Where was the justice then…

Part One

A man left a prison this morning
he’d been there the last fifteen years
when he walked down the mean streets of Jesup
he’d resurrect all of their fears.

He was a man, no different to others
though he kept himself to his peace
but the anger all stored up inside him
was destined for violent release.

A young girl had been murdered in Jessup
and he’d been a stranger in town
they said that he’d beaten and stabbed her
he hadn’t, but they still sent him down.

His first thoughts were for retribution
he’d beat them and they’d feel the pain
like he felt when they kicked him in prison
again…and again…and again.

Now he travelled to seek not just vengeance
he needed to get back his name
so someone was going to suffer
and others would pay for his shame.

He’d walked out of prison in Jackson
and boarded a train to Mobile
By Greyhound he reached Pensacola
where he rested and took time to heal.

Part Two

In Jesup he woke with a headache
to the loud urgent ring of the phone
he remembered that night and that poor girl
and he let out a long quiet moan.

It was Hedley the new County Sheriff
he said for the man to go down
he could call at his office in Jesup
or pack up his things and leave town.

Such a bright sunny day as he stepped out
not one single cloud in the sky
a gunshot and a burning sensation
The man fell and knew he would die.

To Hedley the man was plain guilty
keeping peace meant he wanted him out
he thought back to the slaying that morning
the dead man’s last words cried like a shout.

A young man had rushed up to help him
there was nothing to do he could see
but as he died the man whispered something
“Tell the Sheriff, son, it never was me.”

A young girl had suffered so many years before
and the case had been closed a long time
but the wrong man had gone into prison
or his death had no reason or rhyme.

The girl needed justice as the man did
Sheriff Hedley would never be the same
for he promised the girl and the dead man
he’d catch her killer and clear the man’s name.


A bullet was found by the dead girl
a matched one lodged in the man’s heart
the second one carried a thumb print
for the Sheriff, a good place to start.

©Joe Wilson – Where was the justice then…2014 (re-shod from 1992)

St Peter, humour, and the cost of drinking too much…




I looked over yonder
And what did I see
An elephant, yellow
By a big pink tree.

Elephant, yellow
This cannot be
Are my rheumy eyes
Playing tricks on me!

When I looked round again
I saw grass of red
Surely that grass
Should be green instead.

And then a blue horse
Trotted into the scene
’twas the funniest place
That I’d ever been.

I took a step further
As I was feeling bold
Whence a group of green angels
Carried me into the fold.

The rivers there were purple
And the oranges were grey
And everywhere I looked about
People were at play.

The happiness was warming
I felt it in my heart
I loved just being in here
I felt I was a part.

And then a very loud voice
Did sonorously boom
“Who do we have here now
In this lovely coloured room?”

My name is simply Joe
I very meekly did call out.
For I was far too bothered
To raise my voice above a shout.

A huge door then just opened
And I simply passed right through
A large bearded man then said
“How do you do.”

I said, “What was that place
Where the loud voice boomed.”
He said, “That Mr Nosey
Is the oddments ante-room.

“Anyway Mr Nosey
what is it that you want.
I’m waiting for a party
from a crash in North Vermont.”

“I’m a very busy man you know
Why are you even here?
Go off and get yourself back home
And drink a lot less beer.”

©Joe Wilson – St Peter, humour, and the cost of drinking too much…2014


The sirens call…

The siren beckons...
The siren beckons…


I hear the wailing cries that call
They’re calling out to me
They call to draw the sailors down
To the shore at the bottom of the sea.

No one can ever resist their call
And so I fear I must go
If ever I find my way back home
Would I even really know.

The wailing calls grow louder
My captain lashed me to the mast
But the calls are strong and they took him
And I don’t know if I can last.

It matters not if you stop listening
For they find their way into your head
You just have to get away and onto dry land
Or they’ll pull you down to the sea bed.

At last I see dry land is yonder
It is almost within my reach
but the ropes that tie have undone now
And my feet can’t quite touch the beach.

