Carelessness

Molly wanted for absolutely nothing,
And that was definitely my fault
She’d not accept the worth of the less wealthy
And when she saw them she was difficult.

I never told how I’d started with nothing
Not wanting her derision I guess
I’d thought that by not telling her that stuff
She’d not decide to think me any less.

It was a foolish error on my part
For she rode roughshod over the poor
Till I found I could tolerate it no longer
Removed her allowance and the key to her door.

I said you’ll have to fend for yourself now
If you do it you’ll be better by far
Oh, and take all those things out of your pocket
That’s your phone, and you’ll not have a car.

Downcast she set off on her own way
Cast a look at me, I nearly cried
I’d keep an eye out of course and protect her
But she needed to have worked and have tried.

Two years passed and she found her rock-bottom
But she started to work and she grew
I said to her would you like to come home now
She said she’d stay where she was…thank you.

Fact is, Molly’s lost now forever
She’d survived and she picked herself up
But if I’d raised her right in the first place
She have known about sharing the cup.

So in the end I stand with my great wealth
But with no one to share it with now
If you want to know how not to raise children
Come to me and I’ll show you how.

©JRW2014

Fortunately, for my part, this is a work of complete fiction.

Duty

I don’t really know how I got here
My mind is completely blank
I’m cold and I’m wet and I’m filthy
And my hair is all long and lank.

I appear to be locked in a cellar
Not quite dark, there’s a little poor light
I’m awake, or at least I assume so
Was I drugged when I passed out last night?

No noise can be heard from the outside
No sound can be heard from within
Till a huge man leans in at the doorway
And I sense all the trouble I’m in.

He doesn’t ask, so much as point towards me
I get up and he shoves me through the door
It comes back to me all of a sudden
When I see the dead man on the floor.

Information that must never be surrendered
Is why the dead man lies there in the room
He was brave as they made me watch his death
And I fear that I may follow soon.

I’ve seen things here that I must not ever talk of
Things so terrible and on such a large-scale
Telling people, even those on my own side
Would cause panic and killing without fail.

But I signed up to do this kind of duty
Someone has to report what goes on
And as they hold my head under for just a moment too long
I know with my very last breath that I’ve won.

©JRW2014

The Unlikely Joke

back in the days of vaudeville
which was way before my time
men joked about a lady’s ankle
it was really too risqué
but now they tell much dirtier jokes
they joke about women’s breasts
well we are so much more modern now
and of course now it seems OK.

but is it I ask? is it alright?
to crack these smutty jokes
about the half of the population
who’ve struggled to shed their yokes.

a joke should be a good story
it should make you laugh out loud
is there a comic who doesn’t insult?
he’d surely stand out in a crowd.

sadly I’m not too sure of this
it’s quite a pity in a way
for I really would look forward
to hearing that joke some day.

©JRW2014

Sixes and Sevens

He dribbles a little now, he knows, but neither can he help it
Since the stroke that little bit of control is no more
It is the source of so much embarrassment to him
That he has barely set foot outside his front door.

It can’t go on though, it’s come to a head now
His nephew’s getting married and he’s been invited
He doesn’t know what to do, he’s at sixes and sevens
He knows he has to be there, he should be delighted.

The therapist had told him to exercise, “it’ll help a lot”, she said
“Also, you should look in the mirror”, a thing he cannot do
He couldn’t feel half of his face, the stroke had left him that way
“The exercises are there to help, they’ll help to get you through.”

He’d been lucky he knew, he had got his voice back, even though
He now sounded so different, he hardly recognised himself when he spoke
And he also walked unevenly as the stroke affected his hips
So much so that he thought he probably looked like a joke.

But there was one thing that made him feel really better
Two years earlier he couldn’t have even stood
So dribble as he did, embarrassed as he got when he was out
He knew he was making progress and that was all to the good.

And then he felt selfish for feeling sorry for himself
His nephew would want happiness, he deserved it as well
So he’d put on his best smile, he’d do what he could
He’d hide all his fears and hope no one could tell.

