Faith – or Armageddon next…

jesus_007

I

His hand reached out but was so oft ignored
Distrust of his different views made them wary
But the hatred of others and their vile resolution
Was brutal to see, but for him wouldn’t vary.

Each night he prayed to his Father for guidance
But his future was foretold, he would die
In the savage times then he would die on a cross
But His love and the Message, they can’t crucify.

He sits at the Father’s side now as of right
So appalled at what men do to each other
They fail in that most simple and basic of tenets
That each single man is his brother.

And yet such capacity they have for the gentle
They will love with such beauteous joy
They’ll delight in the love of their children
Yet with bullets and bombs they simply destroy.

They have written great theories about peace and war
Yet still man seems so driven to destruction
The authors of their very own Armageddon
Which approaches from out of their own construction.

These are the thoughts of just one concerned man
Many others have thoughts such as he
If the Father and the Son are as faith dictates
Why do they allow frail humanity to be.

II

Man is the author of his very own doom
With thoughtless disdain he heads for his tomb
Yet such in itself one could just tolerate
If he didn’t make others all share his sad fate.
And as one may take up his pen for to write
So many more take up arms to join in the fight
And as the blood of innocents spills deepest red
Innocent victims count for most of the dead.
But yet the one with trigger in hand
Would also like to understand
Why he can’t love and be at home
With his wife and children, or reading some tome.

III

The die gets cast by the hidden ‘others’.
Who can’t accept that we all are brothers.
It will go on — war is not yet done
Man may well yet reach his Armageddon…

©Joe Wilson – Faith – or Armageddon next…2016

The seat of democracy…

That that is the seat of such wisdom
The home of our so-called democracy
Shamefully now filled with self-servers
In seats oft retained by hypocrisy.

It remains as it was and ever shall be
Ye, even from birth in Ancient Greece
The privileged make wealth and all of the rules
We the mob, are just there to fleece.

And in that place of such pretence
They hack at each other like fools
While under the guise of good manners
Disdain and sarcasm their oft-wielded tools.

And now we the mob, get to view the exchange
They presume that it keeps us amused
But we voted for representation
And we’re not, trust and faith are abused.

For democracy to work for the masses
Those elected must place people first
But sadly, this is rarely ever the case
It will remains that for which we all thirst.

©Joe Wilson – The seat of democracy…2016

Following yesterdays (24 February 2016) exchanges in the House of Commons, in which our Prime Minister resorted to attacking the Opposition Leader on his lack of sartorialism, and the general, but vicious banality of exchanges, these observations came to me. Those we elect behave like baying wolves trying to metaphorically draw blood from those opposite. We don’t elect them for this. Not one of them deserves our trust.

This of course is my personal opinion.

My little Euro Sonnet…

And now at last the fight begins
We have the Outs, we have the Ins
But tell me please, we need to know
Should we stay or should we go.
The argument for staying in
Is sometimes lies and often thin
But then the one for coming out
Is often led by racist shout.

The trouble is they changed the rules
And treated citizens just like fools
The Common Market go ahead
Is not quite what stands in its stead
The people signed for trade back then
So much has changed by stroke of pen.

©Joe Wilson – My little Euro Sonnet…2016

Apologies in lines 3 and 4 for paraphrasing The Clash (1982)

The wronged…

Ill kempt, ill fed
A man fallen by the way
There was a time he had plenty
But that time was yesterday.

The factory had long since closed
And many like he had retrained
But money, like sleep was fitful
His spirits now almost drained.

And then they said he had to pay
For the extra room in the flat
It was used for home dialysis
He couldn’t pay, that was that.

So they made him move to a tiny place
It broke his heart to ,move
He couldn’t cope, he hanged himself
A sad statistic for Ian to approve.

A letter came just yesterday
It landed with a thump on the mat
It said that he could keep the room
They’d errored, well fancy that.

