Kinda Sluggish – 16 January 2014

This is an awesome man helping out in the community. We should all be this thoughtful.

D Cardiff's avatar2 - Slava Ukraini

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16 January 2014

Chuck Senior in his wheelchair, with Sandy on his lap, were crossing Laurier, so I waited for them. He expertly maneuvered, in reverse, into his spot.  Sandy raised her head, eager to be petted.

Chuck said, “Remember the other day, I asked you to stand on the other side because I hoped one of my regulars would be coming by? Not five minutes after you left he came by and dropped a twenty into my cap. Then a woman came from the other direction dropped a five and a ten.  Instead of  being parked outside Tim Horton’s I splurged and went inside for a coffee — a regular paying customer. It was nice to get out of the cold. I didn’t come by yesterday because I was just too tired. I took a sleeping pill last night and slept from six in the evening right through…

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Six Nations

Looking out across the field
At teams of men none whom would yield
Ready to battle against a side
Honour needing to be satisfied.

Men stood in centre, others at flanks
Some so huge they resembled tanks
The anthems sung, the talking done
A hard match now that could be won.

A roar goes up, the game begins
Arms and legs and knees and chins
All will be used in this affray
One side will win on this vital day.

The rain held off, there was no mud
On verdant grass these hard men stood
And then the egg-shaped pill flew high
Wingers to catch and go for tries.

Heroes were made upon that day
Of men who’d fight another day
Amidst loud cheers and celebrations
Battle Royal between Six Nations.

©JRW2014

The Unlikely Joke

back in the days of vaudeville
which was way before my time
men joked about a lady’s ankle
it was really too risqué
but now they tell much dirtier jokes
they joke about women’s breasts
well we are so much more modern now
and of course now it seems OK.

but is it I ask? is it alright?
to crack these smutty jokes
about the half of the population
who’ve struggled to shed their yokes.

a joke should be a good story
it should make you laugh out loud
is there a comic who doesn’t insult?
he’d surely stand out in a crowd.

sadly I’m not too sure of this
it’s quite a pity in a way
for I really would look forward
to hearing that joke some day.

©JRW2014

Sixes and Sevens

He dribbles a little now, he knows, but neither can he help it
Since the stroke that little bit of control is no more
It is the source of so much embarrassment to him
That he has barely set foot outside his front door.

It can’t go on though, it’s come to a head now
His nephew’s getting married and he’s been invited
He doesn’t know what to do, he’s at sixes and sevens
He knows he has to be there, he should be delighted.

The therapist had told him to exercise, “it’ll help a lot”, she said
“Also, you should look in the mirror”, a thing he cannot do
He couldn’t feel half of his face, the stroke had left him that way
“The exercises are there to help, they’ll help to get you through.”

He’d been lucky he knew, he had got his voice back, even though
He now sounded so different, he hardly recognised himself when he spoke
And he also walked unevenly as the stroke affected his hips
So much so that he thought he probably looked like a joke.

But there was one thing that made him feel really better
Two years earlier he couldn’t have even stood
So dribble as he did, embarrassed as he got when he was out
He knew he was making progress and that was all to the good.

And then he felt selfish for feeling sorry for himself
His nephew would want happiness, he deserved it as well
So he’d put on his best smile, he’d do what he could
He’d hide all his fears and hope no one could tell.

©JRW2014

1914 – A Huge Fraction

He still felt deafened by the terrible sound
From the huge field guns that both sides had
Been firing hour after hour for four days. You
Could be scared to death just from the noise.

An eighth didn’t seem like much
Two sixteenths
Four thirty-seconds
Eight sixty-fourths
Sixteen one hundred and twenty-eighths.

Following his recent promotion to Colonel
He was sitting in his new office at his new desk
Hesitating to put his pen to paper
Resisting the inevitable sorrow to come.

He was writing down the numbers – thinking
Thirty two two hundred and fifty-sixths
Sixty four five hundred and twelfths.
Now the numbers looked much bigger.
When he reached
Five hundred and twelve as a
fraction of four thousand and ninety-six
He stopped.

The number now seemed insurmountable
Yet it was still that small fraction.
But he now had to write to that number
Of wives, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters
And tell them that their boy would
Never again walk through their front door.

An eighth is so much more than just a fraction.

©Joe Wilson – 1914 A huge fraction…2014

One of a group of poems recognising the centenary of WW1

A Bad Man But a Father

It was a solemn affair
The funeral
Everyone who’d ever known him
Was there
Some even liked him a little
But most
Had just come to make sure
He was dead.

Amongst these folk a little arm
Reached up
To hold a grown-ups hand
His lad
His eyes squeezed tight, so tight
Lest he cry
To him at least he’d been
Just Dad
To this young boy the man had been
His Hero
Criminal in life the man had left behind
The Innocent.
Only time would tell if that would
Remain the case.

©JRW2014

A Hard Rain

Relentlessly the hard rain falls
Filling rivers, then people’s halls
From coast to coast across the land
Built-on flood plains, foolish plan.
Water’s nowhere left to run
Clearing mud off floors – no fun
Twenty years, no rivers dredged
Agencies failed to keep their pledge
To support environments welfare
I wonder if they really care.

They say that it will get much worse
More than one has left by hearse
Meanwhile winds have picked up too
Downing trees as roofs unglued
Causing damage at bills untold
Premium help-line costs unfold

The political football has now been tossed
As always, it’s the ‘us’ who’ve lost.
Ministers forced into too-late action
Doing it to just gain vote traction.
It should have happened years ago
Sadly it’s how we always go.
Nothing happens till lives are lost
And that becomes the priceless cost.
Somethings that can’t be replaced
Perhaps at last it might be faced.

©JRW2014

A Poor Woman

Angelic voices called to her
She faltered at beauty’s sound
She’d thought that she was doing well
Surprised that now she had been found.

The monsoon rains had brought her down
A fever struck so deep
Her strength gave out eventually
Her will began to seep.

She’d worked out in the harshest place
She’d dug and picked and sown
On land that others made profit from
The land was not her own.

She’d even had a child once there
And then just carried on
The baby wrapped up on her back
Her plaintiff cry so wan.

But now the time had come for her
Worn out at forty two
Amidst the constant poverty
Her death was nothing new.

They buried her and carried on
No tears upon their face
The crops still needed planting
Her daughter filled her place.

©Joe Wilson – A poor woman 2014

Zombies

Black is the night
Black is the mood
Dark is the spirit
All evil imbued.

‘Tis now the zombies
Will walk the earth
Never finding peace
In their lifeless worth.

If they catch you
They’ll bring you down
Zombies live inside your mind
And not beneath the ground.

©Joe Wilson – Zombies 2014

Winter

Quietly the winter enfolds the once verdant land
Nature closing down in its seasonal dormancy
But wait! A squirrel’s out hunting, trying to add
Those last few precious nuts to its winter supply.

Leaves all frostbitten, now needles come into their own
It is the time of the evergreen and conifers to show
Streams and rills no longer flow, held back by the ice
That has made miniature icebergs from the frozen snow.

A once bright canopy of berries has all but disappeared
Grazed voraciously by a flock of redwings in desperate need
There’s not a single blade of rich green grass in view
All covered now by the Winter snow’s cold white hue.

©JRW2014