I hear the wailing cries that call
They have now come to get only me
My mind is so full of their wailing
That I’m lost and can never be free.

©Joe Wilson – The sirens call…2014

‘Walter’ – A Sequel [Perhaps]

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]

albert fish 1870 small


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


The sun’s shining now, Spring has finally arrived
Through the wettest of Winters, we’ve mainly survived
But the land is still soaked as the year gallops along
Yet daffodils are dancing to their own silent song.

Truly, Nature has a way of putting things right
We can hope that she’ll help in the wet farmland plight
As we look forward to Summer and its brilliant hue
We’ll be out in the garden, there’ll be lots there to do.

It’s the Autumn and the leaves are looking tired
The greens turn to red as if they’re kiln-dried
Then they all start to fall, fall to the earth
Squirrels gather nuts for all that they’re worth.

And now comes the cold time, Winter will call
We look up to the sky and hope snow will now fall
For we don’t need a season, again filled with rain
Defence against flooding being put up again.

But for now the sun’s out, let’s see where we go
There are lots of new green shoots starting to show
If they grow really well and we get a good harvest
We’ll know that Nature can’t be second guessed.


The Madness That Drives

Deluded by a strange life of fantasy
Fueled by his own macabre insanity
The vilest of beasts sets out once more
To create dead bodies and increase his score.

Nobody knows yet the who or the when
For the shadows are his closest friends
But when the month begins anew
There’s dead body one, and dead body two.

He seems to like to kill in twos
Psychiatrists scratch their heads confused
And witter on in gobbledygook tones
As yet more bodies turn up as bones.

It’s been a year so that’s twenty-four
He needs a holiday that’s for sure
But when on holiday he acts the same
For he loves to play his killing game.

By the sea, or near the shore
He still adds to his wicked store
Of trophies that he takes each time
When he commits these wicked crimes.

Will he be caught, he thinks not
Though there are times the trail is hot
But then he plays a clever trick
One that he thinks makes him slick.

One male one female normally
But when in trick mode, he kills three
And this he thinks throws of the scent
Of police detectives all hell-bent.

And these detectives can see no link
For our killer never stops to think
He picks them up at any place
Barely looking them in the face.

But slowly now as time goes on
His madness grows, all reason gone
This could be the end of him
It drives him closer to the rim.

Control is what he’s losing first
His plan for killing has just burst
If he goes out and kills again
He’ll make mistakes, they’ll catch him then.

And so the killings suddenly stop
Murder numbers see a drastic drop
Can they catch him, who knows how?
Will thirty dead see justice now?


A River

It starts with a trickle way up in a hill
Just a small drop little more than a rill
It seeks out the gulleys and cracks in the ground
And begins its long journey all the way down.

There is a short distance where it goes underground
And listening quite closely one can hear the sound
Of the loud rushing sound as one stream joins another
It’s much larger now as it bursts from its cover.

Down it keeps tumbling still fairly small
Till it drops from a cliff in a long waterfall
Where it now joins a much bigger stream and together
They race for the sea as they go hell for leather.

After a few miles the pace slows right down
As the river encircles the outskirts of town
There are men dipping fishing rods hoping for bounty
That flows with this river, the pride of the county.

Miles further on the river seems to stop
There’s a very sharp bend and a deep hillside drop
But after the bend it gets off on its way
Nothing else holds up its progress today.

Other streams will join it as it quickens its pace
Smaller rivers too will join in the race
The mighty thing grows as it travels along
Sometimes it sounds like it’s singing a song.

There’s a very high bridge that carries the trains
That travel along on the networks veins
It has several arches that lift the bridge high
And the river flows through them as it passes on by.

A family of swans with their heads all held high
Their necks long and slender reach up to the sky
They swim along gaily and some ducks join them too
But they stop sometime later as there’s nesting to do.

There’s a place miles along where it goes through the sky
Borne on an aquaduct that creaks with a sigh
Where underneath lorries carry freight to the ports
Vying for space with cars and vans of all sorts.