©Joe Wilson – The wronged…2016

The NHS

When I was born the National Health Service was just a month shy of its first birthday. I was duly registered and given an NHS number which has stayed with me all my life, until more recent changes in record keeping were brought about by a much more modern digital technology.

What a wonderful service it has been too. Obviously, one can only speak from one’s own experiences, and mine have been typical in most ways, and yet untypical in others. My father died when I was in my early teens, my mother when I was in my thirties. Whilst both were cared for by the National Health Service, sadly neither of them saw the benefits of a modern service such as we have today. The same must be said for at least two of my late brothers. I however, have been helped tremendously by a much more up to date service that has quite frankly saved my life twice, the first time unquestionably, the second time quite probably. My wife has been helped greatly too by our health service, as have my beloved children, where even now the benefit is being felt.

My family is just one of many in this country that has reaped major benefits from the wonderful carer that is the National Health Service, our glorious NHS. It is the envy of the world. Indeed people come from all over the world to absorb some of its beneficence and get well.

So I ask this. Why is this current government doing so much to undermine what is a part of the very fabric of our society? Why did the last Not-Real-Labour government do so much in that direction too…PFI (need one say more?)?

The National Health Service belongs to the people of the United Kingdom, it does not belong to the here today, gone tomorrow government, which incidentally, also belongs to the people of the United Kingdom.  HANDS OFF! GIVE IT BACK!

In praise of police dogs…

Stood at his graveside
she cut a lonely sad figure
her own scars still visible
…wounds from the mad killer’s trigger.

She’d lain right across him
when they began the attack
he was not just her master
…to her he was pack.

She could sense that he’d been there
though he’s not there any more
she turned in her sadness
…as she remembered that war.

But that was then, she was now retrained
she lives now with her new pack
and still she will do whatever it takes
…to protect her in any attack.

A police dog’s life is hard, but fun
at times great danger is a must
as officer and dog go to the front line
…in a pact based entirely on trust.

©Joe Wilson – In praise of police dogs…2016

Police dogs don’t always get a fair shake.

A social conscience…

Ignominiously dismissed after thirty long years
He could start a new life, or just drown in cold beers.
He was sitting at a bar with a pint of cold Bass
When suddenly he smiled and put down his glass.
The thought of injustice hit him hard when it struck
He stood up and walked out with no backward look.

He took up his pen and he scribbled long and hard
He wrote all his grievances in a book of white card
Then he put it away at the back of a drawer
And thought, that’s the past, I’m not there anymore.

He wrote about losses, especially job losses
Manipulative leaders and corruptible bosses
And realised quite soon he was still in the past
Though his real desire was a fresh start at last
But he found out quite soon that wasn’t the plan
Drive the man from his life…
but not the life from the man.

Yet what has amazed him over these years
Is how many others seem to share his same fears
Old people treated with such wicked disdain
Parasites of the state is a frequent refrain
Young people shout but don’t understand
As they jump to the tune of some motley band.

And the young themselves who cannot find work
Not a socialist crowd, very few a young Turk.
They haven’t the heart like we had in the past
Nor that striding for right, not one iconoclast.
But they jump on the bandwagon shouting the odds
They’ll age just like us, the daft silly sods.

©Joe Wilson – A social conscience…2016

The nomad…

Curiosity had always drawn him
To the edge of the wood
The edge of the farm
The edge of the cliff.

More than once as a child
He’d been found beyond his limits
In the middle of a forest once
Half way down a rock face too.
They called it then a wanderlust
As if it was some awful failing
Which wasn’t really so at all
He always knew his heading.

Today most folk call him a nomad
Much closer now to the truth
For he had never stopped in his travelling
Having journeyed through his entire life.
There was so little he found of no interest
It had always been like this
He would keep along on his journey
Till they finally placed him in the earth.

For if a man can take the time in life
To see what the good earth has to give
By giving in to his inner nomad
What magnificent bounty he’ll receive.

©Joe Wilson – The nomad…2016