wrapped in melancholy, down at heart
saddened by events you didn’t start
heartless thoughts begin to emerge
pointless lives will all diverge.
feeling lost you grope for life
grabbing hands in utter strife
the sprawl of endless searches failed
the souls are lost the voices wailed.
should we as well wait out your fate
with death’s dark hand you have a date
we all must journey to his lair
but let’s not rush things – let’s take care.
©Joe Wilson – that last sad moment 2014
Born in the county
Raised in the county
Served overseas
Died overseas
Buried in the county.
©Joe Wilson – Another…gone
A whisper of your perfume fills my senses
And once again I’m dropped to my knees
The thought runs right through me like a shiver
And I stop as I feel my heart freeze.
I can’t go on like this much longer
You’ve gone and I’m now on my own
My heart’s full of pain I can barely endure
The loss of you aches through my bones.
I find myself in all of our old haunts
Thinking of you and your loving smile
Imagining that you’re here by my side once again
Gives me strength, but just for a short while.
I’m now standing here in front of this dark stone
With your name engraved on it in gold
With our sad little boy who now holds onto my hand
And I’m forced to remain so controlled.
His poor little face looks so sad and so pale
Such tears that have burnt onto his face
His pain from the knowing that you’ll never return
That you’ve gone to a far different place.
Your presence though is yet still within me
I can sense that you’re all around now
To me you’re not here beneath this cold dark stone
You will never be here in the ground.
©Joe Wilson – Not Gone 2014
Photo by: Ahmed Al.Badawy, Cairo, Egypt
He was a very poor and sad old man whose pride belied his fear
That one day he’d be a burden to his folks who held dear.
He’d worked hard every single day, now he didn’t cope so well
He knew that his ears were a problem too, he was going deaf he could tell.
He guessed it was just a sign of his age, he’d soon be eighty-one
He’d been fitted with a hearing-aid, but he forgot to switch it on.
And though he had his radio on to listen to all the news
He struggled to tell what was being said, he rarely heard their views.
And so from time to time he sat and enjoyed his garden flowers
He didn’t need to hear them grow, he’d watch them sway for hours.
He’d take his paper and his specs and go down to his shed
And often not read anything as he’d fall asleep instead.
There are times when he forgets though and he sleeps in there all day
When his son or daughter find him, it’s getting more that way.
And he sometimes can’t remember what he’s supposed to do
It’s when his mind goes like this that his thoughts feel stuck in glue.
His son told him the other day he was looking for a place
Where others could look after him, but he’d still have his own space.
He’ll never want to leave this house, his memories are all here
His dear wife still lives in its heart, he won’t go, is that clear!!
But now the odds are against him as he struggles every day
He sometimes doesn’t dress quite right and he cannot properly shave.
And he’ll sometimes sit and weep the tears of a man who feels marooned
He’ll sit and wonder when he’ll die for it cannot come too soon.
©Joe Wilson – Thoughts of Old Age 2014
It is the time of the greatest of sadness
The memories are still fresh and so raw
When the moment comes back to that tick of the clock
And the last time you walked in through that door.
One o’clock daily I will stare at the door
Begging it to open with you there
With your heart full of love that was sadly so frail
You’re now only a memory in this home that we’d share.
I touch one of your sweaters and smell your perfume
And my heart breaks as I think back to that night
When you told me you loved me and you would all your life
And you did, oh you did, now you’ve gone from my sight.
I still keep your diary by the side of the bed
I’ve decided not to open it for now
I think if it stays shut you’re perhaps still inside
I can deal with that, I think I know how.
It’s that time again now and I look at the door
Though I know that you’ll never come through
But I still have the memories of all that we shared
And they hold me together like you’d do.
When the clock ticks one now I stare at that door
I’ll stare at it till the day that I die
And by the time that they lay me into the earth
I’ll once again be there right by your side.
©Joe Wilson – The Empty Doorway 2014
Within that magical moment
The world is at one and at ease
Everyone is loving their neighbour
And we have control of disease.
But it doesn’t last, it cannot last
It will all go back as before
To the dying from hunger and violence
To man’s unending desire for war.
One man plants a crop for food
But another man reaps the gain
The one making life from the profit
While another’s reward is just pain.
If a man is black, or yellow, who cares!
His blood like yours is red
The bullets or knives that pierce your skins
Would make you both as dead.
A man gets beaten in the street
His crime was being gay
Who gave those others the right to judge
Will prejudice never go away?
The ones with strength to dominate
Should nonetheless take heed
When they themselves are wanting help
Who’ll stay to fill that need.
I hear the ever-growing rains
They flood the town and field
Where hardship’s felt so gravely
Where man is forced to yield.
Perhaps we brought it on ourselves
We feel the need for so much
But there are so many with nothing
Who’d benefit from a gentle touch.
Back to that magical moment
It’s the one just before I awake
Where the next moment comes and it’s over
And it can’t be put right with a shake.
©Joe Wilson – A Magical Moment…and then it’s gone! 2014
He sat there, always looking out of a small round window
That could easily be a reflection of his tragic mind
Since the day he knew he’d been left on his own
It seemed like there was nothing in there left to find.
Every day from half-past eight and all day till five-past five
He sat immobile staring out, a sad look on his face
He’d never notice anyone, nor speak a single word
He’d sit there never stirring from his lonely lonely place.
He may have wondered where they’d gone, for they looked after him
But his parents, both of them now dead, had done their very best
Now here he was at fifty-three, an only child yet still
Just left to stare through windows, in old pyjama bottoms and vest.
He’ll be swallowed up by the system, and churned back out to the street
He’ll wander about in his own little world, and we won’t understand
He’ll be doing his best with what he knows and what he tries to follow
But our complex welfare system just won’t deal with his demands.
©Joe Wilson – An Inadequate System 2014
Again last night the shadow men called
As I finally dropped into the softness of sleep
Bringing with them the memories of tortured souls
Of those not quite dead who can only weep.
Those who went suddenly and left those who cried
Who then later joined them when they too had died.
I felt like I was falling for a thousand miles
Into a great hole so flooded with their tears
The palpable sorrow that penetrated my soul
That seemed to wash over me for so many years.
I was lost, I am lost, I know not what to do
Amongst all these souls I am searching for you.
Why do these cruel images keep entering my sleep
They go as I wake, but they ever come back
The souls seer their faces right into my heart
And their sorrow brings to me the dog that is black.
I search every time for your beautiful soul
Nothing left now, it’s my life’s only goal.
©Joe Wilson – Soul Searching 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
In that last photograph I’m transported back
To a time when there wasn’t pain for you to bear
To the time before you felt you had to go.
And when at length I dry my eyes you are no longer there.
Where have you gone?
Where are you now?
Why did I hurt you?
Why did you go?
How could I have treated you so ill that you would leave!
How did I become so foolish that I was last one to know!
The days have since become a blur
In my rage I drink and curse
Perhaps I now see what you saw
Or maybe you saw worse.
I hope you’re happy where you are
You deserved much more than me
I cannot ever forgive myself
My redemption is that you’re free.
©Joe Wilson – Your Freedom Was My Redemption…2014
Jovis on a Journey... 