If I were…

If I were a good enough man
I’d fill the world with peace
I’d shout out that torture was evil
And prejudice, well that would cease.
Of course, in naivety I’d think that I could
For such would surely be pleasing
But the fact of the matter is, I’m not that good
So misogyny and racism won’t too soon be easing.

Yet until such a time when we find common-sense
For surely it waits there in the wings
The world must endure mans’ cruelty to man
While over the cordite a lonely voice sings.

So yes, if I were a good enough man
Harmonious living I’d promote
And I’d get rid of all of the weapons
With which the weak are too often smote.

©Joe Wilson – If I were…2016

This was for a weekly challenge.

Tears fall like rain…

Where are they now, those childhood days
When we ran and we played like heroes
Untrammelled by worry and other concerns
Often unknowing our parents fears.
But then we grew up and had kids of our own
And we remember the worry we saw
How sad our parents were from time to time
As we go through the same, and we know it hurts more.

The seven year old girl in the playground
Cuts over the schoolyard to dad
It’s only a memory now in my old head
That leaves me so hopelessly sad.

One day you wake and everything’s changed
And it can never be the same again
And your heart feels as if it is drowning
As all of your tears fall like rain.
And the thing is you know it will get much worse
Yet there’s nothing about it you can do
As again, your eyes cloud over with mist
Even on the days when the sky is so blue.

©Joe Wilson – Tears fall like rain…2016

On holidaying in the 1970s.?

The sun is high now as Summer approaches
We’ll soon see the tourists in holiday coaches
And sand-covered beaches will soon start to fill
Towel-covered spots held by Dad’s iron will.

The roars of the motor launch everywhere
Going to ’no place’, but we don’t really care
While down at the rock pools the young children stare
At a small, quite amazing world, caught in sun’s glare.

And families will gather for the annual trip
With lots of wrong clothes stuffed in suitcase and grip
But who packed the sun cream a mother will cry
They’ve got six new bottles now, it’s never that dry.

For a week at the seaside when the sun tries to shine
Well it does for a short while, but it’s gone before nine
So they traipse round the seaside shops looking for stuff
Though by the third day they’ve all had enough.

But we’ve paid for six nights sad Felicity says
That’s ‘cause she’s fifteen and met a young lad called Jez
And a journey home too soon will just break her heart
As Mum says ‘that’s young love and only the start’.

The lad, that’s Barry, plays practical jokes
It’s just for attention and he always provokes
He’s let off some stink bombs at full ice-cream parlors
And even cut streamers at nice seaside galas.

But come Saturday morning it comes to an end
To suitcase and grip they once more attend
Then they gather at train stations all down the coast
Where they swap seaside stories about what was enjoyed most.

© Joe Wilson – On holidaying in the 1970s…2016


Sometimes, I wish not to recall
Some of the many things I know
Yet knowledge I once sought to know
Now through my saddened head does flow.
And where we sometimes hear, or read
A little learning is bad to know
It never stops this curious mind
Along those dangerous paths to go.
So now I sit here heart in hands
I question all I think I know
But I can’t find the answers
And there’s nowhere else to go.

©Joe Wilson – Sometimes…2016

On writing…

We gather our praises
From those who will read
We love the attention
For on it we feed.

And yet in all fairness
We try to write well
But a while in the spotlight
Is quite nice for a spell.

Then it’s back to the pen
Our thinking-frowns on
As we all live in fear
Of when the skill’s gone.

Till then we all write
We write and we write
Our pens poised forever
As we wait for insight.

©Joe Wilson – On writing…2016

So graceful…

She was so beautiful and so kind
The sweetest child that one could find
And though an imp in many ways
She was my heart those joyous days.

So graceful and yet down to earth
No price could tell what she was worth
Yet quiet and dignified through and through
Like I so loved her, you would too.

Her many friends all loved her so
So many more that I don’t know
Would visit in rota to her bed
To leave with hearts where happy fled.

And what of she
Her hopes, her dreams
Diminished now
By life’s cruel schemes.

So brave her fight, and so, so long
She tried so hard to be so strong
But cancer is a cruel beast
That flares where one expects it least.

©Joe Wilson – So graceful…2016

These are the ravings of a soured soul,
laid bare by such sadness that it has never known.