Beyond a title…

On 12 Dec 201517 Jul 2016 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

Help earth_edited

In these modern, bitter, violent wars
Where none at all shall ever win
Words that once came from the cross
Though oft repeated wear so thin.
Yet once more I beg You listen
I supplicate with eyes that glisten
And begging in sorrow I ask of You
Forgive us Lord
for we know not what we do.

©Joe Wilson – Beyond a title…2015

On 11 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn Poetry1 Comment

admen
in
panic-
need
to
make
great
Christmas
sell
scratch
collective
heads.

~~~~

what
will
sell
Christmas-
something
important
needed
how
about
Jesus.

~~~~

I know – star in east
kings
sheep
homeless
couple
a miracle
birth.

~~~~

I
think
that
will
work-
who
could
resist
such
magic
that’s
a
wrap
fellas.

~~~~

admen
in
panic-
we
still
have
Easter
to
do
something
with
those
buns.

~~~~

adman
meets
his
God-
sees
then
the
real
selling
point
Jesus
is
just
love.
–

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2015

On 7 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

happiness
is
you-
so
in
love
I
find
myself
heaven
is
on
earth.

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2015

written in traditional vertical style.

On 7 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

leave
the
plug
in
Ma-
time
for
the
seasonal
bath
Rudolph
not
me
…dope.

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2015

written in traditional vertical style.

On 7 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

gathered
here
are
we-
anticipating
advent
war
yet
continues.

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2015

written in traditional vertical style.

On 7 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

[following on from the previous one]

now
is
the
season-
starlings
fill
up
the
skies
droppings
come
in
bulk.

©Joe Wilson – haiku…2015

written in traditional vertical style.
perhaps now more of a senryu.

On 7 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

now
is
the
season-
starlings
take
to
the
skies
in
wondrous
display

written in traditional vertical style.

Such foolish pride…

On 6 Dec 2015 By jovisgoesIn PoetryLeave a comment

Locked up safe inside the brain
Those thoughts of you and all your pain
Pain that he had wrought on you
Accusations, cruel, untrue.
Alone, forgiven, here he’ll sit
To have your love he is unfit
And thinking back his tears return
To fall on guilty cheeks that burn.

Such foolish pride do men possess
Who when mistaken, can’t confess
Yet sit alone and brood unnerved
Where conversation isn’t served
Until at last we face ourself
And see our guilt in all its wealth.