Our fate…?

world fate

Waking from eternal sleep
To see that fate had played a hand
Destruction wrought upon the world
Impossible to understand.

Air is still so polluted
Not as bad as once before
At least the belching chimney pots
Don’t push out black smoke any more.

Swathes of roads through forests
Means magnificent trees are gone
That vital part of the equation
Giving oxygen to everyone.

Not content with destroying all of those
We pollute our rivers too
Pesticides sprayed across the land
Are eaten by wildlife, and me and you.

We fill our greedy faces
With processed food that’s poor
So many children nowadays
Don’t see real food anymore.

And then, as if that’s not enough
We kill each other too
What on earth do we do that for
Obsolescence for me and you.

©Joe Wilson – Our fate…? 2014

In mortal pain…

This land has been robbed of all that it had
Nothing is left, even for the slick and the rich
Crumbling edifices to our capitalist greed
Our world no capacity now left for its need.

There were those amongst us who fought agin this
Imprisoned in jails within our own tortured selves
Not enough of us tried to stop the horrors we saw
Now nothing is left, our charade is no more.

Your fathers all fought in such bloody campaigns
There fathers too, and there fathers before
New weapons of destructive powers previously unheard
That slaughtered the innocent in ways cruelly absurd.

Buildings left standing with all inside dead
People didn’t matter, but the real estate did
And thus the corruption swept over the Earth
We were judged by our value but not by our worth.

It angers me now as I feel guilty shame
For I didn’t do enough and that makes me as them
And for you with the mess whatever is left
There’s a world that was rich and is now so bereft.

One thing is certain, save the wealth of the land
The one crucial thing that we never did foresee
Don’t go down the pathway of war-like inventions
Create things for peace and for better intentions.

Think in these ways and you may stand a chance
It’s a message I couldn’t ever iterate to much
War and corruption lie together in bed
Growing good crops gets communities fed.

©Joe Wilson – In mortal pain…2014

A dark kind of retribution…(edited)

An innocent man though charged was he
For crimes so vile too despicable to bear
But sentenced to servitude indefinite
Behind dark bars his now wasted life.

The Winter days dragged long and weary
Penetrating cold congealed his once pure heart
The hurt he felt, humiliation now complete
His need for revenge, or pride at least, restored.

He sat and waited and counted off the days
Till then his moment kept at length
But time would come when he would strike
And hurt, and life would be undone.

No more he’d take from them the crumbs of fear
The lies of those who for so many so little cared
Would be swept aside as the truth so brightly revealed
No wrong he’d done, as die he now would, his conscience clear.

©Joe Wilson -A dark kind of retribution…2014

He walked a willing mile…

He walked a willing mile
To see if all was lost
He made a dreadful error
And he feared the awful cost.

He walked the mile to see her
He knew he’d been so wrong
The slight that he had caused
The evidence seemed so strong.

He’d realised that he was wrong
Another had poisoned his mind
And he had been so gullible
He’d not been very kind.

Love’s tricky path he realised
Was a difficult place to tread
With dark and cruel danger
If you let others into your head.

So now he walked the willing mile
In the hope of being forgiven
And though he knew it wasn’t due
He’d grovel if he was driven.

She hurt so much as she saw him
Anger and love filled her heart
She’d make him earn her forgiveness
But she’d never drive them apart.

But she wondered why men were so foolish
Why they took other’s words with such ease
Why sometimes they only worked at love
As if they were shooting the breeze.

©Joe Wilson – He walked a willing mile…2014

…the worst of his fears…


It was a grey dawn that held an ominous weight about it
all the curtains were drawn shut and yet somehow he knew
the wind-driven rains that had howled in the dark night
and the long-buried secret that would surely now be on view.

The man who’d abused him all of those long years ago
had disappeared like a ghost in the middle of the night
and now there would be those who would find out at last
why he’d suddenly vanished from everyone’s sight.

He’d flayed him so often he now hunched his back
where his skin had knotted and mended like string
but the worst of his fears – the drunken attacks
humiliating tears and the terror it would bring.

He stood it for so long, it should never have been
this pain from a guardian, so vile and obscene
till one day a knife found its way into his hand
at the time of the stabbing he was only fourteen.

Being out on a farm and there being just them two
he was terrified he’d be taken far away
so he buried the guardian as deep as he could
and hoped underground was where he would stay.

He tended the farm and made it quite a success
and carried on as best as he could
he finished education and returned to the farm
where he waited almost hoping for last night’s flood.

The terrible secret that he’d kept all these years
made him avoid making friends so he’d no kind of life
he watched television and he read many books
and discounted all thoughts of a girl or a wife.

How he’d survived the twenty years since he just didn’t know
he was lonely and so terribly sad
and though he knew what he’d done was all that he could
he was painfully aware that it was wicked and bad.

And so in a way the storm held mixed blessings
he could finally admit to all what he’d done
he knew that his life would never be the same
but in his thirty-fours there was not a thing he had won.

With reluctance and a heavy heart he drew curtains back
rain water and mud flooded his land six feet deep
and though sheds had fallen and hedgerows lay bent
the ground yielded nothing and his secret it would keep.

Slowly he now realised that he’d wanted this release
but he’d not be believed if he called anyone
he couldn’t bear the thought of more years of disgrace
so finally, desperately, he loaded his gun………..

©Joe Wilson – …the worst of his fears…2014

I was angry, but it passed.


The taste left by the bitterness of anger
unlike that which is caused by over-indulgence
cannot be forced away by milk of magnesia
but by humility, understanding and forgiveness.

