Loss…

The bitterness is no longer a surprise
It is a daily taste to relish
Nothing seems to mean that much
Those reaching out can’t feel my touch
I have slowly immersed myself in grief
And loneliness with the crowd
Is found to be a small relief.

And yet, I ask myself tonight
What right have I to shun my friends
For there I’ll find a sense of peace
As bitter feelings find release
For they may feel such pain as I
And hurt inside as much – and feel
That awful, awful need to cry.

©Joe Wilson – Lost…2016

nature slows right down
plants will start their Autumn rest
as Summer wanes.

green then disappears
chlorophyll leaches away
gold and red glow bright.

squirrels gather food
as frost nips at tiny feet
building Winter stocks.

now the leaves can fall
Autumn sees their dive for earth
skeletons have stayed.

canopy all gone
only branches now remain
to rustle no more.

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2016

Surviving…

boat-man

Slowly, he sunk to the ground
His legs giving way in the mud
He tried and tried to get back up
But he was stuck there now
—- it did no good.

A perfect metaphor of his real life
Where he’d slowly fallen down
He’d done his best but it wasn’t enough
For he never succeeded
—-he viewed life through a frown.

And here he was, stuck as never before
Half way there, stuck, and not knowing
Should he pull himself out and carry on
Or should he give up and fall back
— and leave self-pity growing.

It comes to us all at some withering point
We get hurled to ground by a sense of disgust
The world then is no longer our oyster
As we reel from mistakes
—- in a life filled with distrust.

And at this crossroads we find ourselves
Will we crumble where others may thrive
Do we possess the courage it takes
To man up and gain
—- a chance to survive.

©Joe Wilson – Surviving…2016

An ill-fated journey…

 

cross_on_observation_hill_mcmurdo_station
The Observation Hill Cross, erected in 1913 as a memorial to Scott and his party.

O God, it is so harsh and very cold
But onward and driven, we must go
Our journey South so frighteningly bold
To reach a Pole where nought will grow,

Rations frozen, now frostbitten fingers
Fallen canines reluctantly eaten
And feet unfelt where pain just lingers
We battle on, we cannot be beaten.

But yet we lost, Amundsen beat us
We’ll leave a mark to say we arrived
There was no cheer, nor slightest fuss
A bitter taste for those deprived.

So few of us remain, a smaller fire will burn
Captain Oates stepped out last night, so gallant
He said he would just be awhile, but didn’t return
Such men have been my comrades, such talent.

Heroes all, this unfortunate company of gallant men
Edward Wilson, Edgar Evans, and Henry Bowers
Their strength of character I’ve known not when
Each one above the norm now towers.

And yet now here, failed, and trying to reach our shore
I feel our journey now will end, we are so feeble
“It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more
R. Scott — for God’s sake, look after our people.”

©Joe Wilson – An ill-fated journey…2016

Robert Falcon Scott made it to the South Pole,
though he was beaten there by Roald Amundsen.
He and his men died on the way home
just eleven miles from food supplies.

Sticking plasters…

Run cold the silent weeping heart
Yet warm the tears that fall
While memories of that once keen love
Get harder to recall.

How long the bitter taste can last
As sadness fills the mind
But how the recollections hurt
Of times when life still seemed so kind.

And as with sticking plasters
That cling for just so long
Till wounds that feel so painful
Will leave one less than strong.

Courageously one battles on
To struggle to that bitter end
In hopes, that even loveless
Perhaps one has at least one friend.

For what is life if spent alone
A dark and dismal place
Surely life is more worthwhile
When one can see a smiling face.

—————-

It’s fortunate that I have been
One love is all I shared
With one who chose to stay awhile
The only one for who I’ve cared.

©Joe Wilson – Sticking plasters…2016

Unbridled passion…

summers-passionate

Sand fell from his feet as he waded ashore
The water so cold his teeth still chattered
But he’d swum to the buoy as he promised he would
And when she kissed his cold lips nothing else mattered.

They walked, arms entwined the length of the beach
All alone still, as dawn had not yet even broken
Their love kept them warm and they both held a smile
And down the length of the beach not many words were spoken.

And in the small private cove at the farthest point along
They abandoned all pretence of calm cool fashion
Literally leaping into each other’s waiting arms
They made love on the beach and unleashed their passion.

O how they laugh when they think of that time
And the fact that they nearly got caught
But they still love each other as strong as they did
And that sort of passion can never be bought.

©Joe Wilson – Unbridled passion…2016

It’s not just a fag anymore…

Flush-Nicotine-Featured

Gently, very gently
She held the child in her arms
She was a mother, a protector
And would shield her from all of life’s harms.
Or at least that’s what the lady thought
As she leaned down to coo and smile
As she breathed her nicotine breath on her
And passed germs to her baby so vile.
The child at four got cancer
At six she’s no longer here
Yet the mother still smokes in her sorrow
For those who won’t listen never hear.

©Joe Wilson – It’s not just a fag anymore…2016