Category: Poetry

His pride…

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For despite all that we feel
Even in our blackest of moments
We are not alone…and yet
It is always that most difficult of things
To say – help me, help me please.

And were a man to even note
How hurt he really felt
He’d wrap himself within himself
And cry right where he knelt.

For man is such a foolish thing
His pride forever in his wake
As sees he help as weakness
And only given for pity’s sake.

Such tender words are offered
But cold his foolish soul
Instead of reaching to that touch
He resolutely keeps control.

Until the wreck falls down in tears
And weeps his life of pain
Yet someone always helps him up
As once more she is there again.

And finally he’ll realise
Indeed, we’re not alone
His grief is shared by many souls
it’s not just his to own.

©Joe Wilson – His pride…2016

This Sunday…

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Vicky (McMillan)
Vicky

Sunday, and my garden offers me privacy
I sit drinking essential coffee and I cogitate
About all that has happened, all we have lost
The bottles of whisky, my own body’s cost
And I ponder some more and feel second rate.

I wish that you’d known the muse of my life
For so many people loved my beautiful girl
Her courage and her resolve so strong
Friends all say how she was loved for so long
In my last film of her she’s dancing a twirl.

I forced myself , I’ve had to, I really have
To stop drinking whisky every night
I think she’d say I was bat-shit crazy
To spend so much time drinking and seeing life hazy
So I’ve stopped because I know it’s so right.

So I’m digging a hole, in the ground, in the garden
And the sweat runs so heavy down my back
It’s a hole, just a hole, there’s nothing going in
But it’s helping me a little, and perhaps I’ll get thin
And it helps lift the mood when it’s black.

©Joe Wilson – This Sunday…2016

This is very personal to me and I once again beg your indulgence.

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war ravaged city

The sun shines very brightly now
Perhaps there is hope in our hearts
We struggle out from warm bedclothes
In sleepy fits and waking starts.
And time moves on as always
It waits not once for us
Tomorrow comes inexorably
Arriving without fuss.

For none of us can yet evade
That relentless passage of time
It’s how we choose to live our lives
Will dictate our chapter’s rhyme.
For in the end it matters
How we chose to live those lives
For life that’s lived in using pen
Achieves far more than sword-shaped knives.

And when the tide of hatred flows
There are those we should consider
Where fires are always being stoked
By those selling arms to the highest bidder.
The bottom line for the armourer
Is not about life, but death
They care not a jot for that innocent child
Or the fact that they stole her last breath.

So thus the sky clouds over
As cordite fills air once more
And some men will make more profit
As others set off to war.
That ever present danger lurks
And fear the watchword now
Where all would like a peaceful life
The ‘bloody’ question is how?

And politicians play their games
They’re juggling with your lives
But they don’t stand and face the foe
Or carry sword-shaped knives.
No sir, that job belongs to those
Who stand at the front and defend
And take the bullets and the danger
While politicians only pretend.

The sun shines very brightly now
Perhaps there was hope in our hearts
But some now lying in their beds
Await prosthetic body parts.
And time will still march slowly on
Though the innocence is no longer there
And the politicians have made their play
And the cost? They just don’t care.

©Joe Wilson – The cost…2016

Olympian choices…

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zeus

 

Aches the heart which beats so fast
Blood on fire as round it speeds
Blows the tape through which you race
Adrenaline powers mental feeds.

Honour, victory, move you forward
Cheating drugs not through your veins
Raise the bar and mighty voices
Cheer you on to ease the pains.

Once again Olympian choices
Whether to cheat or play it fair
It’s up to you for you have trained
As history notes what you did there.

Mighty women, mighty men
Take to the track and field
Through the pool the swimmers glide
As fight they all for gold to wield.

Zeus looks down from Mount Olympus
Sees the spectacle unfold
Runners all line up to start
Marathons are for the bold.

Then once again the thing is over
Moves once more the mighty show
Four more years and off again
As reputations come and go.

©Joe Wilson – Olympian choices…2016

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Knocking out lines
Ten to the dozen
Me with my pen
My laptop a cousin.
Creation was simple
I wrote what I saw
But now you’re not here
I hurt at the core.
I hadn’t stopped
Nor had I thought
How often your advice
I sought.

And now just drivel
Fills my head
Replacing good stuff
There instead.
My heart is full of you
Such will always be
I guess that I should man up
You’re still right here with me.

©Joe Wilson – Untitled 2…2016

A reason for most of us to feel grateful…

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Listen to the sound
of children’s voices
full of excitement
at life’s wondrous choices.
Till out of the mist
comes someone like Harris
and childhood’s no longer
like Springtime in Paris.
And fear is the watchword
that they now live by
afraid in their minds
when alone they just cry.

What kind of a world
is then offered these kids
a world full of fear
maybe life on the skids.
Where someone will come
and rob them of childhood
a person they may know
not a man in a hood.

And no one believes them
it’s made worse by that
authority treads on them
much like a doormat.
And as life goes on
it gets harder to bear
such things are not simple
and so hard to share.

And the villains will come
from all kinds of posts
with their seeming good name
they’re convivial hosts.
They often have power
and influence too
which they wield like a weapon
and they wield it at you…
And the local authority
sends out a report
they’re guarding their backs
for when it comes to court.

But a child still got hurt
and who really cares
for behind some closed doors
Children still fall down stairs.
Now the laughter has gone
and the bruises will show
though some can’t be seen
but they’re there, we all know.

Another life ruined
a child in the dark
the heartless and cruel
have stolen their spark.

©Joe Wilson – A reason for most of us to feel grateful…2016

Grief and sadness…

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Grief
sadness
cling
like cobwebs
in the darkest corner
mocking the tears
that having flowed
now dry in the air
and leave
that sticky dryness
on your cheek.
And a heart that pounds
Too fast, too fast.
Till slowly
the Jack
or Jim
or Elias
lulls you to a sleep
where once again
you face the nightmares
where together
you fight
that terrible beast
that tries to do you in.
And by her side
you win.
But yet
when dawn inevitably breaks
you once again
find yourself
empty
and
alone…

©Joe Wilson – Grief and sadness—2016

Bittersweet

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No place for children

How very sweet the roses smell
In the evening setting sun
As round a garden table sat
We drink fine wine and tales we tell.

Recalling things of little worth
As chat one does with friends
A little quiet spot we’ve found
Our peaceful place on Earth.

And yet – for others Hell will rain
As bombs fall from the sky
They’re simply people just like us
Caught up, in wars insane.

Such violence is the modern tone
And innocence lives no more
Where far away yet more will die
As they yield to anonymous drone.

And now the roses seem so bitter
A trifle in the scheme
While children fall to violence
And get scattered like so much litter…

©Joe Wilson – Bittersweet…2016

I choose life…

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Poised between the choice to die
The choice to find that one
Who never should have gone.
To care for her in that other life
Supposedly promised to us all
Should we choose to tread a path
Which follows in the wake – of goodness.

And the choice to live
To live among those who are left
Left behind to mourn and weep.
Those whose needs are pressing
Those whose needs are alive.

I hold my memories so very dear
Of missing a one who still seems near
But yet —– I choose life!
For that which will become
If it is so…as we are promised
Will indeed come soon enough
And my time will in due course come.
But not yet…not yet.

And I would not sully – such a beautiful memory.

©Joe Wilson – I choose life…2016