Self-made Armageddon…

And the days were spent in wonder
at all the horrors He’d seen
He sent unholy flooding and chaos
To wash the planet clean.

To see if change was ever made
He waited then two thousand years
But horror still was all around
And what He saw proved all His fears.

Can man not recognise his fate
can he not see when he is wrong
can man not see of His design
that words like peace and love mean strong.

The fiery pits that destroy our Earth
aren’t in the depths of Hell
they’ll be the fire and cordite
of that last exploding shell!!

©Joe Wilson – Self-made Armageddon… 2014

Ere long…

 

 

Wouldst that I could walk with you

Down verdant paths near forests deep

While buzzards hunt from lofty view

Nocturnal creatures gently sleep.

 

To silent ripples of narrow brook

Your gentle hand fills mine

A journey ere long undertook

My life with you divine.

 

And as we stroll in Nature’s thrall

My heart and yours as one

I cannot bear to think of times

When these such things are gone.

 

 

©Joe Wilson – Ere long… 2014

 

As always this is written for and to my beloved wife without whom
I would not wish to draw a single breath.

November morning…

DSCF0127

 

Golden skies greet the land
as night throws off its mantle
dawn slowly emerges from the shadows
to welcome the new day so gentle
trees sway in the soft breeze
while birds chatter as they wake
to the bright sunshine that is
a beautiful warm November day.
As the day moves on the blue tits fly
having taken their daily fill of nuts and seeds
but feeders, still bearing their bounty,
are soon fallen upon in frenzied melee
by sparrows and starlings, a riotous sight,
till soon they too will fly away
at the start of evening dusk display.
All day long they constantly chatter.
All day long they feed.
All day long we are blessed by their company,
and thus we are always grateful.

©Joe Wilson – November morning… 2014

 

The 11:42 to lonely…

 

march railway station

Carrying with it my dreams and you
The train pulled out – 11:42
I couldn’t but think I now was lost
I’d made a choice, too high the cost.

I think back now and pains return
Wiping eyes of tears that burn
And thinking brings you to my mind
The beauteous soul of one so kind.

Regrets I feel for that poor choice
I miss so much your tender voice
If such decisions I made anew
I’d never stay, I’d go with you.

So sorely how I wish that train
Would bring you to my arms again
Where we could grow our love once more
As lonely fills my empty core.

So much regret this foolish joe
I chose career and watched love go
And should I gain great opulence
I’d sit alone, there’d be no sense.

©Joe Wilson – The 11:42 to lonely… 2014

A tiny tear…

 

 A tiny tear falls from my eye

For each and every death

Another suicide bomb goes off

And snuffs out human breath.

 

They blow themselves for principles

That we don’t understand

If they are right —if we are right

It still means blood-stained land.

 

For pity’s sake each life that’s lost

Just hardens attitudes against

We have to talk to stop their deaths

And negotiate without constraints.

 

Each innocent life that gets destroyed

Is a wasted friend or lover

A murdered mother or father

Or a dead sister or brother.

 

This surely cannot go on forever…

 

©Joe Wilson – A tiny tear…2014

 

The slaughtered…

I could not

 

Whoever would fire a bullet?
I ask as I’m surely confused
Who on Earth would want to shatter
All that beauty that Nature has fused!

Who sits in a hide away from the light
Waiting for the deer to call
They don’t need the meat, that’s not the treat
It’s the head and the points on the wall!

Tribesmen in ‘less civilised’ countries
Might hunt down just such a deer
Then they pray for the soul of the slaughtered
For life-saving food from a beast they revere!

Not for them the revulsion of trophies
They only kill what they need
But in our ‘so civilised’ society
We can kill just for pleasure or greed.

There is something not right in society
Where solutions come from a gun
Weapons should be just for protection
They should never be used for such ‘fun’.

“Please do not be offended by my reference to a ‘less civilised’ society. I refer only to a lack of modernity and in actuality we are the far more crudely behaved frequently” Joe Wilson 2014

 

©Joe Wilson – The slaughtered… 2014

All that is…

He died in a pool of disgust
after a lifetime of self-loathing
a life in which he had abused people
their trust, and even his own family’s good name.

