It isn’t ours…

Has man ever really stopped and looked
at all the beauty that Nature has cooked
arrayed throughout the world to see
by stumbling humans like you and me.

Deserts filled with shifting sand
moved by winds and Nature’s hand
creating dunes of epic scale
compared to this we are so frail.

Rill and brook, stream and creek
all a river’s end they seek
as they head for oceans wide
moving always with the tide.

Filled with fish of every size
sometimes caught for dinner’s prize
and on their trek it’s life or death
they struggle on for every breath.

Through the forests these rivers flow
passing trees whose names we know
they’re the lifeblood of our world
new breath with every leaf unfurled.

Too often though we cut them down
turning green land into brown
and yet somehow there are still flowers
grown by Nature’s greater powers.

They brighten days in glorious hues
so many colours, too many to choose
in meadows watered by rivers’ flow
past those trees whose names we know.

And on to seas with sharks and whales
the mighty Blues with their giant tails
whose flukes are wider than football fields
what majestic beauty the ocean yields.

To care for our planet we would do well
it’s a living thing not just a shell
it isn’t ours to destroy and maim
it’s future health should be our aim.

©Joe Wilson – It isn’t ours…2015

The wine bottle corks…


The night started slowly as we just sat and talked
We were waiting for our friends to arrive
We figured they’d be here by about half-past eight
As neither had finished work till gone five.

But the bottles of wine were lined up in rows
There were reds and roses, and there were whites
And as neither of our friends had arrived yet
Those bottles were full and clearly in our sights.

So we opened a red and a white one too
Mine a Shiraz, for I like a good red
My wife, well she started the white one
As a Pinot she much favours instead.

And the time it just got that much later
But our friends well they still hadn’t come
And as each of us was drinking the vino
Well it’s nice to raise a glass with a chum.

In the end our friends never did show up
It was next week not this, we were dorks
But we drank all the wine and enjoyed it
And now we’re just left with the corks.


©Joe Wilson – The wine bottle corks…2014

Author Notes

My granddaughter asked me if I could write a poem about a subject just chosen at random. She picked up a couple of corks from the previous night and this is the result. It is purely for fun…