *******
in a corn beef can."

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

It's him
I know it
It is , it is
Let it be him
That swaggering
I'm it walk
That dinky great
Ginormous smile
Just like mine is
Right on now
Our smiles
A mere breath away
They've intermingled
Already across air
Like this knee shaking
Is really kissome
The kiss lovenly
Welding our lips
He taught me how
He's so very good
We taught each other
Our love making
We love each other
But not now in love
TONIGHT !
TONIGHT !
YIPPEE !

On the rebound,
sounds like  a
record label

all if it goes round
is the sound of
revolvers being loaded.

It's a shotgun way
when it ends this way
but if there's a better way
you'd better tell me.

When I was a saint and
I ain't any more
I could close on the deal
before they'd opened the door

and now who am I?

the sinner
and you
can't make a sonnet
out of
a dogs dinner.

If I'm found on the rebound
throw me back in
but
let me begin with
a
clean slate

Foul deeds
are the wanton needs
but needs must
be unjust
when the devil drives

I steer my own rig
perform at my own gig
got no room for
no prophet of doom.

There is no boom or bust
no south sea bubble to
trouble me
no pyramid selling
and no one is telling me
to stop.

My terms
My time
My rhyme
if you dinky don't like it
jump ship.

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

i(as many other space rocks are)am jealous of the moon
for not many space rocks travelling at
     twothousandtwohundredeightyeight
mph

can say they have apes who speak
dinky(boats on the waves of his essence)
     chops of verse    dedicated
to them

why an ape would compare(with
metalrodandink)one of my fellow
     space rocks to his(notreallybutkindof)
girlfriend

i don’t know but i am jealous(as
a space rock who doesn’t have apes)
     when that littlecutegreyspacesmudge has them
(and i don’t)