A desperate note to Mr Cameron…

On the boring tills each day
Monotony drives her mad
But seeing folk buying fewer things
Makes her feel so sad.

While I work at the scrapyard
It’s dirty and the hours are long
But I was never going to be a surgeon
Although I’m immensely strong.

But, between us, we’re poor with children
Nonetheless, we give to God our thanks
That relief will be there to help us
At one of your local food banks.

The number of people using food banks to feed themselves and their families has gone from 40,000 a year under Labour to over 350,000 in the last six months alone.

Well done Dave, I guess it’ll be more of the same for the foreseeable future.

©Joe Wilson – A desperate note to Mr Cameron…2015

Ezra’s final conversation…

Ezra cried out,
‘Lord, where art thou in my hour of need?’

Silence prevailed.

‘Lord, canst thou give unto me no succour?’

Silence prevailed.

Ezra in desperate straits
His future in the hand of Fates
Tries and fails to escape their claws
For evil is there chosen course.

Ezra cried out,
‘Lord, why dost thou make my life so hard?’

Silence prevailed.

‘Lord, why am I so tested?’

Silence.

Ezra fights against his foe
The pride that he has come to know
He fights against with all his might
And wins, and moves his sin from sight.

Ezra cried out,
‘Lord, thou truly art a sly old thing.’

Silence prevailed.

‘Lord, I hear thy angels sing.’

‘Lord, thou hast helped me yet again.’

Silence.

Ezra smiled.
Ezra slept.

©Joe Wilson – Ezra’s final conversation…2015

Yet another old memory…

Her perfume lingered in my nostrils
It reminded me of days long since gone
Of Mother making us treacle tart
And the way the sun always shone.

It didn’t of course, it was just childhood
And we like to think back to the good
Things like the sun always shining
And Mother’s delicious pud.

People then, had no central heating
In winter with fires, the house was cold still
And the water we took up to bed would freeze
Through the night on the windowsill.

Mother’s love was of course, unconditional
As was Dad’s till the day he died
And Mum dabbed on ‘Lily of the Valley’
As she stood by his coffin and cried.

So now, when a lady walks past me
Who is wearing that scent from those years
She’ll probably be a lady of advancing age
Who’s experienced those times and some tears.

And I will drift back to my childhood
But I’ll push out the parts that are bad
As I think of the fun and the love that I felt
I’ve no desire to look back and be sad.

©Joe Wilson – Yet another old memory…2015

A small footprint to signify ones life…

And so you reach your final scene
Will someone know that you have been
Did you enjoy a fulfilled life
Or was it filled with pain and strife
And did you ever stop and find
Enough surprise to blow your mind
Did music lift your spirits high
And books so thrill you by and by
Or were perhaps these not for you
You found more sporty things to do.

Did you find someone to love
Who made your heart soar high above
And was your faith a boring drone
That made you feel the need to moan
Or did it lift your spiritual tone
And let you know you weren’t alone.
Have you made a difference
Of complex times have you made sense
And have you done the best you can
Or been a swine or harridan
Is your humbleness well known
Or is your call a megaphone?

We are so many, we differ so
How others feel we sometimes know
But if we’re generous in our hearts
Friendships grow from gentle starts
And you can love just who you choose
The loveless are the ones to lose
As those who love care for the land
Embracing nature, no demand
And making way to journey’s end
When sometimes death seems like a friend
Perhaps reflect and leave this hint
We all should leave a small footprint.

©Joe Wilson – A small footprint to signify ones life…2015

The curate who jostled with his kinsman…

faerie wedding

I fell into step with Warrilow, as we both strolled along
And we chatted of things and all sorts, as we weaved through nature’s throng
He was very tall was Warrilow, at over one foot five
And he saw things from his lofty stance like no one else alive.
No one could see with quite the romance
The fawns and the faeries in bright shiny dance
And all of the time as we shambled along
In the roof of my mind I could hear a sweet songnature
And it sang of companions and friendship and things
And it sang of the beauty of butterfly wings
As onward we walked back into The Dell
For he was a faerie…and I was as well.

We were off to a faerie wedding
The finest in all the land
But of course, if you’re not a faerie
You really can’t understand.

All other faeries would be there
Among them a kinsman to all
For the wedding of a beautiful faerie queen
The most beautiful fae in the Great Meeting Hall
They’ve all jostled to get into position
They all wanted a jolly good view
And when Warrilow walked in, he’s the Curate
Who would make into one, what was two.
The Queen in her fine regalia was a beauty for all to see
The groom was a very lucky young man and that piece of luck fell to me.
Wassailing took place and much mead was supped
And all was so happy as they cheered cheer
Then we all left the Dell and set out on our way
And as if with a puff! we all disappeared.

©Joe Wilson – The curate who jostled with his kinsman…2015

This was written as a piece of whimsy following a challenge on a poetry site.

One planet, one goal…

In woeful ignorance man toils away
A crust for the table, for his kin
Wealth creation with barely a whisper
Is so often the wages of sin.

There will be no Earth that the week shall gain
As the land gets destroyed by the rich
Desperate to draw all last ounces of wealth
From every last exploited ditch.

But the poor need to feed and clothe their flock
So the workload is for them to do
And the ones making profit as forests disappear
Sit a long way away blaming you.

And they talk of the wonder of the planets
The chances of life on another
It’s nonsense of course, it won’t happen
When they can’t even live with each other.

We have but one planet that we all live on
So its protection is our primary aim
It’s time that we acted together
Before Earth bleeds to death from our shame.

©Joe Wilson – One planet , one goal…2015

False hopes…

Welcome to my world, I’m glad you could come
We’ll sit and swap stories, and perhaps partake rum
Adventures we’ll talk of, of right beating wrong
As we talk like old friends, we’ll compose ode-like song.
The world we will set on the right course again
As ours will be filled with true gentle men
And ladies, our equals with tales of their own
Would make us see reason by raising the tone.
The world carries on as we all have tea
Lots of nice food shared out equally
Till the dream
                …would then finish
                          ……as dreams always do

…and I wake to my real and more cynical view.
Joe Wilson – False hopes…2015

In passion…

Undressed, she hooked him, a feast for his eyes
Wearing only deceit like a shawl
But still he found himself trapped by her lies
As he waited for night when she demanded his all.

Hard in desire, yet still deeper in contempt
In passion she drives him to pain
And dark of the eye and with wild hair unkempt
She demands him again and again.

And so again in deep embrace
In thrusting joy and symmetry
They slow right down, it’s not a race
Moving to heaven with intensity.

He of course, just kids himself
They’re lovers, there’s no deceit
The thoughts he has in passion’s stealth
Help make the act complete.

Many times he’s lain in this nest
He wants for nothing here
And as he sleeps in grateful rest
From his eye seeps a satisfied tear.

©Joe Wilson – In passion…2015

ecce quomodo moritur justus…

Naked, he now stands before his maker
There’s no more pretence, no more lies
He carries no longer, his banal repartee
He waits, supplicant to hard probing eyes.

As a young man his heart had been so dark
He’d cursed and fought in the streets
And any young lady who’d caught his eye
He’d seduced her between the sheets.
Could he have lived a far better life
Surely, in decency everyone would
Now he never passed by on the other side
Doing the very best that he could.

And with age grew the man who now stands here
He hopes he’s made up for those days
A lifetime since then helping others
Might make up for his earlier ways.

Still the eyes probed him ever so deeply
Though the result we shall never know
Till the day that we have to stand there
When at last, it’s our time to go.

©Joe Wilson – ecce quomodo moritur justus…2015
‘Behold how the just man dies…’