A knight’s tale…

Dark-medieval-knight

So grey the day that matched his thoughts
And dark the mantle of his blackened soul
For such was he, a knight of sorts
Now under pay and King’s control.

It wasn’t once this way back then
His lovely wife, and children, two
But Slayers came with many men
Entire families by sword they slew.

For days he sat by those three graves
He wept inside and nothing said
And such as this oft times depraves
He so believed his soul was dead.

Dressed by his squire in armour, black
And brought to him his fine sharp blade
A vow he made to strike them back
His silent calm left men afraid.

And so to King he took his skill
With others for Slayers he searched
So often went they for the kill
To dark his soul unerringly lurched.

And so he stands in Slayer’s camp
And foul his mood and ire
For in his left hand is the head
Of he who turned life dire.

The head he tossed into Hell’s pit
They stood and watched it burn
But only guilt his heart did fit
His family never to return.

Each time he fought he longed for
The blade that would set him free
But such was the gift from his Angel
That his death seemed never to be.

And so he fought bravely every day
More killing and slaughter he wrought
His mood wouldn’t lighten his squire would say
Till the solace of death that he sought.

©Joe Wilson – A knight’s tale…2015

What a bloody mess…

That man should be defined by what he says, is our failing
Judgement for the things one does, would ease the ailing
For as our planet creaks, from all the frequent violent pain
More hysterical fighting, will surely start up yet again.

It seems perverse in so-called civilised times, so modern
To live in such a world of violence, that is blood-sodden
Yet every time a move is made to peace, small though it be
Opposing moves are swift, and in response, so bloody.

I would walk with a man, no matter his father’s seed
I would talk with a man, whoever, whatever his creed
Many others do, it’s highly likely you would too
While others would hate us all, for what we do.

Is there a man so innocent, that he would fire the shots
That kill another human, and create more bloody blots
But fire so certain, certain mind, that guilt was being assuaged
And not a wicked political ploy, in power struggles waged.

The tragedy of violence, it reaches to us all, in anger
So often now it gets ignored, by people’s modern languor
We see it on the news or in our online inbox newsreel
It’s easier to deal with, we have no actual need to feel.

It’s thumbs up now, and I’m alright Jack, no need for us to worry
But think, the world seems smaller now, and circled in a hurry
The one who’s sent to fire the shots could be your son or daughter
Would you not try to end a war that ends in senseless slaughter!

©Joe Wilson – What a bloody mess…2015

A depressive state – but not as we know it…

Anger rises, an outlet sought
A kind of peace not easy bought
It never used to be like this
The signs of cracks and things amiss
Can send us down the dark hallways
That lead to melancholy days.

Of pain and heartache on both sides
Who ever thought there were free rides?
We have to stand and keep our nerve
And fight for principles we serve
Of honour, love and dignity
And once again, our hearts set free.

Sacrifices must be made
A bright future, a good fair trade.

©Joe Wilson – A depressive state – but not as we know it…2015

Max goes wild…

wild things

(This little poem was a response to a challenge based on the book
‘Where The Wild Things Are’ by Maurice Sendak 1963)

Such havoc, such mayhem
As he roamed like a wolf
His anger driving him on
He tore through the house
He tore through his world
Terrifying everyone.

And of course
It had to come to this
They sent him to his room
Where red-eyed grotesques
And the wild things
Sat astride a giant mushroom.

They made a move
To challenge him
But of course he was too quick
And he became
Their greatest king
At which he was quite slick.

But how
He missed his Mother
And he missed
His Father too
He showed them he was better
Then he left the wild things zoo.

Back to the land
Of normal
His anger all but gone
He found hot supper
On the table
And the love of everyone.

©Joe Wilson – Max goes wild…2015

Can we ever really say…

Can any of us ever really say
We’ve done all we possibly could
Protected the weak, helped someone today
Or perhaps just nurtured a new growing bud.
For if we think that we’ve done all that
And in relaxing we feel satisfied
Why is there so much of the tit for tat
For which too many people have died!!

I look into my inner soul in hopes of seeing light
But, even aware, there are still degrees of dark
I try to think only good of all, and that in itself is a fight
For there are those of evil intent whose wish is to leave a mark.

But onward we must carry the strive
For a peaceful solution to ever arrive.

©Joe Wilson – Can we ever really say…2015

It goes on and on…

He found his full measure in blood-soaked war-torn land
Where the challenges were there for all to see
There were times when he saw what he couldn’t understand
He saw men and women in fear, forced to flee.

Yet still he would carry out his work, at a pace
In a constantly vigilant state, of course
For a life in the dangerous places he’d faced
Never left time for social intercourse.

So many would call, and the visits he’d make
And he always did the best that he could
As soldiers of all sorts left blood in their wake
He picked up the mess like a good surgeon would.

His house had been damaged like others had
He certainly suffered like many others did
And though losing his wife and son made him sad
He carried on regardless as his decency bid.

When it will end, no one can ever predict
He hated the violence and the death
He prayed for a day of no conflict
So people could at last draw clean breath.

It’s sad, but a bullet found him one day
Not really one that was aimed straight at him
The man fired in the direction of an enemy
He fell in a make-shift surgery in a gym.

©Joe Wilson – It goes on and on…2015

Unconditional love…

Children weep over parent’s misfortune
But often say nothing of their own pain
And parents wrapped up in their own sad torture
Miss the hurt their kids feel once again.

If only we let ourselves see from their view
Perhaps we’d all better understand
If we just took that extra moment or two
Sometimes they just want a hand.

There’s no greater love than that of a child
But often, they feel over-awed
We don’t really need any book that’s compiled
To see they want love and accord.

The man in you will know this is true
The woman, of course she will know
It depends entirely on your point of view
But I like to see all children glow.

©Joe Wilson – Unconditional love…2015