The shot…

David Ware
David Ware

 

I was lying in ambush being totally still
When the red deer wandered into the glade
A handsome young buck about three years old
With fine youthful antlers he proudly displayed.

He was among a few other young juvenile deer
But he was clearly the one that stood out
And in a few years time at the annual rut
He’d be a new leader I’d got no doubt.

He already stood with that majestic stance
On his antlers the rights showed fine bearing
And when the others trotted with him for company
It was almost a smile he was wearing.

But he was mine now and I’d earned him well
I’d waited for him the whole of the night
And there in the centre of my reticule
He was standing alone in full sight.

I was fully prepared for what I was to do
My kit all in camouflage as was I
And just at the moment the young buck looked up
I shot and caught him in his perfect eye.

The slight sound from my camera spooked him
In a flash he vanished into thin air
But when I looked at the screen on the camera
His image was noble and was there.

It is ten years now since I shot him
And a fine leader he went on to be
I sometimes catch sight of him up on the hill
And just for a while he’s looking at me.

 

©Joe Wilson – The shot… 2014

 

My heart aches…

My heart aches, but not for you
For you nestle here beside me
Lying peacefully in my arms
Head resting on my chest
And I am in Heaven.

My heart aches, but at your presence
For I have never deserved you
I couldn’t have imagined
You could love me as you do
And yet you really do.

My heart aches, but for our parting
For I must go and yet may never
See your beloved face again
And my heart breaks in pieces
As now I leave this final time.

©Joe Wilson – My heart aches… 2014

On reflection…

I rise from my nice warm bed
and having made a morning drink
for my beloved wife, and one for me,
I run a bath.
As I luxuriate
in that warm bubbled water
I reflect on how lucky I am.

Later, washed and dressed for the day
I sit at the table and enjoy
a fine meal from God’s harvest
and again I reflect, and I feel…
guilt!

Guilt for the small children
who have no homes in which to feel safe
guilt that so many of them
will not eat again today.

I feel guilt
for all of the poor women around the globe
who will this very day give birth
to babies who they will surely love
but in whose having they had no choice…
no one ever hears their terrified voice.
Poor women beaten by poverty
who still struggle to feed those children
and yet too those who violate them so.

I feel guilt for all the men who cannot be made
to realise that the world is not theirs to design,
and at the way that some men feel
their own importance trumps all other considerations,
and guilt at all of the war ravaged lands.

And when I look down at the bounteous fare before me
I feel only one thing – shame.

 

©Joe Wilson – On reflection… 2014

Trick…definitely not a treat…

devilish

 

It was just a shadow

but the way it moved

scared the bejeebers out of me.

 

I was just about to put the key in the door

when the big black shadow

passed  through me and cast itself

right down the hallway

 

…and then it was gone.

 

It was raining and very windy

and after a short sharp shake of the head

I dismissed it and entered

and switched on the lights

– all of the lights.

 

Hang on…

How had a shadow been cast in the pitch black darkness!!

 

I was already miserable enough

I’d had a really difficult day at work

Dealing politely with someone you’d call a jerk!

 

 

Suddenly – there was a sharp rap at the door

which upon opening revealed

children, one, two, three, four

“Trick or treat, Mister”, the young leader said

at which I grinned heartily

and recalling the juvenescence of earlier days

I was rushed back to reality and to him I said

“Trick”

fully expecting and prepared for a hideous mask or something.

 

In less time than it takes to say ‘Abracadabra’

the whole scene before me

turned red

I couldn’t make out at first what I was seeing

but then I realised that everything, everything was red.

Houses, trees, cars, even all the people

were all red.

Fiery red!!

 

I was in Hell – and I was terrified.

There was a long deep laugh

coming from – I didn’t know where.

it just surrounded everything

including me – what was going on?

 

And then I remembered.

“No!! Treat!!,

I shouted at the top of my voice

and just as suddenly as it had all appeared

it vanished.

“That’ll be a dollar Mister.” the youngest lad said.

 

I gave him five dollars

and closed the door

and locked the door

and very firmly slid the bolts home

and put the chain into its slot too.

I went into the study and poured myself

a very large whiskey,

and sat down, still shaking,

in front of the fire.

 

I had never been so scared in my life.

 

 

©Joe Wilson – Trick…definitely not a treat…2014

 

Out of the darkness…

Moving through the inky darkness
He leaps out suddenly at night
Stepping out from hidden corners
Where previously there’d been no sight.             shadow-in-doorway

Each night he hides in darkness’ maw
Awaiting all who pass
Until the sun begins to rise
By then he’s leapt his last.

No one’s surprised to see him
He follows us everywhere
For he is just our shadow
And of course…he’s always there.

Of course there are some places
Where he stays out of sight
It’s impossible to see him
If there isn’t any light.

