1914 – A Huge Fraction

He still felt deafened by the terrible sound
From the huge field guns that both sides had
Been firing hour after hour for four days. You
Could be scared to death just from the noise.

An eighth didn’t seem like much
Two sixteenths
Four thirty-seconds
Eight sixty-fourths
Sixteen one hundred and twenty-eighths.

Following his recent promotion to Colonel
He was sitting in his new office at his new desk
Hesitating to put his pen to paper
Resisting the inevitable sorrow to come.

He was writing down the numbers – thinking
Thirty two two hundred and fifty-sixths
Sixty four five hundred and twelfths.
Now the numbers looked much bigger.
When he reached
Five hundred and twelve as a
fraction of four thousand and ninety-six
He stopped.

The number now seemed insurmountable
Yet it was still that small fraction.
But he now had to write to that number
Of wives, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters
And tell them that their boy would
Never again walk through their front door.

An eighth is so much more than just a fraction.

©Joe Wilson – 1914 A huge fraction…2014

One of a group of poems recognising the centenary of WW1

A Bad Man But a Father

It was a solemn affair
The funeral
Everyone who’d ever known him
Was there
Some even liked him a little
But most
Had just come to make sure
He was dead.

Amongst these folk a little arm
Reached up
To hold a grown-ups hand
His lad
His eyes squeezed tight, so tight
Lest he cry
To him at least he’d been
Just Dad
To this young boy the man had been
His Hero
Criminal in life the man had left behind
The Innocent.
Only time would tell if that would
Remain the case.

©JRW2014

A Poor Woman

Angelic voices called to her
She faltered at beauty’s sound
She’d thought that she was doing well
Surprised that now she had been found.

The monsoon rains had brought her down
A fever struck so deep
Her strength gave out eventually
Her will began to seep.

She’d worked out in the harshest place
She’d dug and picked and sown
On land that others made profit from
The land was not her own.

She’d even had a child once there
And then just carried on
The baby wrapped up on her back
Her plaintiff cry so wan.

But now the time had come for her
Worn out at forty two
Amidst the constant poverty
Her death was nothing new.

They buried her and carried on
No tears upon their face
The crops still needed planting
Her daughter filled her place.

©Joe Wilson – A poor woman 2014

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

A Trip to the Seaside

The old and now empty railway track
Where iron horses will never come back
Carried trains along it on two four four
Driving along to the Welsh sea shore.

Children would travel with bucket and spade
Later to wonder at castles they’d made
While Mum and Dad with bags by three
Wondered if they’d brought enough for tea.

From Stafford station they pulled away
Stopping at Newport along the way
Then Shrewsbury town and Machynlleth too
Stopping at Barmouth just after two.

Passengers piled out in their droves
Most of them looking for shallow coves
Mums carrying babies who’d often screech
Heading for quiet spots left on the beach.

To Mum and Dad it was a well earned rest
From their working days and household stress
And the joy of seeing children have such fun
It meant the holidays had begun.

Some days later, maybe three or four
Passengers waited by carriage doors
And back to their homes they all would go
With tales to tell to folks they know.

And as they journeyed East again
Saying goodbyes to holiday friends
They felt refreshed and enjoyed the ride
As the train sped away from the wild Welsh tide.

©JRW2014

The Lady on the Hill

I see a fine looking lady sitting up on a hill
Pretty flowers all around her and she’s sitting so still
She is watching a little girl play with a ball
She smiles at the sight and is totally enthralled.

The little girl laughed as she chased the ball down
If she got too far away the fine lady frowned
One time the ball ran over my way
So I rolled it right back, she continued to play.

The lady then opened a hamper to eat
There were biscuits and cakes and many a treat
The little girl tried a small sandwich at first
Biting it gingerly with her tiny lips pursed.

She was smiling again as she ate a cream cake
That was much more enjoyable, there was no mistake
After fruit juice and tea it was all put away
They gathered their things and called it a day.

I often see them both up on the hill
I sit here and watch them and smile
The girl calls me Daddy, the fine lady, dear
And we all leave together for our home close to here.

©JRW2014

Snowmen

Cold outside — well what do you expect!
It’s Winter and the mercury’s dropped
There’s snow on the way, kids wrap up and play
And there’ll be Snowmen soon on display.

There’ll be big ones and small ones and some wearing hats
Some wearing scarfs and some holding bats
To children they’re real and a friend for a while
Watching them play with them just makes us smile.

And then they are gone just as fast as they came
The cold days drag on but it won’t be the same
The kids play through Springtime, the Summer and Fall
But really they’re waiting for the Snowman to call.

He’s a magical presence that kids all adore
They play with him all through the day
He’s handsome and large and has only one flaw
He has to be gone by the end of the thaw.

©JRW2014

Staying Put

It’s a short walk to the end of my road
One I make often to look at the scene
I see all of the change in the village
On the land that we now call the green.

All life in the village passes through here
You can set your watch as they pass
The old man who’s walking his spaniel
The young girl who’s now a young lass.

There are many who ride by on the cycles
And quite a few pass as they jog
It’s just that you see things in passing
It’s not that one’s keeping a log.

It’s a fact that life here is peaceful
I can’t think that I’ll move anywhere
I’d miss all my friends in the village
And I’m too old to make them elsewhere.

©JRW2014

For The Little Ones

If they stop and they listen
They can hear a small sound
But they have to listen closely
With their ears to the ground.

The sound that they hear is the ring of a bell
But only a young child is able to tell.

For as adults we’ve forgotten, we can’t hear the bell
Lost innocence from growing up drowns out the knell.

But innocence in children is a wonder and a bliss
And the ring of that bell we don’t want them to miss.

So when you see you a child with their ear to the ground
Chances are that they’re hearing that sweet ringing sound.

©JRW2014

Life in a Year

My journey began many, many days ago
I’ve travelled through so many lives
Some are so sad that they break my heart
Some are full of joy and I’m loathe to part

But move I must as I journey on
Throughout the seasons from one to one

Till one day I arrive at my journey’s end
Where I hand the day over to my closest friend

I am a full year…now completed.

©JRW2013