Holding on tight…

 

 

blossoms in the rain

 

It’s two in the morning in this New Year’s Day poem
he’s cold-sober and hopeful for a good new year’s start
just six months ago he’d almost lost his way home
but she’d found him and led him back to her heart.

It’s an amazing thing, this love, he now knew
alone he was lost like an empty tin can
but this woman in his life was amazing too
she was vital to this mere foolish man.

He gazed across now at her so lovely face
and whispered “I love you,” she smiled. “I know.”
he isn’t so much feeling the New Year’s embrace
as holding on tight and letting the old one just go.

©Joe Wilson – Holding on tight… 2014

Christmas & Christmas without

The following two poems are from a very dear friend of mine who wishes to publish them anonymously for the time being. I am happy to abide by that wish, but I commend them to you as I think they are very good work.  JW

 

 

Christmas

The saddest time of the year
The darkest days and longest nights
The loudest gales and wettest rain
The time for sleeping, not for growing
The time for waiting, downing tools
For wrapping up and battening down
For thinking what the year has been
For planning a future yet unseen
For calling friends to wish them well
Welcoming them in against the chill
For lighting lamps and fires too
For kindling old friendships anew
The time for family wars to cease
To get together for once in peace
To mend our differences for a day
And maybe find another way
To think about the coming year
To think of growing and becoming
Of being stronger, surer, clearer
To think of kindness and forgiveness
To better understand and care
To think of spring around the corner
Of energy and new laid plans
So making of those darkest days
Time to take stock, to rest, revive
To make acquaintance old with new
To seek the light amongst the darkness
Celebrate, give gifts, keep faith
Time to remember times gone past
It comes just once a year this chance
This special time, this festival.
So let us make the most of it
And ring out the bells, this Christmas.

______________

Christmas without

The first Christmas without
Some one you loved
The first light in the darkness
The star that led the three kings on
The frosty brightness.
The spangled lights on people’s trees
Their laughter abounds
Their fires sparkle and glow
Their glasses filled with good cheer
And outside you know
You stand and stare
Do not go near.
No room at the inn today
And slowly silently
You turn away
And walk on to an empty place.
No tree or decorations here
Just solitude and peace
Deep peace of Christmas time
And no thoughts of release.
And then O wondrous night
O what is this you hear
A babble of voices loud
A knock at the door
And outside a crowd
Of friendly faces bearing gifts
Wanting to take you by the hand
In they come and make it home
A tree and lights and things to eat
How did they know to come?
They knew because they know you
Love and care and show you
They’ve come to worship all the way
They felt the Christmas spirit
They knew it was a special day
And so they draw you into joy.
Be not alone this Christmas time
Awake with friends and loudly sing
For all to hear your voices clear
Glory to the new-born king.

The Weeping Book…

He opened the binding of The Weeping Book
curiousity piqued, he needed to look
but how he wished he had never seen
the horrors therein that were so obscene.

The guilt of man along the passage of time
senseless slaughter without reason or rhyme
each page he turned ill had been done
by book possessed he ventured on.

The rape and pillage of those years before
children the victims of violent war
races were mixed, the one good thing
vicious hecklers of bigotry sing.

On and on through the pages now
the hurt caused pain behind his brow
saints and sinners all listed here
their sins for all to see quite clear.

He saw the vilest sins of history’s pain
enslavement of those for other’s gain
let loose man’s done some terrible things
hope’s voice is quelled by vicious stings.

The Weeping Book so perfect in name
from front to end it’s full of shame
and he a priest of noble birth
would find before day’s end, his worth.

No water passed his lips, nor food
his mind so troubled by soured mood
and then the page on which he gazed
revealed the future of a man gone crazed.

No change could he make to the book
transfixed at his poor fate he’d look
and as he pushed the dagger deep
as fate revealed he went to sleep.

The Weeping Book then slammed tight shut
till guilty man next came and put
his hand upon the tome’s dark cover
then his sad fate he’d soon discover.

©Joe Wilson – The Weeping Book…2014

His last words (25 December 1914)…

war_edited
…a lonely grave…

 

 

Scarred from the relentless passage of time
pitted with acid rain and covered with grime
forgotten by those who oft pass it by
gazed rarely upon by anyone’s eye.

