Finally, the report…

And so finally published
Blame clearly falls
It lands on poor intelligence
That decision for war still appals.
And all the strong opinions
Of those who begged, don’t go
Those protests that they all ignored
They said we didn’t know.
Yet since that time the very rich
Have grown yet richer still
While the poor share in the bullets
Death or poverty their bitter pill.
And what of those who pulled the strings
They’ve got away of course
And you can shout for justice
Till your voice grows weak and hoarse.

We never fight in the sandpits
In the gardens where the rest is just soil
But my word we fight in those sand hills there
Where below they found lots of OIL.

©Joe Wilson – Finally, the report…2016

Where was the justice then…

Part One

A man left a prison this morning
he’d been there the last fifteen years
when he walked down the mean streets of Jesup
he’d resurrect all of their fears.

He was a man, no different to others
though he kept himself to his peace
but the anger all stored up inside him
was destined for violent release.

A young girl had been murdered in Jessup
and he’d been a stranger in town
they said that he’d beaten and stabbed her
he hadn’t, but they still sent him down.

His first thoughts were for retribution
he’d beat them and they’d feel the pain
like he felt when they kicked him in prison
again…and again…and again.

Now he travelled to seek not just vengeance
he needed to get back his name
so someone was going to suffer
and others would pay for his shame.

He’d walked out of prison in Jackson
and boarded a train to Mobile
By Greyhound he reached Pensacola
where he rested and took time to heal.

Part Two

In Jesup he woke with a headache
to the loud urgent ring of the phone
he remembered that night and that poor girl
and he let out a long quiet moan.

It was Hedley the new County Sheriff
he said for the man to go down
he could call at his office in Jesup
or pack up his things and leave town.

Such a bright sunny day as he stepped out
not one single cloud in the sky
a gunshot and a burning sensation
The man fell and knew he would die.

To Hedley the man was plain guilty
keeping peace meant he wanted him out
he thought back to the slaying that morning
the dead man’s last words cried like a shout.

A young man had rushed up to help him
there was nothing to do he could see
but as he died the man whispered something
“Tell the Sheriff, son, it never was me.”

A young girl had suffered so many years before
and the case had been closed a long time
but the wrong man had gone into prison
or his death had no reason or rhyme.

The girl needed justice as the man did
Sheriff Hedley would never be the same
for he promised the girl and the dead man
he’d catch her killer and clear the man’s name.

Epilogue

A bullet was found by the dead girl
a matched one lodged in the man’s heart
the second one carried a thumb print
for the Sheriff, a good place to start.

©Joe Wilson – Where was the justice then…2014 (re-shod from 1992)

The Madness That Drives

Deluded by a strange life of fantasy
Fueled by his own macabre insanity
The vilest of beasts sets out once more
To create dead bodies and increase his score.

Nobody knows yet the who or the when
For the shadows are his closest friends
But when the month begins anew
There’s dead body one, and dead body two.

He seems to like to kill in twos
Psychiatrists scratch their heads confused
And witter on in gobbledygook tones
As yet more bodies turn up as bones.

It’s been a year so that’s twenty-four
He needs a holiday that’s for sure
But when on holiday he acts the same
For he loves to play his killing game.

By the sea, or near the shore
He still adds to his wicked store
Of trophies that he takes each time
When he commits these wicked crimes.

Will he be caught, he thinks not
Though there are times the trail is hot
But then he plays a clever trick
One that he thinks makes him slick.

One male one female normally
But when in trick mode, he kills three
And this he thinks throws of the scent
Of police detectives all hell-bent.

And these detectives can see no link
For our killer never stops to think
He picks them up at any place
Barely looking them in the face.

But slowly now as time goes on
His madness grows, all reason gone
This could be the end of him
It drives him closer to the rim.

Control is what he’s losing first
His plan for killing has just burst
If he goes out and kills again
He’ll make mistakes, they’ll catch him then.

And so the killings suddenly stop
Murder numbers see a drastic drop
Can they catch him, who knows how?
Will thirty dead see justice now?

©JRW2014