Mutton on the hoof…

A silly thought popped in my mind
A strange allegiance in my bed
An oddment that I felt for sure
Was with the cabbage on my head.
Which frankly I feel is extreme
When baked with lots of clotted cream
And served with mutton still on hoof
That climb up ladders to the roof
To yell that they are not yet dead
“Go feed on creamy cake instead!”

It’s not that one would be unkind
To eat the mutton while alive
You’d juggle lemons with great skill
While pondering foodless to survive.
For eating meat will keep you strong
And mutton stew is never wrong.
Going without is not too magical
When you take a long cabbagical
As nowt makes sense like good old mutton
With cabbage to give you that drive.

©Joe Wilson – Mutton on the hoof…2017

I was inspired by the nonsensical Mrs Jaypher…
[from The Complete Nonsense Book, edited by Lady Strachey, 1912]

Political humbuggery…

And yet once more we find ourselves here
Vote for me, vote for me
(One hears the calls so stridently)
For I will make the country a better place for all
Sentiments that fill the airwaves, it’s election time
As all of us quite ancient ones will readily recall.

Will it be better this time, O yes. O yes
But of course not, except perhaps for the gullible few
And yet still, once again we place our cross
Like fools who in truth know so much better
As we burn the spam that comes through the door
Oily promises in that creepy personal letter.

Someone will lose everything, some may gain some ground
And as always the losers are the people
In history such has always been found.

Election time — when a country is at war with itself – yet once more.

And democracy – this is no time for democracy, this is politics!! One of those rare occasions where the employer, that’s us, lose out to the employee, whose first job will be to adjust upwards his or her remuneration. Bah! Humbug!

©Joe Wilson – Political humbuggery…2017

Beside the lake, beneath the trees…

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Caught in splendour in the breeze
The glorious yellowness of them all
Can leave one breathless in the thrall.

And gaze I do at nature’s bounty
Stretched this Spring o’er every county
The daffodil, that sign of winter clear
When hopefulness replaces fear.

Now mallards swoop across the lake
A search for mate by flighty drake
As coots and moorhens build new nests
In reedbeds that will hide them best.

High in the sky the sparrowhawk
In fear below they hear his squawk
And suddenly all around is still
The hawk moves on, this time no kill.

And in the breeze those yellow waves
Such spectacle ones heart it saves
For how could not your spirits soar
Their beauty leaves you wanting more.

©Joe Wilson – Beside the lake, beneath the trees…2017

The first line and title are borrowed from
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth.


They go with prayer books and medicines in hand
To a faraway civil war brutalised land
Where war and death is all that lives
A land where the gun takes much more than it gives.

Where children, recruited, are taught how to kill
And women defiled at a vile warlord’s will
As here in the west we stand idly by
For this oil-free country we don’t bat a eye.

Smugness, that’s what the world suffers from
And I’m alright Jack, or how to dress for the Prom
While out in the jungle of life people die
But wrapped in our smugness we don’t hear them cry.

©Joe Wilson – Smugness…2017

Tradition – Sacrifice – Empathy (ACROSTIC CHALLENGE)

Tradition has been sacrificed as
Rearing up in its wake is
A modernism that has no empathy.
Dreary new buildings share space with
Iconic masterpieces from a better time.
Torn down town squares means
Irreparable damage has been done.
Our lives, so much poorer now, the crime
Nothing it seems, was sacred.

Sacrificed to the will of men in grey suits
As once our built up landscape was art
Concrete and glaring glass replace tradition.
Redolent as the British public house once was
In its conveyance of a way of life to us all
Fields of broken brickwork sit where they fell.
I see quick fix estates slowly take their place
Crazily built on flood plains uninsurable.
Empathy too, is surely a thing of the past.

Empathy is lacking in the sacrifice of tradition
Modernism at any price is such a foolish path
Pathos now reigns in planning offices these days
As architects desperate for self-aggrandisement
Try our patience with glass monstrosities.
How one longs for a building of style.
Yesterday has become, well – yesteryear.

©Joe Wilson – Acrostic challenge…2017

A Spring fanfare…

spring tide

Black the wave-heads as they crashed against the rocky shore
And Winter vulnerability was never felt the more
As sodden fields did fill and flood o’er the roads and lanes
And swamped rivers too with their associated pains.

Everywhere lay dormant as the deepest roots felt the cold
Occasional wildlife, hungry, darted about being bold
They were the feast for the dangerous raptors on high
Who’d swoop in deathly silence as they cut through the sky.

And then one morning, almost without notice or fanfare
The wave-heads turn white as if dark was no longer there
For though the cold still cuts like the beak of a feeding avocet
Spring has arrived and will so diminish that Winter threat.

©Joe Wilson – A Spring fanfare…2017

Tales of life:   Bad things happen to good people…

There was no Happy New Year – this time
For that which had cut so deep the previous year
Seemed unable to find the door and go.

Just a hint of joy would have been alright
But no – not even that to bring some cheer
The light is on but yet still turned dim.

But snowdrops appear as a saving grace
To remind us Spring that is soon to come
And that, now so bleak, can be lifted far away.

Waiting for your return my darling one
The guilt I feel as I close my eyes to sleep
Tomorrow I’ll sit and wait with you once more.

©Joe Wilson – Bad things happen to good people…2017