Portals…

portal

I’ve stepped through that portal
And gone back in my time
So painful the memories
Unrelenting the rhyme.
At the start of the Sixties
My friend’s brother caused a fuss
He fell out of a van
And fell under a bus.
Yet each of his family
Got on with their life
It didn’t do for poor folks
To dwell much on strife.
It was around the same time
That I lost my Dad too
Then later a brother
Then another one too.
But you got on with things
What else could you do
It was simply the way
That the colder winds blew.
Yet despite that
Everything wasn’t so bad
Many times
I was exceptionally glad
Of the family I had
And the friends that I made
And the sport, ah! The rugby
I so often played.
Then later a family I had of my own
Filling our lives with such joy
How happy we were as our own family grew
Even being quite poor just couldn’t annoy.
Yet pain then caught up
And destroyed a young life
And in its foul wake
It near took my wife
But we all fought together
We’d not let it win
We’ve now brought her home
Though she’s painfully thin.
Of course! There are portals
Which take me elsewhere
Sometimes to places
Where I haven’t a care
Yet the family portal
I’m drawn to the most
As the love that I feel there
Always keeps me on post.

©Joe Wilson – Portals…2017

untitled…

Older now
So very much older
A year that felt like a decade
And yet like a minute too.
And in that time
We have aged
So very much
Our eyes are that much
Dimmer.
Hearing becomes a strain
All the surrounding bustle
Just sounds like so much rain
And in days of mist
Yet even as the sun shines
‘I was so proud to know her.’
In my head, repeated lines.
It will get a little better
I often hear them say
I wonder if it will at all
If I’ll live to see that day.

©Joe Wilson – untitled…2017

On the hustings, yeah!…

Procession-To-The-Hustings-After-A-Successful-Canvass

 

It’s raining
Up go the umbrellas
But of course
It’s that time
Again!

Red roses and torches
Lesser party signs too
Adorning umbrellas
It’s what parties do.

Then out come the megaphones
That will distort the voices
Of the oily deceivers
Who tell you your choices.

Yet, mostly I fear
Right from the first line
That all we will hear
Is excreta bovine!

Vote with your conscience
Vote what you think
The outcome’s the same
For us, it will stink!!

©Joe Wilson – On the hustings, yeah!…2017