The rusty nail…

rusty-bent-nail-building-white-background-42444389

A nail, bent from being caught every time by the wind-swung old shed door
Slowly begins to rust, its response to facing all that weather could ever offer
It had become a metaphor for life, as it was slowly and completely devoured.

There had been a time when it was bright, and very shiny
A time when life was rich with possibility and hopefulness
The time of plenty, of joy, and of such great prospects.

But, as with so much in life, the nail was always at the mercy of that old door
A door that was relentless, absolutely relentless, in its need to close
And as with most things, it was gradually weakened by the persistent pressure.

It was just a little at first as it withstood the battering shed door
Though inevitably, the rust got inside the old nail’s core
And it slowly began its gradual decline from usefulness.

Until one day a heavy wind, stronger than ever before
Lifted the old shed right off its base, and dropped it, completely shattered
And the old rusty nail was found lying on the floor, broken in two.

And as with all rusty broken things, it was gathered up
Dropped in a nondescript, soon to be thrown out itself, rusty bin
Never to be of any use to anyone or anything ever again.

©Joe Wilson – The rusty nail…2016

Grief or grand self-indulgence…

Grief destroys as swift as disease
A grand self-indulgence anyway??
Yet even, even, for all of that
It won’t help you through the day.

For what is grief, but how you feel
And the way it adheres to you
As you wrap yourself in pain-filled hurt
When from your eyes all happiness flew.

Where nevermore a lightness moves
And heavy hearts prepare
Though yet in hope of miracles
One is ready for despair.

Never once before in your long, long life
Did you pray as you do now
And the fact that you’ve had little faith
No longer matters somehow.

©Joe Wilson – Grief or grand self-indulgence…2016

The warmth inside…

There is no beating that central heating
If peripheral warmth is your need
But there is no warmth like love-filled warmth
Where two hearts harmoniously feed.

And when long Summer days in sunshine
In laughter in daft lover’s games
Are snapshots then taken of moments
And placed in keepsake gilt frames.

Frames they now view in their Autumn
Of perhaps the best days they recall
For as time marches forward regardless
They seem in the photos, less small.

Until one day there is then only one
And the central heating is switched on
As the one left behind now tries to keep warm
And the ticking clock of life moves along.

© Joe Wilson – The warmth inside…2016

Back then…

I hanker a little for the olden days
When a simpler life was sown
When lovely words that you’d read from friends
Were on paper and not on the phone.
When having a meal was an easier task
Antibiotics weren’t in a cow’s food
Wonder which daft bugger thought of that
If to ask isn’t too blinkin’ rude.
When going out for a drink at night
Was a perfectly fine thing to do
We’d walk home along the railway line
Though if we’d drunk far too much, we flew.
We’d had back then so many trains
Till Marples got Beeching to act
Who closed so many railways tracks
With bluster and no bloody tact.
Mm! The hankering moods a ‘changing
It wasn’t all comfort and joy
Though I did get to watch the Mallard
When I was just a wee boy.

And now we live in this modern age
Where our messages zoom round so fast
And we’re cross if they take any longer
Amidst trees now you’ll see the odd mast.
I made computers myself for awhile
So I’m really as guilty as most
For encouraging digital signatures
Instead of those in the post.
But the grass is still green, the sky is still blue
And it gets dark at night as it did
And when we all fear a little for the future
Feelings sometimes escape through the lid.

©Joe Wilson – Back then…2016

Might be a little rusty, sorry.

A quiet reflection…

A man gave his all at work today
he strove with his usual endeavour,
but the father whose child he saved this day
will now always love him forever.
A nurse, overstretched, yet so willing,
will care for her patients all day;
yet they will not hear her ever complain
she leaves that till she’s far away.

When sitting in a pub with those such as she
she lets go the strain and then moans
no patient will ever hear her though
nor any parent feel her tired angst
for they are ever so grateful
as they smile and give her their thanks.

A bed is moved by two young men
in a quiet and dignified way
it’s just one of many singular things
that make up a porters day.
And all of the time, the ladies
will keep the wards so flush
and the things they see, but don’t see
as they work with their mop and brush.

And the patient lies there quiet and inert
as a battle-royal takes place
but we see that progress is being made
as bewilderment slowly slips from her face.
Small steps we take each one of us
as we live with fingers crossed
every person is pulling their weight
and no-one will stop whatever the cost.
Hope springs
Love abounds.

©Joe Wilson – A quiet reflection…2016

A report of hope…

The days are long
and tiring.
Each thought process
a giant effort,
and yet,
struggle as she may,
progress is made.
She signed her name
– today.
Laugh heartily she would
and perhaps get the giggles,
but it was all in the box,
that strange bunch of squiggles.
Though bewilderment still lingers
behind her sad eyes
even at this moment
from as far as can be
another journeys here
to help her get free.
That someone
would forego
the home of their birth
and with their beloved
come to this land of his,
is an enormity that
leaves me
breathless
with pride and love.
But she will see
her brother soon
and her sad eyes will surely
brighten at the sight.
Hope
springs.
Love
abounds…

©Joe Wilson – A report of hope…2016

He runs…

He runs…

Running
over the meadow
to the welcoming hills.
Up one side.
Down the other.
Still running.
Why does he run?
Reality cannot be avoided.
Yet still he runs.
And as he runs
tears stream down his anguished face.
Still he runs
even harder.
If only he could lift
the crushing weight
that threatens to choke him.
He slows.
Rational thought finally rises
to the surface.
He stops
so suddenly
he almost falls.
And in catching his breath
he turns
and starts to run back
to another painful day.
He remains strong.
He must always be strong.
Dawn breaks
as he reaches home
and reality.
He showers
and puts his running shoes
away.

Joe Wilson – He runs…2016