Just for the hell of it
He feels the pull of his aching heart
His resistance was always a sham
He gives himself up to her gladly
You live once so he cares not a damn.
Why had he resisted these long years
The big cat he’d always admired
He decided he just wouldn’t wait anymore
And bought the Jag on the day he retired.
©Joe Wilson – It’s Not Always What You Think 2014
This is just for a bit of fun, our load and our spirits need a slight lift occasionally.
I delighted in hearing the interlude
Having heard the prelude too
Whilst waiting for the postlude though
My mind ran all askew.
Where is the ‘lude’ I began to think
For there is a post and a pre
Why are my Chambers and OED
Keeping the ‘lude’ from me!
It was then I thought of Phill Jupitus
I thought that was only fair
As I’m sure he’d be just as puzzled as I
To observe that “It’s not there!”
I’ve searched for it here and I’ve searched for it there
All avenues have been fiercely pursued
And in the end I’m forced to concede
Less ‘Pre’ and ‘Post’ there’s no ‘LUDE’.
©Joe Wilson -“It’s Not There.” 2014
This is a bit of fun based on the highly amusing session of QI where the said Mr Jupitus was able to tell New Zealanders that when the sun is bouncing off the road and impeding their vision they can be safely assured that “It’s not there”.
©Joe Wilson -“It’s Not There.” 2014
When I wrote ‘Walter’ it was intended purely as a one-off poem about a subject that I’m interested in, and based on the various ways court cases have gone with regard to the mental aptitude of these types of murderers. I wrote it from the point of view of the reader having a degree, obviously a small degree, of sympathy for him. However, I see that it lends itself to a sequel if one’s feeling a little mischievous. This is one, there may be others later if he ever shows up. Joe Wilson – ‘Walter’ – A Sequel [Perhaps]
It was an fact of pure folly, such a negligent act
When the prison guard left the door open a crack
And Walter being Walter just walked out of the door
The courtroom nor the jury saw sight of him no more.
He made good his escape by hiding on a ship
Refraining from his hobby till giving all the slip
He alighted in Dublin and went straight underground
While he started to study the prey to be found.
It was not like before as he hadn’t a home
So he killed tramps and ate bits and then he just roamed
And it wasn’t too long before he’d killed more than ten
As panic broke out about the cannibal again.
But Walter kept low and moved only at night
All of his killings were out of plain sight
He found an old disused shed at the edge of a park
Where he now lured his victims each night after dark.
The sad haunting song still played in his head
But sometimes he heard screaming victims instead
Though that never made Walter regret what he did
He heard the strange song and did what it bid.
One day as he walked through the park to the shed
He saw many policemen so he turned round instead
He knew they’d find the bodies inside his new house
So he crept away quietly as if he was a mouse.
The papers all screamed he’d killed twenty more men
Shouting ‘who’s going to catch him?, and importantly ‘when?’
The song told him go so he sneaked back to the port
Where he boarded another ship to a nice new resort.
No one ever saw Walter again from that day
There are those who just hope that he sailed far away
But he’s not in a prison, and no body has been found
So take care if a humming man’s there when you turn round.
©Joe Wilson – ‘Walter’ – A Sequel [Perhaps] 2014
A big wooden train Dad made and painted red
Or a tricycle I sometimes preferred instead
Sometimes a Jeep or a truck or a plane
Those Dinky cars I played with again and again.
Cowboys and Indians that we played near the shed
At the end of the garden till it was past time for bed
Where I’d read Secret Seven books or Famous Five stuff
Till Mum put the light out and I’d feign a big huff.
It was a leisurely time full of fun with no fear
We enjoyed our school days and held them so dear
But it all fell to pieces on one Saturday past noon
When my beloved father died at years far too soon.
My childhood till then had been fun like a game
But from that moment on it was never the same
Though the standing by his grave in the cold pouring rain
Isn’t the memory I recall, it’s Dad’s home-made red train.
©Joe Wilson – The Big Red Wooden Train 2014
He hoped no one would see him
Running naked and fast
He was living for the moment
Just making it last.
Where’s the dog, where’s the dog?
There are burglars in the house
But the dog sleeps oh so quietly
As quietly as a mouse.
And so the husband, he takes charge
It’s the middle of the night
Reluctantly creeping down the stairs
He’s our hero in full – fright.
Of course – there was nobody there
It was one of those ‘sounds in the night’
And our hero couldn’t have seen him
He’d forgotten to turn on the light.
The hero thus returns to bed
Not to welcoming open arms
His wife has drifted back to sleep
Oblivious to his charms.
Oh well he thinks as he gets in bed
And then he falls himself to sleep
Meanwhile below, the hidden thief
Leaves for his home with swag to keep.
©JRW2014
I hadn’t had a plan for this, I hadn’t planned at all
So when the phone rang on that day I was taken aback by the call
A call like that is incredibly rare, indeed it’s hardly fair
And so with you dear reader its nature I will share.
There was a man at the end of the line, his name I didn’t get
And it seemed from what he told me, I’d won millions of pounds, and yet…
He would of course need my details, my name and my address
By now it was getting quite involved, but vital he did stress.
Next of course it was my bank, the details he would want
So he could send the mighty cheque into a new account
I said to him, forget it mate, my info you’ll not get
and so it seems I will not be a millionaire just yet.
©JRW2014
Looking out across the field
At teams of men none whom would yield
Ready to battle against a side
Honour needing to be satisfied.
Men stood in centre, others at flanks
Some so huge they resembled tanks
The anthems sung, the talking done
A hard match now that could be won.
A roar goes up, the game begins
Arms and legs and knees and chins
All will be used in this affray
One side will win on this vital day.
The rain held off, there was no mud
On verdant grass these hard men stood
And then the egg-shaped pill flew high
Wingers to catch and go for tries.
Heroes were made upon that day
Of men who’d fight another day
Amidst loud cheers and celebrations
Battle Royal between Six Nations.
©JRW2014
Black is the night
Black is the mood
Dark is the spirit
All evil imbued.
‘Tis now the zombies
Will walk the earth
Never finding peace
In their lifeless worth.
If they catch you
They’ll bring you down
Zombies live inside your mind
And not beneath the ground.
©Joe Wilson – Zombies 2014
a man needs a study
and a study I have
where I hide from the world
with my thoughts.
I write them all down
and think them all through
they go down through my fingers
that’s how my work grew.
some are quite big thoughts
yet more still are small
some of them don’t bear
much thinking at all.
but they all get assembled
in some sort of fashion
and get moved into poems
in my kind of passion.
©Joe Wilson – thoughts 2014
Jovis on a Journey... 