Portmanteaux packed and loaded, a new life is my call
In going I am coming home, to rivers, forests and swan
And all the hustle-bustle I leave behind for all
As I start my life anew, as one.

In joyous solitude shall I bide, to be alone at last
I see it in the forest glade, among these misty leaves
The darkness and the shadows seem so very vast
And sleeping under ink-black skies deceives.

And so I travel homeward, a long, long journey home
Where waters lap so sweetly there lives a gentle swan
Which to the forest edge and by the glade does come
A gentle flutter of my heart so finally at one.

©Joe Wilson – Going home…

A poem in the style of W B Yeats (1865-1939)
After re-reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree

She has only limited resources
And her children all need to be fed
But gluttons will rob from the fountain
And her riches are often dry bled.
To put food on the family table
Men and women work hard and make savings
But the riches and wealth from their labours
Finds its way into tax-free safe havens.
You can’t justify why your cupboards are full
While another sits at a bare table
To share is a wonderful reward in itself
We should all do it when we are able.

If a poor man eats of food that you have provided
And smiles at the pleasure it gives
Is that not payment enough?

©Joe Wilson – Mother Earth…2015

Untitled 1– Challenge

The second great war was over
Europe had begun to settle
After years of fighting under the yoke of the gun
People relaxed and seemed in fine fettle.
Till the powers-that-be in their wisdom once more
Found another ill cause they could follow
Communism was now beginning to encroach
And all platitude began to ring hollow.
All the talks between leaders
Peace rallies, hippies man!
There would still be bleeders
From the ranks of the everyman.
We become the fodder of vicious politicians
In their eternal struggle for domination
That war became so very cold
As it swept from nation to nation.

And now amidst their platitudes
As night-time follows day
The war-dead fodder of yesterday
Encroach in dreams to have their say.

©Joe Wilson – Untitled 1…2015

Untitled 2 – Challenge

Like fodder we all go to cast our vote
As fodder once more, our ideals are smote
Times past we were sent as fodder to the gun
She lost her husband, he lost his son
And yet once more as the enemies approach
Politicians embellish and lies encroach
Yet no amount of platitude
Can change what must now be construed
We all are pawns in political aims
Sent as fodder in corruptors games
As cats get fatter and use platitude
The mood turns ugly as the populace brood.

©Joe Wilson – Untitled 2…2015

Untitled 3– Challenge

Statistical fodder in propaganda machine
The poor portrayed as lazy and obscene
While politicos laugh at this weekend’s jolly
The vulnerable suffer from yet more absurd folly.
While slick party leaders, before cameras, debate
In all of the platitude refusing to state
That they are the ones who are really to blame
As they take creature comforts for themselves in the game.

But the time fast approaches when they will be found out
As climates encroach that will bring with them, drought
And the poor and the weak will still just do their best
While the rich will get richer and bugger the rest!!

©Joe Wilson – Untitled 3…2015