Black back black

Inside his head, all was black

black,       black,       black

he couldn’t think straight

he was overcome

with such dark thoughts

it was not him at all

he was feeling a rage

as if he was in the grip

of a mad man.

There was no one there

to ease the pain anymore

and that was when he knew

what it was, it was grief

the pain of being alone.

No warm body following

his body contours and

smelling of strawberries

no soothing voice

when he felt troubled

no more ‘I love you’

before they went to sleep

each night, no cuddles.

How long does lonely last?

You can find anything

on the internet, no,   no

you can’t find a cure

for lonely and that

terrible blackness.

©JoeW 2022

The Clock…

That’s what I’d do.

By the time I got there

I’d calmed down

and was smiling at my lunacy.

I did take the battery out though

and decided that next morning 

I would go up into the loft.

I was going to retrieve my

old mechanical mantel clock.

And so I did.

It wasn’t going, so

I removed the back and took out

the movement, laying it out gently,

for I was my normal calm self by now.

Methodically, as my father had shown me

I took the pieces apart and carefully cleaned

each part using the finest clean oil,

one hundred percent synthetic Liberty oil.

I let the spring soak a while, cleaning 

the face and hands and the rest of the body

then using lint-free cloth to dry the parts

I very delicately began to put it back together.

It was a joy to do, I’d missed just – tinkering.

It reminded me of my dad and family. It wasn’t

all good, but the good far outweighed the bad.

When it was all back together, and after a number

of cups of tea, I sat and admired the clock for

what it was. It was a simple, barely elegant,

Westminster chime, utility mantel clock.

Nothing fancy at all, but it had history.

Where my father got it I don’t know,

but it was always on the sideboard

in the front room. That’s a misnomer too.

The front room was at the back of the house.

It took me till I was a teenager to understand

the vagaries of room naming. It was never a lounge,

more a sitting room really. Why it couldn’t have

just been called the best too I never understood,

but there you go. Anyway, I took the clock

and very carefully, set it down on the mantelpiece.

It was now happily ticking away and I was so happy

to see it there. It never keeps the time as well as

a battery-driven digital movement with a created

tick, but the reassuring tick tock tick tock

is so much more pleasant to listen to when you

lie in bed at night and hear it through the house.

A home needs nice clock in it.


A bad day…

Today was a very bad day for me, didn’t leave my bed till two-thirty in the afternoon

I got in my Beemer and went for a drive, couldn’t get out of the house too soon

Days like this are not so frequent, but they ache when they hit me in the heart

You get advice from many folks, they forget to tell you that part.

I miss the gentle cuddles you know, just the feel of her soft skin

The Aromatics Elixir perfume she wore, a little on her arm drew me in

The chats that we had over coffee, I sure do miss her easy way

Coffee hasn’t really tasted the same, not since that awful November day.

It’s been almost a year, I still stare at the walls, the dusting sure ain’t getting done

Twenty twenty-one is like last year, a horror show that’s been very short of fun

And loneliness seems so complete at times, you hide it as best as you can

But it grips at night when you try to sleep, when you become just a sad lonely man. 



What danger lurks in open hearts
And how we fall into its trap
But joy is something we all want
It’s part of a lifetime map.
And those of us lucky in one way
Find a match and a lover for life
And those not so lucky in life’s great test
Miss the wonder, but also the strife.
It’s not for all of course, we differ
But the heart guides us all on our way
Some people stop many times to find love
Finding only that it left yesterday.
Perhaps it’s really about surviving
In this complex world where we dwell
There is much tech interference
But no actual people to tell.
One day we may all live in city blocks
Where no one will ever see a soul
And conversing will all be over the net
And under Big Brother’s control.
But the heart finds a way
It’s its nature
And love will survive as always
Of that you can be sure.

©JoeW – Love…2021

Still hopeful…

Woke up to a beautiful day today

Sun nice and hot, but not too hot

And I felt thankful, just this once

Thankful for all the good things

…………that I’ve still got.

I’d woken to that gentle strain

That is the angelic voice of Jennifer Warnes

Singing Rock You Gently

It’s a kind of magic to wake to

………….and of a life that still adorns.

Perhaps the early signs are there

She’d want me to move on

Crumbling under the weight

Is still a frequent occurrence

But I will still survive

………….and I will love the world.

For love is the only weapon

That is necessary in life

Surely, everybody wants

To be loved and to love in return

………….it overcomes all strife.

©JoeW – Still hopeful…2021

Trees, we should love them more…

They take their chain-saw armies

And cut down all the trees

To make a chair, a house and cash!

They need the wood for these.

But later, when they couldn’t breathe

And it was far too late to wonder

Oxygen comes from wondrous trees

They’re not just there to plunder.

The world survives by balance

We ignore that every day

And soon there may be no trees left

There’ll be a price to pay.

©JoeW – Trees, we should love them more…2021

…and yet when finally I drew back the curtain, life was still there ticking away as always. For in truth, ‘time really does wait for no one’. My self-all-absorbing grief, is only a very small pothole along the much larger global road of life. I don’t care, it is my pothole.

I touch her things, my fingers gently passing over her wedding ring and her watch, both of which she had worn every day since we had married some forty eight years earlier. It has been four months since she was stolen away from me, she was taken away in an ambulance and I never saw her again. Even worse I never got to speak to her again. That is what I miss most of all, I will never hear her voice again. It could be, ‘can you pass me the butter knife please?’ or ‘have you read this article in the paper?’ or ‘I love you.’ I will never hear her say anything again. That breaks my heart.

Potholes get repaired but I am like the local council and their repair schedule, I will take forever.

Blank walls…

I miss you so very much my skin aches for your touch

The gentle contact of lovers and experience mixed

But the year of heartache severed the whole

And the love in my heart cannot now be fixed.

I lost my girl so cruelly to the ills of life

The best half of two was you, my wife

Now I sit here and stare at blank painted walls

Where I’ll sit for the rest of my life.

How sad life can be, how stark and cold

How riddled with grief can we cope

How lonely the life that gets left behind

Close your curtains, abandon all hope.

©JRW – Blank walls…2021


It was becoming a bad habit

Constantly drinking himself to oblivion.

Four Roses was fine Kentucky Straight bourbon

But it couldn’t go on, forever drunk

Vomiting like a slob, covering himself in puke

Waking in the early hours covered in snot and sweat.

He had to get to grips before the grips got him

Time to put the bottle away before he couldn’t

Life was once so straightforward

And then it wasn’t.

©Joe Wilson – Wasted…2021

…and having moved on, where to go

His active brain just did not know

And so, he tried to think a while

An hour passed and then a smile.

He`d take up writing, yes, he would

Able, or not, deciding he could

And so, he took his brain and quill

Then sat for hours, thinking still.

The page was bare, and hunger called

At lack of progress, he was appalled

But after lunch he did decree

The page would fill, just wait and see.

The lunch was long, the wine did flow

Refusing top-ups, he got slow

And so, he slept all afternoon

Finally woken but far too soon.

His head was sore, his own fault, true

But nausea called, twas to the loo

Where all his sorrows left his gut

More care in what goes in he`ll put.

No words he`d writ, no words at all

This writing lark was not a ball

He couldn`t put the thoughts together

Drunkenness made it heavy weather!

So, he would try another day

To put on paper things to say

And nauseous still, he went to bed

To rest his unproductive head.

©JRW2021…Writing when drunk.