©JRW2014

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 Hard Rain

Relentlessly the hard rain falls
Filling rivers, then people’s halls
From coast to coast across the land
Built-on flood plains, foolish plan.
Water’s nowhere left to run
Clearing mud off floors – no fun
Twenty years, no rivers dredged
Agencies failed to keep their pledge
To support environments welfare
I wonder if they really care.

They say that it will get much worse
More than one has left by hearse
Meanwhile winds have picked up too
Downing trees as roofs unglued
Causing damage at bills untold
Premium help-line costs unfold

The political football has now been tossed
As always, it’s the ‘us’ who’ve lost.
Ministers forced into too-late action
Doing it to just gain vote traction.
It should have happened years ago
Sadly it’s how we always go.
Nothing happens till lives are lost
And that becomes the priceless cost.
Somethings that can’t be replaced
Perhaps at last it might be faced.

©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

Death by Violence

Some people just don’t bloody care
They see injustice with ghoulish stare
But being beaten about the head
Lying bloodied and left for dead
Can leave you a cynic of humankind
Of passers-by whose gaze is blind.

Am I not human like you lot
As I lie here midst blood and snot
Do you not care a damn for me
This isn’t how it used to be.

But no help comes, I’m left instead
I’ve drawn last breath – and now I’m dead.

©Joe Wilson – Death by Violence…2014

Violence begets violence!

It is my firm belief that no woman sets out to purposely harm her child, nor any other for that matter. To that I would also add that I don’t believe that men, per se, set out to harm children either. Some men however, are given to violence. They encounter it in their lives as they grow up, and then later they seek it out as others seek out drugs. It spills over into relationships with them being violent to their partners, and then also to any children in the relationship, often the partner’s children. Such men are neither use nor ornament.

In the forty one years that we’ve been married I have never felt even the tiniest desire to hurt my wife, she is as precious to me now as the day I first saw her sitting at the parlour table in our house, she was my sister’s school-friend. Neither of us ever raised a hand in violence towards either of our children. Such a thought is so abhorrent to me that I feel quite sick just writing it. The natural and normal consequence of the loving and totally non-violent environment in which we raised them is that both of our children have moved into happy and fulfilling relationships of their own where nobody within their family groups will encounter violence either. This is as it should be and hopefully remains the norm for relationships everywhere.

There has however, been a seemingly endless number of reports recently, concerning women and their partners killing young children in this country. It appears to be happening more often than ever, though of course that can simply be that such things are better reported these days. In a recent case where both the mother and the partner (not the father), were sent to prison for starving and beating a poor child to death, it is shocking that even teachers and neighbours and social care workers never saw what was going on. The poor little fellow was four years old. In another case a little girl was killed and then just left wrapped up on a bed for almost two years, two years! What causes a society to create such vicious people? How can someone care so little for another human being, and one so small? Recently a man was sent to prison for stabbing an eighty-five year old man to death who was just walking home from his prayers, the murderer also let off several bombs in which luckily no one was injured. An eighty year old lady was viciously raped and beaten badly before being left for dead. A few months later she did indeed die. Her killer is now in prison. It goes on and on. It will never stop. It escalates into gang fights, turf wars, civil wars, and of course, finally, world wars.

There are those who say it is just human nature dating back to ‘man the hunter’. I say this is wrong. It is the twenty-first century and civilisation should have reached a point by now where differences could be settled without this natural inclination towards a violent solution. Just imagine being able to go to anywhere in the world without the fear that you could land in the middle of a war zone. Imagine how much happier we would all be if we could just talk to each other as equals, which lets face it, is what we all are.

I said at the beginning that I didn’t believe that any woman would purposely set out to harm her, or any other person’s child. I do firmly believe that. I think generally that when they do it is after the influence of violent men. It is violent men who are at the root of so much pain in the world, and they come in many guises. Some are just out and out bad, others find it’s a path where they can be more easily successful than any other way. Some manage to hide their violent nature and suddenly pop up as leaders of men, or as dictators – one thing they all have in common though is the leaning towards violence as a solution.

That is the real eternal question…how can we stop killing each other?

©JRW2014