Missing pieces…


The sun was out and very bright
It didn’t match his mood at all
On this fine, warm Summer’s day
It might have been a day in Fall,

The sum total of all the parts
Is missing a vital piece
And so many suffer such broken hearts
From which there is never release.

And in his quiet reverie
He remembers a scene from the past
Where now a person is missing
And only the memory will last.

He wipes away a single tear
And sets forth on his next chore
Till a memory pulls him up short again
And cuts through his heart like before.

Yet still more tears will flow…

©Joe Wilson – Missing pieces…2018



Stranded in my thoughts
Adrift in an ocean
Of uncertainty
I find myself confused
In this modern world
Of ones and noughts.

With hands the size of plates
That thump across like an elephant
On my keyboard of dreams
My reality is
Brought to a standstill
And my laptop – waits.

Around my head thoughts have ridden
Not formed mind – just a loose array
Leaving nowhere in particular
And clearly not arriving
So laptop still quietly waits
Until the weary keyboard is bidden.

©Joe Wilson – Uncertainty…2018

And then the dust settled…


Long after the dark had descended
After the last vestiges of daylight show
The faint sweet sound of an old gramophone
Can be heard floating along on the breeze.
An old Bix Beiderbecke number from long ago.

And as I watched from across that wide deep river
I saw you dancing in the brightening moonlight glow
You were alone and you looked so beautiful
I barely wanted to disturb the perfect scene.
I was pulled in both directions – but I had to go.

But just a single dance, I could live with that
So again I crossed the bridge that lay between
And soon I held you tight as our arms entwined
Where round the floor we seemed to glide on air.
Wrapped in love was such a very joyful scene.

Yet it was just a memory, and soon you were gone.

…and all once more was dust.

©Joe Wilson – And then the dust settled…2018

Just another Monday morning…


Gaze through window
Misty view
Sky of grey
Can’t see blue.
First the dog
Then the lead
Now the owner
Dragged indeed.
Cars drive past
Folks to work
Heading out
Through mist and murk.
Same old pattern
Monday blues
Hot strong tea
More bad news.
Creaking bones
Move at last
Things to do
Reverie passed…

©Joe Wilson – Just another Monday morning…2018

The powerful wind…


The wind howled like a banshee that terrible day
It had argued with everything it left in its wake
It whipped up the sea to a thick grey mist
Through the windows the view was dark and opaque.

And over the crash of the huge black waves
Screaming yet so faint, their voices pathetic
As they slowly succumbed to the cold Irish Sea
In a storm that had raged with power kinetic.

And the gathering orca had much to enjoy
As they filled up their bellies from the dead
While the sharks in the shipping line boardroom
Sought to rip off the families instead.

One hundred and forty three souls were lost
Neither ship nor a person survived
But it’s said in a storm in the cold Irish Sea
You can hear the last calls that were cried.

©Joe Wilson – The powerful wind…2018

Where are we heading…


‘an empty head is a foolish head’
Some idiotic teacher once said
Yet though I try to clear it sometimes
One thought always nestles there instead.
Man seems hellbent on destruction
We destroy as much as we create
And minds and hearts of too many
Are filled with unnecessary hate.
Are we heading for Armageddon?
Where only the hate-filled survive
Where having one’s millions about one
Might be all that keeps one alive.
Death toll in the war zones keeps rising
And the poor in the street beg or die
While leaders play nuclear football
And all that they say is a lie.
So my mind fills with usual thinking
But that nagging thought always remains
Ever jogged by the media pictures
That highlight the death-toll bloodstains.

©Joe Wilson – Where are we heading…2018



Clacton, Nineteen Sixty Four
Sawdust Caesars, all-out war
Fifty four years since those days
Bones now creak in many ways.

Pierre Cardin and Levi jeans
The Twisted Wheel by any means
Rowntrees, Sunday morning low
Thumb back home, work to go.

Music all had soulful sound
Many now lie in the ground
Wouldn’t have missed a single day
Dancing every night away.

Otis concert, ten-bob note
Angry words back then I wrote
San Remo Strings, brilliant style
Still today, memories, smile.

©Joe Wilson – Youth…2018