Many more bridges will it pass on its way
And more roads will cross it in every which way
Till finally the river arrives at the coast
Suddenly small by a much greater host.

In the estuary the river meets up with the sea
When the weather is stormy they crash forcefully
And back in the hills many miles far away
A small drop of water starts the journey again.


On Sodden Fields

The rains seem to have finally subsided
At least it seems so for now
Mopping up the sodden devastation
Amid many an insurance row.

Some now say that dredging will not work
But surely history proves that it’s right
Though never a complete solution
At least it reduces the plight.

But politics now comes into play
It’s crucial to be seen in the right
So decisions that were taken only yesterday
Can so easily be changed overnight.

Climate change is with us for good now
It’s become part of our way of life
And solid steps will need to be taken
To end frequent bad weather strife.

But Chancellor’s have always cut budgets
And none have done more so than this
In fact in all of the service programmes
People see themselves staring into the abyss.

It’s all about how they look to the voters
For we carry their careers in our cross
For otherwise I think most politicians
About the plebiscite just wouldn’t give a toss.

We have wards now closing down in our hospitals
There are schools that are never repaired
A benefit system, though flawed, is besieged
Yet the rich tax avoiders still get spared.

So the land, like these other things will lose out
The efforts will cease as will the rain
Till the next time that the heavens all open
And ordinary folk again feel the pain.

There are houses that are ruined forever
Some insurers refusing the bill
Flood defenses that seem barely adequate
Properties from before empty still.

On sodden fields where houses keep rising
And new concrete covers over flood plains
Where tenants often get such poor insurance
And the country just never sees the gain.

But it’s the ‘I’m alright Jack’ way of the politicos
Who mostly live in their ivory towers
They’re the ones who aren’t making decisions
Yet the ones wielding all of the powers.

So the’cross’ is our one powerful weapon
It’s the most powerful thing in the land
We should all make so sure that we use it
And make all of these fools understand.



The Hunter

With a languidness the great bird lifted itself off the branch,
It was much older now but it still had a mate and young chicks to feed.
From the hide across the hill the hunter could hear the steady beat
of those great powerful wings, slowly pounding out their regular note.
He watched, fascinated by the beautiful golden colours that gave the bird its name
as the great creature soared off up into the air, to begin its slow steady scout for food.

Now that the eagle was aloft you could almost hear a pin drop, save for the odd sound
of running water slowly trickling down the hillside into the burn far below.
The hunter had quietly settled in this spot some four hours ago before dawn,
he was comfortable and had set his rangefinder on the eerie right from the start.
Now he just had to wait, but patience was one thing that he had in spades.
His skills as a sniper had been fully tested in foreign lands some years before.

Too many of the enemy had appeared in the cross-hairs of his rifle sights
and when they had they’d never reached the end of that day, he was that good.
That had been the problem, being that good you get called on more until…
He swore he would never again pick up a rifle containing live ammunition,
so here he was preparing for the perfect shot with his sniper rifle,
waiting to put a tranquiliser dart into this majestic golden eagle above, to protect him.

He never expected that this work would be so fulfilling, but here in the hills
He found job satisfaction and this work was certainly worthwhile, and no one died.
The eagle had spotted something for he was starting to rise and tilt his wings.
The hunter had watched him for days and had become very familiar with his method.
He would circle to come in from behind of course, but this canny chap had a trick,
he would come in so low he was never really in the prey’s field of vision long enough.

There was the prey, a rabbit who wasn’t too alarmed yet, but that would soon change…
and there he goes, darting about in a zigzag trying to throw the monster off his trail
with the hunter watching the eagle down, and as he lined up to swoop at the rabbit
at almost a hundred miles an hour, the hunter fired and the great bird fell to the ground.
He fired at the point where the eagle was closest to the ground, not wanting to hurt him.
The rabbit lived and the hunter packed away his rifle and walked back down the hill.

Others would do the tagging and the hunter would wait for his next call……



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.