A proud little monument in a faraway  field
with now faded words and a family shield
his nation had called and he’d gone off to war
though he and his friends didn’t really know what for.

And if you should wander and wonder at it
you’ll probably feel as if you have been hit
by the words that you see that are writ thereupon
“It is with such sadness that I bury my son.”

The last words they had, came back home in a letter
“It can’t go on Father, it has to get better
the killing is awful, they’re young men much like us
Please kiss dearest Mother, and a Merry Christmas.

 

©Joe Wilson – His last words (25 December 1914)… 2014

in ictu oculi…

I felt the smallest of glimmers of a poem
it was there near the front of my mind
then something more pressing needed doing
the glimmer just vanished leaving nothing behind.

Now I sit with my pen poised over paper
hopeful for its return like a friend
for it might show itself as it so often does
ideas in my head tend to follow this trend.

Then comes the rush as it all flows at once
I write with an amazing turn of speed
I have to get it down while it sits in my head
Till the last full stop satisfies that need.

All done now, I put pen and paper aside
leave the room with the ode in my head
later to return and juggle with the words
whether to use this or that one instead.

The glimmer of a poem just entered my head
this time I’ve made a note to remind
now I’ll return my attention to this one
as I untangle these thoughts in my mind.

©Joe Wilson – in ictu oculi… 2014

 

A star so bright…

starofbethlehem300

He walked among them and felt their joy
it was Christmas Eve but he had no employ
his job was lost, recession has a cost
his back was bowed from all he’d lost.

This year his children would have few toys
no in-line skates or games like other boys
his beloved wife would have little too
it broke his heart but what could he do!

And so he stood upon the railway track
knowing he couldn’t get it back
he heard the train from so far away
not wanting to face another day.

And while he stood and waited there
a star so bright he had to stare
his earthly troubles all slipped aside
a presence engulfed and he warmed inside.

He realised his dreadful selfish act
would worsen many other lives in fact
and hurried back to the home he shared
full of guilt for how he’d not cared.

He reached his door to find his wife
the beautiful woman who shared his life
and in her hand an envelope
contained an offer of work and hope.

The next day dawned and as he woke
inside his head a small voice spoke
patience my son, things do work out
retain your faith, remove all doubt.

That Christmas Day was good indeed
from children’s joy that filled a need
and from a faithful inner glow
brought about by Him we know.

©Joe Wilson – A star so bright… 2014

Where was the justice then…

Part One

A man left a prison this morning
he’d been there the last fifteen years
when he walked down the mean streets of Jesup
he’d resurrect all of their fears.

He was a man, no different to others
though he kept himself to his peace
but the anger all stored up inside him
was destined for violent release.

A young girl had been murdered in Jessup
and he’d been a stranger in town
they said that he’d beaten and stabbed her
he hadn’t, but they still sent him down.

His first thoughts were for retribution
he’d beat them and they’d feel the pain
like he felt when they kicked him in prison
again…and again…and again.

Now he travelled to seek not just vengeance
he needed to get back his name
so someone was going to suffer
and others would pay for his shame.

He’d walked out of prison in Jackson
and boarded a train to Mobile
By Greyhound he reached Pensacola
where he rested and took time to heal.

Part Two

In Jesup he woke with a headache
to the loud urgent ring of the phone
he remembered that night and that poor girl
and he let out a long quiet moan.

It was Hedley the new County Sheriff
he said for the man to go down
he could call at his office in Jesup
or pack up his things and leave town.

Such a bright sunny day as he stepped out
not one single cloud in the sky
a gunshot and a burning sensation
The man fell and knew he would die.

To Hedley the man was plain guilty
keeping peace meant he wanted him out
he thought back to the slaying that morning
the dead man’s last words cried like a shout.

A young man had rushed up to help him
there was nothing to do he could see
but as he died the man whispered something
“Tell the Sheriff, son, it never was me.”

A young girl had suffered so many years before
and the case had been closed a long time
but the wrong man had gone into prison
or his death had no reason or rhyme.

The girl needed justice as the man did
Sheriff Hedley would never be the same
for he promised the girl and the dead man
he’d catch her killer and clear the man’s name.

Epilogue

A bullet was found by the dead girl
a matched one lodged in the man’s heart
the second one carried a thumb print
for the Sheriff, a good place to start.

©Joe Wilson – Where was the justice then…2014 (re-shod from 1992)