The little red bike…

Just a little bit too big to be mine, but similar (1956)
Just a little bit too big to be mine, but similar (1956)

 

With legs pumping like mad, eager to keep up
While his pedals went around very slow
He ambled along giving me exercise
“Would you like me to slow down a bit Joe?”

But I pedalled along with all of my might
And I was keeping up, at least I thought
But an L-driver outside the driving school
Opened his door and brought me up short.

Into the road I flew off my little red bike
But a hand grabbed me and halted my fall
I think it was the L-driver who caught me
He had a handlebar moustache I recall.

Well they all made a fuss about something
And to the hospital I was told I must go
But the thing was I’d lost sight of my father
They watched amazed as I shot off shouting “No!”

In a time like forever I found my father
He was sitting, looking back, one foot down
As I raced up and sat still behind him
His faced changed from smiling to a frown.

It seems that my face was all covered in blood
I was desperate to catch up I didn’t realise
As he leapt off his bike and wrapped his arms round me
I said “Dad! Why are there tears in your eyes?”

The driver’s door had caught me just under the eye
I’d a gash of some length underneath
Being just seven years old I didn’t know why
Dad’s tears were his show of relief.

 

©Joe Wilson – The little red bike… 2014

When I wrote this I was thinking about my Dad. He never cycled with me too much. He became ill soon after I was born and died when I was just twelve.
I loved him so very much.

 

A new beginning…

Leonardo Da Vinci
Leonardo Da Vinci

He could hear the steady beat in his ears
it was the only sound there was sometimes
and was the most comforting sound ever made
but he knew this was not the only sound
as he sometimes felt rather than heard
something making other gentle sounds
and when the something moved
he had no choice, he moved too.

Something in the distance would make noises back
though that thing didn’t seem quite so gentle somehow
and where he was he felt very safe and comfortable
but although he couldn’t see anything he felt
he was on a journey that would soon be over
and then – he would see everything.

Then one day he was there
he was surrounded by brightness
and moving things making strange noises at him
that he didn’t understand and which made him cry.

But soon and very gently he was placed next to a thing
that he instinctively knew was his Mother.
It was the most beautiful thing
that he could have ever imagined.

©Joe Wilson – A new beginning 2014

Babies – For Mothers Everywhere

The most wonderful feeling you’ll know in this world
Is holding a baby as its fingers unfurled
The joy in the heart, the tears in the eyes
A genuine happiness you just can’t disguise.

A thing of pure innocence looks back at you
But you’re new like this baby, what do you do
Well now ask for Mum’s help, her Mother helped her
Mothers help daughters, that’s how histories occur.

While men are off fighting or just acting the fool
Mothers feed children and send them to school
Where they will go then, what they will do
The choice is for them, but the guidance is YOU.

‘With Mother’s Day 2014 coming soon,
I dedicate this poem to all Mothers everywhere’

©JRW2014

Schools Out

Up we go, up the stairs
To sleep or dream or play with bears
Under cover with ‘secret’ lamps
Beds turn into night time camps
Where special messages are passed about
“Only in whispers, you mustn’t shout.”
’cause we’re asleep our parents think
Our tired red eyes are on the brink…

Then “wake up children, time to go,
one more day at school you know.”
Off we race to get to class
To take some tests we hope to pass
Then running home at end of day
Homework, tea, and then we play
amazing games in the weekends
having fun with all our friends.

©JRW2014

My Aunt’s Cat

He often wanders down the street
And depending on his mood
He’ll lie right down and take the sun
He sleeps or plays, he’ll walk or run.

Nothing seems beyond his reach
There’s very little you could teach
He gets in places others can’t
He’s often stroked by my old aunt.

He likes to curl up by my aunt’s side
Purring shows he’s satisfied
He is indeed a handsome cat
If he could talk he’d tell you that.

Sometimes he’ll bring a mouse indoors
Playing with it with his paws
Aunt’ll chase him out again
My aunt, she is the mouse’s friend.

Who would own such a naughty cat
Not those next door, we all know that
For they’ve a dog with a long, long tail
And cat just bites it without fail.

Dog chases cat, aunt chases dog
Around the garden they all jog
That’s when the cat jumps on the fence
He always wins – he’s too much sense.

For now we’ll leave him and my aunt
He’s fed and there’s nothing he will want
They’re both asleep right by the fire
It’s late and time old cats retire.

©JRW2014

I Remember The Mallard

As boys we sat atop a bridge
And saw the trains rush by
Steam flying out of funnel stacks
We watched them pass with a sigh.

The Royal Scot was a favourite
The Flying Scotsman too
But the biggest thrill we ever got
Was when The Mallard raced right through.

Such a beauty she was in livery
All blue and shining and bright
And to children like us in the fifties
She was such an amazing sight.

She was the four four six eight
And she ran on four six two
You couldn’t see her funnel stacks
For speed they were hidden from view.

They’d built her up in Doncaster
Through a wind tunnel she had passed
And when she flew along the tracks
You caught a glimpse and gasped.

Steam trains of course don’t run now
Except on heritage lines
But smelly and dirty as they may have been
They were a glorious sight in their times.

©JRW2014

The Wind’s Crazy Dance

The wind blows hard and the leaves merrily prance
Flitting about like characters in some hysterical dance
High in the air they fly like a train
As if held aloft by an invisible chain

Held there in a perfect symmetrical stance
Then its off again in the wild crazy dance.

Round and round they dance in a ring
The wind makes them dance, and it seems to sing
He’s in control now, the king of the skies
Blowing about anything as much as he likes.

First there’s a crack, then a branch hits the ground
A tile from a roof falls to a great crashing sound
Window panes rattle as the wind rushes about
Making such a noise as some even fall out.

And then the wind drops and the noise is no more
The things in the air? They just fall to the floor.

©JRW2014