He had been a terrible person by his own reckoning
and he was filled with remorse — but also self-pity.

It was thus that he found himself before his Maker
and he fully expected errors had been made in the direction
of his post-life travel arrangements.

His Maker looked at him and said,
“You are one sorry son,
and you’ve been a great disappointment.”

“I”, he spluttered.

“Interrupt me not, for I am not in the least finished.
You have stolen yet not hurt, you have hurt though not killed,
you have killed but only in the name of your country,
peace and negotiation and compromise seemingly beyond
the gift of human understanding.”

he heard him say,
for he was far too afraid to look upon his countenance.

“You have cursed and been ungodly
but you have cared for your old neighbour.
You have drunk to excess and yet have always
got to and done a days work.

Heaven only knows how sometimes.

You have had fights in the streets
though you have indeed tried to reform.
You have never listened to My Word
when I could have helped you and
it surely pained me to see you struggle.
You are one mixed-up man.”

He was agog as his sorry life was so
painfully listed before him, and
he was sorely afraid of his fate.

His Maker went on, “However,
you are basically a good man adrift.
somewhat confused and in a morass of self-doubt,
and I would not cast you down to my
Greater Disappointment below,
where you would surely not enjoy
— a single moment.

Get yourself in here lest I change my mind.
Do not think that this is the end of it, for
you have much to redeem yourself for
and my rooms are many.”

Without another word his Maker disappeared
and he was amidst a wondrous throng.
He felt completely enlightened and knew
he had been saved. His heart was so full
and he felt a goodness he’d never known.
He truly wished he could pass this feeling
on to those he had left behind and that
he could make up for his past wrong-doing.

“You will my boy,” he heard. “You will.”

 

©Joe Wilson – All that is… 2014

 

A golden thread…

golden-thread (1)

A golden thread runs through my life
it keeps me safe with warmest love
along the way this well fit glove
has helped me live when I might not
when if I died meant not a jot
caring always that I’m well
constantly renews her spell
this thread protects me from all strife.
It brought me back from where I ran
with crazy notions in my head
this sorry creature that I am
I couldn’t live without my thread
but thoughts like these will see me through
because my golden thread is you.

 

©Joe Wilson – A golden thread… 2014

 

The inhumanity of it all…

After the dark shall cometh the light
Exploded into by man’s devilish slight
To ruin the land and dominate all
The Earth falls into a deathly pall.

Sides will get taken along the way
The poor of learning will never get a say
The rich and clever will make the rules
History shows the poor are their tools.

A poor woman begs for work or bread
Her very rich neighbour kicks her in the head
And laws are passed to keep them down
And hidden from view on behalf of the crown.

Arguments start and war then breaks out
That guileless citizens know nothing about
But involved they become as their faith is then tested
Forced into arms for the thoughts they’ve invested.

Only a minority will claim they’re the proudest
But they have the guns and their voice is the loudest
We get swept along and get hurt on the way
Young children in war games with no time for play.

After the dark shall cometh the light
Exploded into by man’s devilish slight
He ruins the land and dominates all
As Earth now descends into it’s deathly pall.

©Joe Wilson – The inhumanity of it all… 2014

Bragging rights, 1950’s style…

Margareta Berger-Hamerschlag from the cover of her still relevant 'Journey into a Fog'. 1956
Margareta Berger-Hamerschlag
from the cover of her still relevant
‘Journey into a Fog’. 1956

 

He took his lass to the local flicks
By heck he was so very eager
But when his hand slipped down her back
She said, “I smell Swarfega.”

 

Not so easily discouraged
He went and scrubbed his hands
But when he got back to try again
She’d gone, and thwarted his plans.

 

They didn’t have mobiles in those days
Further contact there couldn’t have been
So he went to the pub and stood with his mates
And bragged about the heaven he’d seen.

 

The tales those young men told…

 

 

©Joe Wilson – Bragging rights, 1950’s style…2014

(For those who may not know, Swarfega was invented in 1947
by Audley Bowdler Williamson, and is a hand-cleaning product
originally invented to prolong the life of silk stockings.
It found far more use in garages than it ever did in lady’s boudoirs)