Oft times it is humility which leads to
a thoughtful understanding which in turn promotes
feelings of forgiveness that are quietly kept
but which serve as unspoken personal antidotes.

But what elation when normal calmness returns
to fill the soul with so much joy and peace
If anger serves to do nought else – then appreciate
that pleasantry which follows the ire’s release.

©Joe Wilson – I was angry, but it passed 2014


Police officers investigate the site of a roller coaster accident in Suita, western Japan, Saturday, May 5, 2007. A roller coaster traveling up to 75 kilometers (46 miles) per hour hit a guardrail at an amusement park in western Japan on Saturday, killing one person and injuring 21 others, officials said. (AP Photo/Kyodo News) ** JAPAN OUT, NO SALES, MANDATORY CREDIT
Police officers investigate the site of a roller coaster accident in Suita, western Japan, Saturday, May 5, 2007. A roller coaster traveling up to 75 kilometers (46 miles) per hour hit a guardrail at an amusement park in western Japan on Saturday, killing one person and injuring 21 others, officials said. (AP Photo/Kyodo News) **

He was the sole survivor of a fairground ride disaster
and spent twenty-three months in hospital
– as they very carefully put him back together.
It had been such a lovely day for several friends
who had taken the ride, but when the bolts snapped
– they fell like dominoes on either side.

Only he survived, he’s full of anger, and weighed down with guilt
he’ll never walk again though, too much spinal fluid spilt
and though he recognises his Mum, he’ll never again speak her name
his larynx was crushed too in the fall and the new sound is not the same.

It takes so long but he taps each letter out on his new keyboard
then he blows in a cup and sound comes out through a strange cord
and although he doesn’t remember his voice sounding so tinny as this
it is a voice of sorts, and it just has to do he guesses.

He’s up to Jack and Jill books now as his Mum helps him learn to read
it’s sad to see her in such pain when her eyes look into his and plead
but the words are hard to grasp now and he always does his very best
yet he lived while others didn’t so some days he still feels blessed.

He hates it though when they wash him, a pretty nurse helps his Mum and when
– they wash him ‘down there’ he always wants to scream
he wishes that he could go to sleep and never wake again but then
– he feels the guilt and instead wishes he could wake to find it all a dream.

©Joe Wilson – Snap! 2014

A Whale shouldn’t die like that


The giant fin whale swam along with the tide
A nineteen-foot calf was swimming by her side
They were swimming away from her mate’s now dead shell
Trapped in a lagoon and then all shot to hell.

She’ll raise her young calf on her own from now on
Not mating again as they only take one
Her mate had followed a herring shoal in with the tide
And for a short while there were those who had tried
To help him turn and head back to sea
But the cruelty of nature would not let it be
At eighty feet long and a shallow cliff lea
It could not turn around to escape and be free.

And then a vile streak in the locals took hold
A most wicked shooting match began to unfold
The most handsome of whales was trapped and revealed
As shooters took aim and young children squealed.

They fired and they fired and they fired and they fired
Stopping only to reload and then when they got tired
They even drove speedboats across his shot back
Leaving deep deep prop cuts as a further attack.

And when they were done and the whale was no more
His body burst open and in death he’d now score
For the stench of his now rancid corpse was so rotten
This beautiful creature wasn’t easily forgotten.

There was a man who tried hard to get him free
But one man alone is as a wood with one tree
And by the time he had got national press all aware
The whale was now dead, so bored, they’d not now care.


©Joe Wilson – A Whale shouldn’t die like that 2014

Many years ago I was enthralled by the work of Farley Mowat the renowned Canadian environmentalist who died last month. From reading his book, based on real events ‘A Whale for the Killing’ published in 1972, I took to studying whales as a hobby and I quickly realised just what a perfect creature the Fin Whale is. It is the only whale that is match coloured along both sides giving it the same symmetrical beauty as a dolphin and is the second largest creature to live, the Blue Whale being the only creature bigger. It is so amazing it can lift its entire body out of the water. Why on earth would you fire thousands of rounds of ammunition into a creature so beautiful? Why?

This is a small tribute to the memory of Farley Mowat (May 12, 1921 – May 6, 2014) and to people like him who try so hard, such as the Sea Shepherds who try to stop the massacre of bottle-nose dolphins each year in Taiji, Japan ostensibly for food, even though most Japanese people shun the whale-meat.



As he staggered through the door drunk
so his wife knew she was in for a beating
she could forgive him the anger he felt
she was the one who had betrayed him
she was the one who had been unfaithful
what she could not forgive were the beatings
he had no right to do that to her, he had no right
she had never imagined him to be a violent man
but since he felt the betrayal he had drunk
he had drunk so much he could often barely stand
but still he had no right to beat her, he had no right.

One night he went completely crazy and broke both of her legs
he broke one of her arms too but with the other one
she stabbed him to death with his favourite knife
she stabbed him so hard they couldn’t get the knife
out of his stomach till they did the autopsy
now everyone’s life is ruined, his, hers
the children’s, and his parents
and her parents, and their friends
and their neighbours, their work colleagues
and everybody they knew in some small way
has been affected and altered in some way.

She was wrong, he was wrong, everyone suffers
none of us are perfect and there are always


©Joe Wilson – Consequences 2014

My wife and I have had a lovely marriage that is still beautiful after forty-two years.
I just wish, rather naïvely perhaps, that others could be as fortunate.
Violence is no answer. ❤