Where have you gone in your faraway mind
In there so lonely, all on your own
Your pain just breaks me apart
Yet I hold you once more in my arms
It calms
Though your eyes show you’re still fast asleep
So deep
And still I can smell your skin’s sweet aroma
I’m reminded my friend is in calm but deep coma.

©Joe Wilson – Coma…2015

Tears… Red… Books…

Three short verses


In dreams I wander far away
You didn’t stay
I try to find where you might be
You’re free
I search to find your loving heart
So apart
How did we drift that you would leave
I grieve
In loneliness with all my fears
And nightly TEARS.

©Joe Wilson – Tears…2015


Vampire, I, and all that blood
Goodness ebbs away
In go I for gorging fill
Not a drop spill I.
Warm and sticky to delight
Vampire’s favour in the night
So the soon to be undead
With pale neck bared, yet so soon

©Joe Wilson – Red…2015


Words across the pages flow
Learning, learning on the go
Right to left, left to right
Perfect is this brilliant sight
Pictures dotted in between
Open your eyes, see what they mean.
Now watch a child among the pages
Knowledge gained throughout the ages
So, so powerful are the hooks
That feed the brain from inside BOOKS.

©Joe Wilson – Books…2015

When she left…

When she left, there was nothing
There was nothing left to be seen
Seen there to be no evidence
No evidence she’d ever been.

Been around awhile since then
Awhile since figuring it out
Figured out it was a foolish dream
A dream that left me in doubt.

Left in doubt, yet she seemed so real
So real, now I’m so bereft
Bereft as I’ve never felt before
Before there was nothing when she left.

©Joe Wilson – When she left…2015

There was an old man…

The funny old man just turned up one day
He opened his case so the music could play
All the sounds you could hear would come from ‘the thing’
And the funny old man would then start to sing.

‘The thing’ was a squeezebox, and yet a trombone
There were certainly strings, and in parts, xylophone
Yet I’m sure that I remember a small kettle drum
And if you got too close it started to hum.

His life was right there in that battered old brown case
Each place that he went, the old thing had it’s place
He was a street entertainer, of some note I might add
And people gave generously to the clever old lad.

He would suddenly appear as if like a wisp
When he spoke, which was rare, he had a slight lisp
The case would be opened and out came ‘the thing’
And to it’s accompaniment the old man would sing.

O what a great voice, it soared like a rocket
And every man’s hand went straight to his pocket
Then suddenly, he lowered his voice in a verse
And ladies gave money from out of their purse.

To other street artists this wasn’t such fun
They consorted to see what ought to be done
They thought if they made him look really quite bad
That would be the end of the crafty old lad.

There are things you can do in the swell of a crowd
Things, if you’re honest, about which you’re not proud
They slipped him a ‘Mickey’, and he lost voice control
But ‘the thing’ saved the day with a fine barcarole.

He carried on for years till he got really old
His voice now much quieter and a little less controlled
One day he announced that he would soon retire
But he’d do one last show in a hope to inspire

The day of the show was so sunny and bright
Folks had strung bunting, it was such a good sight
A buzz of excitement as they wait for the man
Then suddenly he’s there and the whole thing began.

He sang all the old songs and the people all cheered
The competition too, who had usually jeered
It soon became clear though, that the old man was ill
When he came to the last song the audience was still.

He finished with a new song to the ahs and the sighs
So many who were listening had tears in their eyes
With a rueful smile on his tear-stained face
He just disappeared, and likewise, his case.

©Joe Wilson – There was an old man…2015

The celebrity abuser…

Mortified, they removed the splendid effigy
Shamefaced now, in the remembering
That magnificent eulogy that was lavished upon
His memory.

His memory, such a precious commodity
Such a thing to be proud of
As it turned out
A vileness to be pushed into the farthest recesses
Of the minds of those who had looked upon him
Not realising what a wicked, cruel man he was.

For he had abused so many
He had sullied the very name
Of decency
Of rightness
Of humanity.