If you have your dog with you
He has a shadow too
And everything the shadow does
He makes the dog do too.

©Joe Wilson – Out of the darkness…2014

This is a poem written mainly for children

I remember…

I remember
back to a time
when the black dog
hung around my neck
like a heavy yoke, I
could never be rid of
the terror that it
would not someday return
to seek me out and strike
me down again, and the knowing
how close I had come to succumbing.

I remember edging closer to the crowded
platform’s edge, too filled with fear to realise
the probable selfishness of what I was about to
do, only vaguely aware of where I actually was, but
just able to register that touch on my right arm
and the voice that quietly whispered, “I don’t really think
you want to do that.” I remember turning to see who’d said it
and seeing that there was just a crowd of people. Of the owner
of the voice there was no sign, but it had been enough.
It had been enough to make me realise where I was,
for the moment passed and I made my way back.

Back to the arms of the woman who had always loved me,
and who had carefully, lovingly, nursed me back to health
over such a long time. I wept. I put my head on her gentle
shoulder and I wept as I had never wept before. I wept for all
I still felt, and I wept for all the selfish anguish I would have
caused this woman had I let myself fall,

for that surely had been my intention.

©Joe Wilson – I remember…2014

This experience is my own. It followed a period of severe depression after a
subarachnoid haemorrhage in 1986. Thankfully the depression eventually lifted and
has long gone.

Just for a short while…

Callum - Jaguar
Callum – Jaguar

Open roads
favourite places
bombing along
in the car
window open
…music…loud.

Thoughts my own
unadulterated by
responsibilities
if just for a
journey.

Music…my choice
loud…did I say…loud
carefree
for a while.

Long straight
road
flat
out.

No other
cars
in sight.

Perfect.

Refreshed.

Journey’s end.

Reality
hits
home.

Responsibilities.

Refreshed…it’s alright now.

 

©Joe Wilson – Just for a short while…2014

 

This is just something a bit different.

It’s something of an experiment really.

 

The bitter struggle…

Annie Kenney 13 Sept 1879 - 9 July 1953
Annie Kenney
13 Sept 1879 – 9 July 1953

Born in Springhead in September, Seventy-nine
Started at the mill when she was ten
She lost a finger in a bobbin soon after
Couldn’t complain, jobs scarce even then.

After twelve-hour shifts as a tenter
In a harsh cotton mill amidst murl
She still had to help with the washing
Not much time to be just a girl.

Enfranchisement of women was what drove her
Fought the Cat and Mouse Act for the vote
To prison oft times for not paying the fines
Not an ordinary woman, one of great note.

She was once compared to Joan of Arc
The way she took such a principled stance
When women over thirty finally gained the vote
A more normal life for her stood a chance.

Hunger strikes and prison took a toll though
Wore her down and left her so weak
Diabetes in the end was what killed her
Her courage, with others, does still speak.

That the Suffrage Movement existed
Was a terrible indictment of those times
Though I speak of the courage of a woman – Annie Kenney
One couldn’t do her justice in mere rhymes.

 

©Joe Wilson – The bitter struggle…2014

A tenter was an assistant to the weaver, the one who had the highly dangerous job
of keeping the bobbin loaded and in line with the shuttle. The tenter also had to
feed the loose cottons back in. All highly dangerous, especially for a small child.

There were many brave women who struggled for enfranchisement.
Annie Kenney was just one. There were those who gave their lives
to the rightness of the struggle.

St Peter, humour, and the cost of drinking too much…

 

Mmm!
Mmm!

 

I looked over yonder
And what did I see
An elephant, yellow
By a big pink tree.

Elephant, yellow
This cannot be
Are my rheumy eyes
Playing tricks on me!

When I looked round again
I saw grass of red
Surely that grass
Should be green instead.

And then a blue horse
Trotted into the scene
’twas the funniest place
That I’d ever been.

I took a step further
As I was feeling bold
Whence a group of green angels
Carried me into the fold.

The rivers there were purple
And the oranges were grey
And everywhere I looked about
People were at play.

The happiness was warming
I felt it in my heart
I loved just being in here
I felt I was a part.

And then a very loud voice
Did sonorously boom
“Who do we have here now
In this lovely coloured room?”

My name is simply Joe
I very meekly did call out.
For I was far too bothered
To raise my voice above a shout.

A huge door then just opened
And I simply passed right through
A large bearded man then said
“How do you do.”

I said, “What was that place
Where the loud voice boomed.”
He said, “That Mr Nosey
Is the oddments ante-room.

“Anyway Mr Nosey
what is it that you want.
I’m waiting for a party
from a crash in North Vermont.”

“I’m a very busy man you know
Why are you even here?
Go off and get yourself back home
And drink a lot less beer.”

©Joe Wilson – St Peter, humour, and the cost of drinking too much…2014