I thought I’d give a bit of sunlight to this.
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
Month: Sep 2014
Life, or is it…updated
Did you call last night, I never heard a sound
just the distant hum of a soul nearby
another lonely person passing by.
Life on the street as a lonely old tramp
under the bridge and out of sight
I live in a loneliness of my own plight
Things you left, things I saw
bits of messages left for me
why won’t you go and let me be.
Is it the booze or is it the drugs
why can’t I make out the words
it makes no sense, it’s completely absurd.
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 too far gone to care
not even sure sometimes that I’m even there.
©Joe Wilson – Life, or is it…2014
στα όνειρα (In dreams)
I was never one to complain – like hell, I complain about all kinds of everything
Nonetheless I had never for a moment thought that I would be the one chosen to go
To travel that far with no guarantee I could ever come home
To live with the knowledge that we might lose everything I valued
But it was a risk I knew that one day I would take, a choice that one day I knew I’d make.
But Mars! This was gonna be one hell of a journey
One we’d trained for for years, one we’d hoped for all our lives
But way back then none of us had children and wives.
Blast off successful and we were heading up at thousands of feet a second
No going back now. Goddamn it, it was better than all the pot he’d ever smoked
But it was serious stuff, despite all of this and that that they joked.
But then when he thought about it he realised the nonsense of it all
We can’t even look after the planet that we live on
What right have we to go and probably destroy another one!!!
The spell was broken – he woke up. It was just a dream.
©Joe Wilson – στα όνειρα (In dreams)2014
A whimsical bit of nonsense about distance.
My many coloured life…
Colour me brown for the woods I played in as a boy
For the bow and arrows I used for a toy
For the friends and the fun and the unfettered joy.
Colour me beige for my calm and neutral look at life
The nothingness that could have been spread with a knife
The colour I felt before I loved my wife.
Colour me green for the nature that surrounds
For the children we had and their ever happy sounds
For the promise that their future hopes abound.
Colour me cream for your quiet elegant ways
That fill my life with beautiful days
The joy of being in a life-long phase.
Colour me blue for the truth you speak
For the trust you gave when my life was bleak
For the quiet solitude we sometimes seek.
Colour me pink for the true love you give
For the beauty of each and every day that we live
For the small thoughtless sins that you always forgive.
Colour me red for the passion we still feel
For each other a passion that is still very real
For the hearts that we tied with an emotional seal.
Colour me purple for the compassion you hold
For the sensitive spirits that with you unfold
For the judgement and dreams that help me feel bold.
Colour me yellow for the wisdom you set free
For the knowledge I learnt so empowering to see
For the sunshine in your heart saved especially for me.
Colour me all the colours so magnificently
You gave to me life far far less ordinary
You gave me your love and you showed to me…me.
©Joe Wilson – My many coloured life…2014
Bashing heads…
by
Jess Lee
Our odd tale is set in the Old Wild West
Where stories like this are imparted the best
It tells of the feud of two bitter old men
Who argued quite often and fought now and then.
The fact of the matter is that each had a ranch
And running between was a large river branch
Each claimed the river to be just his alone
They argued the point right down to the bone.
Family members were brought into the fight
Over the years shots were fired left and right
Amazingly no one on either side died
Goodness knows some of the best shooters tried.
Then one day against the family wishes of both
A man and woman from each side did betroth
As they loved despite anger that they had both known
Into each other’s loving arms they had each flown.
They married in secret and needed a home
A small ranch was for sale where cattle could roam
So the new couple bought it and opened their ranch
It was just at the head of the large river branch.
And then they dammed up the river and halted its flow
The ranches below had nowhere else to go
But they said to his parents and also to hers
“Unwatered cattle – or fighting! What’s worse?”
At long last after dozens of years in a fight
Someone had seen sense and had some insight
And had forced the old rivals to both compromise
Grandchildren, not fighting each other – the prize!
©Joe Wilson – Bashing heads…2014
A fun story about compromise, and the value of water.
She waits in hope…
Though willing hands are always there
To feed her, dress her, and brush her hair
Disease has crept through her with stealth
Some things just can’t be stopped with wealth.
The frailty was quite slow at first
She couldn’t fasten her shoes at worst
But then it weakened her gentle heart
And eventually it tore her life apart.
And though she prayed with all her might
She started soon to lose her sight
She fell down often and broke her hip
And life began to fade and slip.
In time she couldn’t leave her bed
And dreamed her dreams of Christ instead
For she well knew he’d suffered worse
Than her small Earthly painful curse.
Now in her mind in fear she weeps
Her life but spent in fitful sleeps
She waits in hope for His Holy hand
To lead her to the Promised Land.
©Joe Wilson – She waits in hope…2014
The Wise Old Tailor
He sits cross-legged with fingers poised
His needle threaded with fine silken cord
As a bright new pattern takes over all thought
He starts a new coat very soon to be bought.
In each and every coat that he’s made
A customer’s future has been finely inlaid
For the tailor is also a very wise man
And he makes people happier whenever he can.
This maker of scarves and coats of all sizes
Won praise from the King, who gave him nice prizes
The new coat he’s making is for the King’s son
And he’ll sew in much wisdom and lots of good fun.
When the day comes that the boy takes the throne
He’ll be filled with such wisdom as never he’s known
The tailor talks not of such things, he won’t tell
He just smiles to himself to see all that is well.
©Joe Wilson – The Wise Old Tailor 2014
Written for children to enjoy
Carelessness…
Spanners and wrenches and nails spread afar
But he gathered them all as best as he could
And piled them back into the boot as you would
Then he started the engine and set off down the road
Feeling quite weary from the day’s heavy load.
It hadn’t occurred to him to look under his car
He was tired and his journey was really quite far
But a large six-inch nail had got caught in the tar
And it punctured a tyre in a fast moving car.
The driver of that was too reckless that day
And the speed he was going was so fast they now say.
The car made a lurch and spun out of control
Then it veered to one side as it started to roll
It spun as it rolled and hit the side of a coach
The glass in the sides smashed like a cheap five-bob broach
But the damage was done and some passengers fell down
Right into the path of the car spinning round.
It scythed through their legs in a horrible way
The sounds of the screaming just wouldn’t go away
And six folk lost their lives as the carnage went on
Imagination strained it was something beyond
The driver of course he was one of the dead
As the car wrapped around him and damaged his head.
The other man arrived at the end of his trip
Grabbed his box from the boot with a casual grip
And set about the job he’d come to here for
But could only find three six-inch nails now, not four
He was sure that he’d purposely put four of them in
He’d just have to go back and get another again.
Joe Wilson – Carelessness…2014
Many years ago I witnessed a similar accident to this. As with most accidents it didn’t need to happen.
The Master
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
My muse…
I saw you there and I fell in love
I heard trumpets sounding from above
I’d found my angel, I’d found my muse
The one I cannot bear to lose.
©Joe Wilson – My muse…2014
Jovis on a Journey... 