A report of hope…

The days are long
and tiring.
Each thought process
a giant effort,
and yet,
struggle as she may,
progress is made.
She signed her name
– today.
Laugh heartily she would
and perhaps get the giggles,
but it was all in the box,
that strange bunch of squiggles.
Though bewilderment still lingers
behind her sad eyes
even at this moment
from as far as can be
another journeys here
to help her get free.
That someone
would forego
the home of their birth
and with their beloved
come to this land of his,
is an enormity that
leaves me
with pride and love.
But she will see
her brother soon
and her sad eyes will surely
brighten at the sight.

©Joe Wilson – A report of hope…2016

Yet another old memory…

Her perfume lingered in my nostrils
It reminded me of days long since gone
Of Mother making us treacle tart
And the way the sun always shone.

It didn’t of course, it was just childhood
And we like to think back to the good
Things like the sun always shining
And Mother’s delicious pud.

People then, had no central heating
In winter with fires, the house was cold still
And the water we took up to bed would freeze
Through the night on the windowsill.

Mother’s love was of course, unconditional
As was Dad’s till the day he died
And Mum dabbed on ‘Lily of the Valley’
As she stood by his coffin and cried.

So now, when a lady walks past me
Who is wearing that scent from those years
She’ll probably be a lady of advancing age
Who’s experienced those times and some tears.

And I will drift back to my childhood
But I’ll push out the parts that are bad
As I think of the fun and the love that I felt
I’ve no desire to look back and be sad.

©Joe Wilson – Yet another old memory…2015


We always search for greener grass
Though yearn for home when found
For even when it comes to pass
One’s feet prefer their own home-ground
Yet even back at home again
We crave for wondrous pastures new
And though we may not so intend
Elysium, we search for you.

©Joe Wilson – Elysium…2015

A poem in the style of the wonderful W B Yeats (1865-1939)
that suggested itself to me after once again reading The Wheel

In Transit


He walked right into the wooden door
time seemed to stand so still
and then it was as if his life
was presented before him to be relived.

He first saw his beloved parents smiling
and Monty, the cocker spaniel he loved
he saw his grandfather with his snowy-white hair
then his brother stood beside him laughing
as a little boy again, at the gypsy who knocked
at the door and was trying to sell lucky white heather.

He saw his sister and her friend playing cards
in the parlour, and then his friends from school
throwing a rugby ball in his direction to catch.

Suddenly it rushed forward to his adult life
his wife, his children, the fun, and all the pain.

And then it stopped and he passed through the door


he never went home again.

©Joe Wilson – In Transit 2014

The Lady on the Hill

I see a fine looking lady sitting on a hill
Pretty flowers all around her and she’s sitting so still
She is watching a little girl play with a ball
She smiles at the sight and is totally enthralled.

The little girl laughed as she chased the ball down
If she got too far away the fine lady frowned
One time the ball ran over my way
So I rolled it right back, she continued to play.

The lady then opened a hamper to eat
There were biscuits and cakes and many a treat
The little girl tried a small sandwich at first
Biting it gingerly with her tiny lips pursed.

She was smiling again as she ate a cream cake
That was much more enjoyable, there was no mistake
After fruit juice and tea it was all put away
They gathered their things and called it a day.

I often see them both up on the hill
I sit here and watch them and smile
The girl calls me Daddy, the fine lady, dear
And we all leave together for our home close to here.