And in that quiet time at dusk
When light grows dim
And eyes begin to strain
I see the shadows of fallen souls
Who bravely fought for King
Yet died alone in pain.

And in that quiet country church
Reflections in long windows
Inscribed the names of lost young men
The words of Owen and Sassoon flow
Through this old aging head
For they too fell, back then.

And when I look into the glass
Myself I only see
A question forms within my mind
That has always troubled me
Would I have gone and fought as they
To leave this world behind.

©Joe Wilson – Reflections in a country church…2017

 

Set sail for the shore
Homeward bound
Firmly placed feet
Once more on dry ground.
In boats large or small
We sail on the sea
It’s powerful beauty
Just overwhelms me.

I take to the lanes
I drink from the well
There’s nothing compares
To the hills and the fell.
And such beauty viewed
In company with friends
No technical gadgets
So bucking the trends.

The magic of trees
The beauty of flowers
Amongst all this pleasure
I could get lost for hours.

©Joe Wilson – The countryside for me…2017

 

Feckless and disgusting behaviour
Falling far short of what’s decent
The well-known are dropping like nine-pins
For their sins in the past and more recent.

A girl, a boy, a woman, a man
Should feel very safe one and all
Yet the predator calls far too often
As they try to make victims feel small.

But the end of the wedge though revealed
Only shows us the celebrity few
There are many right there in the workplace
Who will turn their attention to YOU!

Speaking up for yourself is the answer
Make them pay for the sins they commit
For if the guilty remain in the shadows
They’ll forever get away with it.

©Joe Wilson – Predators in the modern age…2017

 

Cold, subdued
Huddled in a corner
To keep warm and dry
To get soaking wet
You don’t have to try.

Sometimes she yet fails
To remember her name
For now it’s not that often spoke
She barely gets treated like a woman
And chivalry would just make her choke.

She’s lived on the street for five years now
Just a beating too many made her leave
She spends her time now drinking cheap whisky
Often drunk to fend off the cold
For a woman this life is so risky

As her hell continues to unfold.

©Joe Wilson – Mercy Street 5…2017