Now, and only if there is
No other way
People sidle past this spot
And feel the disgust
As it wells up
And resurrects
The new dislike
Of his kind.

We are all a little less
We feel a little less clean
And a little more guilty
For a blind eye
Was turned for
Far too long.

©Joe Wilson – The celebrity abuser…2015

This was written for a challenge on a different site.The object was to write a piece using the words Effigy, Eulogy and Sidle.

Then came the silence…

The East was at war with the West
Along with many of the rest
The North was in conflict with the South
Who had so little water or food for their mouth’.
Very soon guns were pointing to the West
Yet others were turned facing East
For those who were selling weapons
It was a killing-hardware feast.

And when all of the fighting was over and done
There was no more war, and no fear
The world had been turned to a graveyard
With no one to shed but a tear
As the final missile landed and blew
Not a soul was left living to hear.

©Joe Wilson – Then came the silence…2015

The bullet…

That day yet rests heavy upon my mind
For I was one they chose to fire the shot
Yet in the intervening years since then
No night has passed me by where I forgot.
A guilty man was he, and dangerous too
Got every chance in a trial so fairly driven
The panel’s verdict, the only right outcome
No quarter asked for and none was given.

To think such men are volunteers
Is a view that only politicians would portray
You only get one choice to do the ending deed
And they let you know, you’re through if you walk away.

A bullet you never see is loaded for you
And all you have to do
……………………………….is remember…

©Joe Wilson – The bullet…2015

Those dangerous lurking thoughts

They’re gone now
Back to their dark evil lair
For as sunshine heralds day
Those evil thoughts all scuttle away.

But from their secret hidey-hole
They try to exercise control
On minds that sometimes fail to see
The steel-like measures that have to be.
For if you let the wickedness
Escape from in its filthy mess
The havoc wreaked upon your heart
Can utterly wrench it wide apart.

Silently they wait
Sounding out those dark evil thoughts
And as the darkness welcomes night
In sleep you have to fight again.

Don’t believe all that they tell
Let your instincts serve you well
And when the going is hard to bear
Feel the love of those who care.
For evil cannot fight such love
Will never rise and soar above
For it prefers a darker place
To hide its vile and wicked face.

This time they were not there
But never let up your guard
It seems that love kept them at bay
But they’ll return another day.

©Joe Wilson – Those dangerous lurking thoughts…2015

Something to smile about…

I imagine there are very few women who go into this profession willingly. A much abused woman I know described it as a living hell. This is her story.

She was a whore, a hooker, a prostitute
Beaten down by cruel men and a mean system
Yet still she had hoped that one day
She could escape and live some sort of a life.
She had always smiled and done her best
Though, unsurprisingly, it had never been her choice of job.
Inside, she was smiling now.

She had met him, oh so handsome and strong.
He had drawn her in to where she felt loved
Something that had seemed sadly lacking in her life.
That had only lasted a short time.
Soon, she just felt like she was his property.
The first time he hit her she had run away
But he found her and just beat her some more.
He never hit her on the face though
And soon she understood why – at a party.
She had expected it to be a party like any other
But then she saw him exchanging money with some men
And she knew…

They raped her, again and again
All five of them, over and over.
They hadn’t held back in any way
And she had felt so ashamed.

Soon after that he turned her out onto the street
‘To earn her keep’, he said.
Not caring what happened, anyone did anything
She was no longer revolted, just hurt and disgraced.

And now here she was.
Forty-five years old, looking like sixty
Lying in a hospital bed all wired up.
She had a bad heart, yet she still smiled.
She’d had a heart attack on the job
The client – punter, had almost had one too
He left sharpish she was told.
She cared nothing anyway.
Her ‘man’ had never given her anything
She had no money, she had no life
She had many, many bruises, inside and out.
But she smiled anyway.

She was worried about her heart
But they said she would be alright
If she stopped drinking and changed her life
She smiled again, he had said she was no use
He couldn’t look after someone who wasn’t earning.
She never thought a bad heart would be her saviour.
She knew now that she had a chance
She smiled yet again…

©Joe Wilson – Something to smile about…2015