November morning…

DSCF0127

 

Golden skies greet the land
as night throws off its mantle
dawn slowly emerges from the shadows
to welcome the new day so gentle
trees sway in the soft breeze
while birds chatter as they wake
to the bright sunshine that is
a beautiful warm November day.
As the day moves on the blue tits fly
having taken their daily fill of nuts and seeds
but feeders, still bearing their bounty,
are soon fallen upon in frenzied melee
by sparrows and starlings, a riotous sight,
till soon they too will fly away
at the start of evening dusk display.
All day long they constantly chatter.
All day long they feed.
All day long we are blessed by their company,
and thus we are always grateful.

©Joe Wilson – November morning… 2014

 

The 11:42 to lonely…

 

march railway station

Carrying with it my dreams and you
The train pulled out – 11:42
I couldn’t but think I now was lost
I’d made a choice, too high the cost.

I think back now and pains return
Wiping eyes of tears that burn
And thinking brings you to my mind
The beauteous soul of one so kind.

Regrets I feel for that poor choice
I miss so much your tender voice
If such decisions I made anew
I’d never stay, I’d go with you.

So sorely how I wish that train
Would bring you to my arms again
Where we could grow our love once more
As lonely fills my empty core.

So much regret this foolish joe
I chose career and watched love go
And should I gain great opulence
I’d sit alone, there’d be no sense.

©Joe Wilson – The 11:42 to lonely… 2014

A tiny tear…

 

 A tiny tear falls from my eye

For each and every death

Another suicide bomb goes off

And snuffs out human breath.

 

They blow themselves for principles

That we don’t understand

If they are right —if we are right

It still means blood-stained land.

 

For pity’s sake each life that’s lost

Just hardens attitudes against

We have to talk to stop their deaths

And negotiate without constraints.

 

Each innocent life that gets destroyed

Is a wasted friend or lover

A murdered mother or father

Or a dead sister or brother.

 

This surely cannot go on forever…

 

©Joe Wilson – A tiny tear…2014

 

The slaughtered…

I could not

 

Whoever would fire a bullet?
I ask as I’m surely confused
Who on Earth would want to shatter
All that beauty that Nature has fused!

Who sits in a hide away from the light
Waiting for the deer to call
They don’t need the meat, that’s not the treat
It’s the head and the points on the wall!

Tribesmen in ‘less civilised’ countries
Might hunt down just such a deer
Then they pray for the soul of the slaughtered
For life-saving food from a beast they revere!

Not for them the revulsion of trophies
They only kill what they need
But in our ‘so civilised’ society
We can kill just for pleasure or greed.

There is something not right in society
Where solutions come from a gun
Weapons should be just for protection
They should never be used for such ‘fun’.

“Please do not be offended by my reference to a ‘less civilised’ society. I refer only to a lack of modernity and in actuality we are the far more crudely behaved frequently” Joe Wilson 2014

 

©Joe Wilson – The slaughtered… 2014

All that is…

He died in a pool of disgust
after a lifetime of self-loathing
a life in which he had abused people
their trust, and even his own family’s good name.

He had been a terrible person by his own reckoning
and he was filled with remorse — but also self-pity.

It was thus that he found himself before his Maker
and he fully expected errors had been made in the direction
of his post-life travel arrangements.

His Maker looked at him and said,
“You are one sorry son,
and you’ve been a great disappointment.”

“I”, he spluttered.

“Interrupt me not, for I am not in the least finished.
You have stolen yet not hurt, you have hurt though not killed,
you have killed but only in the name of your country,
peace and negotiation and compromise seemingly beyond
the gift of human understanding.”

he heard him say,
for he was far too afraid to look upon his countenance.

“You have cursed and been ungodly
but you have cared for your old neighbour.
You have drunk to excess and yet have always
got to and done a days work.

Heaven only knows how sometimes.

You have had fights in the streets
though you have indeed tried to reform.
You have never listened to My Word
when I could have helped you and
it surely pained me to see you struggle.
You are one mixed-up man.”

He was agog as his sorry life was so
painfully listed before him, and
he was sorely afraid of his fate.

His Maker went on, “However,
you are basically a good man adrift.
somewhat confused and in a morass of self-doubt,
and I would not cast you down to my
Greater Disappointment below,
where you would surely not enjoy
— a single moment.

Get yourself in here lest I change my mind.
Do not think that this is the end of it, for
you have much to redeem yourself for
and my rooms are many.”

Without another word his Maker disappeared
and he was amidst a wondrous throng.
He felt completely enlightened and knew
he had been saved. His heart was so full
and he felt a goodness he’d never known.
He truly wished he could pass this feeling
on to those he had left behind and that
he could make up for his past wrong-doing.

“You will my boy,” he heard. “You will.”

 

©Joe Wilson – All that is… 2014

 

The emptiness…

He had searched for ten long years
always hopeful of finding the reason.

The reason she’d been taken from him
and why he always felt so alone.

Till one day he came to realise
that the memory of the feelings he’d had
were far far better and happier
than anything he could possibly hope to find.

He stopped looking
he got on with his life
no longer searching for a memory
and went about life with a new and fresh look.

He’d survived, and now he’d be alright.

The hole was still there
but for now at least
it was shored up
and he was functioning.

We can hope for more
even beg for more.

We’re lucky when that ‘more’ happens.

©Joe Wilson – The emptiness… 2013

A golden thread…

golden-thread (1)

A golden thread runs through my life
it keeps me safe with warmest love
along the way this well fit glove
has helped me live when I might not
when if I died meant not a jot
caring always that I’m well
constantly renews her spell
this thread protects me from all strife.
It brought me back from where I ran
with crazy notions in my head
this sorry creature that I am
I couldn’t live without my thread
but thoughts like these will see me through
because my golden thread is you.

 

©Joe Wilson – A golden thread… 2014