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

A quiet reflection…

A man gave his all at work today
he strove with his usual endeavour,
but the father whose child he saved this day
will now always love him forever.
A nurse, overstretched, yet so willing,
will care for her patients all day;
yet they will not hear her ever complain
she leaves that till she’s far away.

When sitting in a pub with those such as she
she lets go the strain and then moans
no patient will ever hear her though
nor any parent feel her tired angst
for they are ever so grateful
as they smile and give her their thanks.

A bed is moved by two young men
in a quiet and dignified way
it’s just one of many singular things
that make up a porters day.
And all of the time, the ladies
will keep the wards so flush
and the things they see, but don’t see
as they work with their mop and brush.

And the patient lies there quiet and inert
as a battle-royal takes place
but we see that progress is being made
as bewilderment slowly slips from her face.
Small steps we take each one of us
as we live with fingers crossed
every person is pulling their weight
and no-one will stop whatever the cost.
Hope springs
Love abounds.

©Joe Wilson – A quiet reflection…2016

How still she lies…

How still she lies…

How still she lies, how very still
Silent puzzlement behind her eyes
Yet she’s our girl, our darling prize
And she possesses powerful will.
Slowly opened eyes, then closed
She awakes just a little this way
She smiles when she sees her children today
Though her speech is now carefully composed.

So we remain hopeful that she’ll win this fight
And return to the family that knows and that fears
Who’ve watched as she’s battled for over two years
And who all dread another call in the night.

Yet still there’s the cancer, that terrible ill
That has raged there inside her this long while
And through even that she always would smile
As with chemo she fought, and her powerful will.

So we sit, hold her hand, and watch her now sleep
As the flickering memories start to fall into place
And I see as her mother wipes a tear from her face
For we both sit — and quietly weep.

©Joe Wilson – How still she lies…2016

A light to guide us…

walking in moonlight

Shine bright moon
And light my way
I’ve travelled far
Since yesterday.

Through war-filled places
Where men do fight
Where children die
Such frightful sight.

I’ve crossed the seas
Where creatures swim
Whose only enemy
Is sadly him.

Him, the human
Killing machine
Who takes so much
It feels obscene.

And over lands
Where people starve
If we took less
Their pain might halve.

And into homes
Where children hurt
Where parents treat them
Just like dirt.

Dark street corners
Where women sell
As weep they try
To escape their Hell.

So shine bright moon
And light my way
Iniquities
Leave much to say.

And should I fail
Along the strive
Please light a path
For others to drive.

But there are those
Whose gentle soul
Has lit a beacon
As was their role.

For history’s filled
With souls like theirs
Whose aim in life
Was equal shares.

Yet sadly life
Treats them so ill
Their guiding path
Silent, still.

But guide the mean
Where e’er we find
To better ways
That are more kind.

Perhaps then we
Would feel so skilled
As lives as ours
Would be fulfilled.

So yes! Shine moon
And light their way
As they strive to chase
Such pain away…

©Joe Wilson – A light to guide us…2016

Those who are at the end of the queue, always…

I)
At year end oft, we think to say
Look back no more, as comes new day.

Some will see it with their spoons engraved
Though sadly, many remain enslaved.

But Hopeful ever, we press right on
As we search for good in everyone.

II)
In store and warehouse food is bailed
Urgent supplies for when crops have failed.

While shattered lives in tents on hillsides
Families caught in the refugee tides.

As earthquake victims lie underground
Courageous rescuers listen for sound.

Some must rely on drug-lord’s favours
In lives that no sane person savours.

Yet here are we in our clean safe home
From which we’re always free to roam.

III)
Complaining often, we fail to grasp
The richness of our situations
In truth we live in comfort zones
Free from terror and deprivation.
Whilst some no luck they ever see
Until in death at last they’re free.

IV)
And who should tackle such terrible woes
It should be us, plain as your nose
So we elect fine politicians
Who mainly only serve patricians
From whence they mainly are derived
Plebeians forgotten, of voice deprived.
For even though your vote was cast
And Bills you disapprove get passed
You only get to vote one way
And never really have your say
Your troubled mind creaks with unease
As those in charge do as they please.

V)
And in inertia nothing moves
The rut of hopelessness just proves
That though we feel the pain of others
Around this Earth we all are brothers
The comfort zone adapts to fit
The place within in which you sit.

VI)
Meanwhile, those victims still in tents
Await such help as we have sent
Which waits in ports in rotting state
While shares are argued in debate.
We did our bit they all will cry
But did that stop young children die??

©Joe Wilson – Those who are at the end of the queue, always…2016

Mercy Street

How do you live on almost nothing
Can you ever make nothing go round
The seeds of despair
– hopeless – unfair
They drive you into the ground.

There are those who work hard
– they do what they can
They stand and are counted and stay true
They help, give advice and they never ever judge
They’re there every day, and there spirit doesn’t budge.

They don’t get paid, oh God, Good God no!
They’re there because that’s what they do
’cause when no-one else cares about what’s going on
They find that they don’t have a choice
Being the conduit for the proud and the poor
In a way it allows them a voice.

Is it you? Is it me? Who is doing enough?
Can we answer this question in truth?
There’s folks dying in pain
– on the streets where we live
We can no longer remain so aloof.

He never mastered the art of begging
In a previous life he’d have mocked
At his feeble attempts to get tourists to part
With a penny or two for some bread or a tart.

But after the shame and the breakdown
Near an archway with others like him
He found that he had no more ego
Nor well fitted suits to make him look slim

He lived from a moment to the next one
He ate when he could or just slept
And at night he tried not to remember
In his solitude he silently wept.

We’re not really a caring society
We spend more on fighting than care
It will never ever get any better
Not enough of us behave at all fair.

For there are those who will feast at the table
Throwing only bare scraps to those less able
Misery will increase – the poor get disease
While the rich and empowered stand at ease.

©JRW2014