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

Tales of life: Love brings us home…

He stepped out for just a little while
He only wanted a breath of fresh air
Yet in the time that he was gone
His life had changed he was aware.
No more the carefree easy life
That he now recognised he’d led
For now on hourly watch was he
From rising till he went to bed.

Though still he wouldn’t change a thing
For life and love had brought them here
His role was now to take good care
And those he loved, protect from fear.

He rises now with renewed vigour
Old age is such a powerful trigger.

©Joe Wilson – Love brings us home…2017

Two old friends…

In the streets we lived, Hugh and I
Where an old penny-piece was like gold
Where folks only had the clothes on their back
In the streets where Hugh and I lived.

And children like us didn’t get many toys
For the money there was, was thin spread
So those that we had we played with for years
In the streets where Hugh and I lived.

And two score and ten was a long life for men
Mothers oft raised the kids on their own
Yet raise us they did as they worked to their grave
In the streets where Hugh and I lived.

We didn’t have much, but we knew what we had
And the struggles it took to get by
But the kinship was there and the love it was all
At the core in the streets where we lived.

And though all those streets have long been pulled down
It’s only the memories that remain
We’re just two old men now who talk of such things
And the streets back where Hugh and I lived.

©Joe Wilson – Two old friends…2017

Gifts from abroad…

Busy ports, container ships
Filled by cranes with tightened grips
Thousands of them in each load
Sail the world on seaward road.
Maersk is one and P & O
Carrying goods for every joe
Catching tides where’re they sail
Weathered seamen tell the tale.

And in the midst of all that’s sent
A gift is there for you that’s meant
To bring a smile to your sweet face
You make the world a better place.
Yet such a gift is far too small
For one who makes me feel so tall.

©Joe Wilson – Gifts from abroad…2017

Before he puts pen to paper…

What will the poet write today
As he unfurls this modern play
Will there be lines all filled with song
With words that carry the day along.
And subject matter, what will he choose
Romance and stars or peoples’ blues
Or will perhaps he strive to change
The thoughts of men whose minds are strange.
For can a man with written word
Effect such change from the absurd
When those who clamour and give voice
Are never listened to by choice.

Thus poets make their metered point
Whilst soldiers in baptism anoint
And innocent ones fall to the sounds
Six pounds of pressure to fire the rounds.
Meanwhile in safety shouting still
Elected ones test soldiers will
And so the poet writes this down
His tear-filled eyes and furrowed frown
As he relates insanity
For words are that which sets him free.

©Joe Wilson – Before he puts pen to paper…2017