COVID-19

It’s hard to overestimate the danger
Like a ripple in the way it has spread
And for all of the rings in the ripple
Dozens more people may be dead.

Looking now out of my front window
As I have done so many times before
The view, though no less pleasant
Seems blighted by that lock on the door.

Oh we both attend our small garden
A pleasure not enjoyed by some
But there’s no longer any point to a party
When you can’t invite people to come.

And the collie he sits by the roadside
A pathetic and lonely strange sight
He waits for his kind caring master
Who’ll now never come home tonight.

Moving through the air totally unseen
It infects everything that it hits
And the lives affected by this virus
End up broken and lying in bits.

©Joe Wilson – Covid-19…2020

Diminishing congregations…

 

The old church bell tolled mournfully
It was calling the faithful once more
But fewer and fewer believers
Take a pew after passing through the door.

A dire situation in the old village church
Now worshippers are but a few
The vicar has a trio of churches to tend
But very soon that may fall to just two.

There are many ways to practice religion
Not all are inside God’s house
But if congregations don’t soon increase
There’ll be nought but the old church mouse.

©Joe Wilson – Diminishing congregations…2020

Old friends…

…he put away the whiskey bottle
a constant companion for a few years
he’d developed a liking for sour mash
but it was choking his internal gears.

There was no chance of him needing the twelve steps
But he was wary of danger nonetheless
That was one thing he wouldn’t slide into
Though it could have been easy he’d confess.

Black coffee, the saviour for so many
It can bring you back from the brink
It clears the head with its caffeine-born taste
And allows that now clear head to think.

©Joe Wilson – Old friends…2020

huddled over in tears…

…huddled over in tears
was he weeping for himself
or was he weeping for all
the undernourished children in the world
or perhaps for all the women
so brutally treated throughout the globe.
Or was he really weeping
because he’d never in his miserable life
lifted a single finger to help.
Or was he weeping because of how
he now judged himself?
For that can be the harshest judgment of all.

©Joe Wilson – huddled over in tears…2020

Grief…

He couldn’t sleep – again

It had been a long time since he’d sat here
And fine cobwebs now criss-crossed his desk.
He dusted his black swivel chair and sat down
At the same time brushing aside the sticky grey fronds.

He thought the urge to write something had left him
And yet take up his pen once more he did.
He let all the words tumble out as fast as his pen gave up its ink
Like an eerie, strange and enchanted dance in the burlesque
As page after page of endless writing flowed
None of it making any sense or reason
Until suddenly –
his hand stopped and he wrote no more, he’d finished.
And looking at the hundred or so pages he realised
He realised just what grief looked like.
He wept and left his study in mind-numbing sorrow.

He would wait for that elusive sunrise
That brought the brighter tomorrow.

©Joe Wilson – Grief…2019

Feeble excuses…

 

Deep sleep
Chased away by early sunshine
That did nothing
To stop the hammering
In my sometimes battered
Brain.
Caused by Jim Beam
Correction!
By my having an arrangement
With Jim Beam.
I enjoyed his company
He didn’t complain.
How we convince ourselves
That it will help us
Think!
Not after the third one.
All thought disappears
And what the hell!
My opus will have to wait
Another day.
Such is the price we pay.

©Joe Wilson – Feeble excuses…2019