Should we carry on…

It’s sometimes
so hard
hard to breathe
hard to focus
hard to see any way forward
so hard to want to live.

And yet…

There is still
so much to live for
a child struggling to understand
another thinking she does but hiding sadness
a man so brave but yet so pained
a woman so hurt by loss she cries
she cries herself to sleep at night
and you, a duty to help despite yourself.

And you
and you…
what of you?

Can you make your way again?
through all of this pain…

Will you ever be happy?

is surely a mystery
and we
can only ever
do our best…

©Joe Wilson – Should we carry on…2016

I choose life…

Poised between the choice to die
The choice to find that one
Who never should have gone.
To care for her in that other life
Supposedly promised to us all
Should we choose to tread a path
Which follows in the wake – of goodness.

And the choice to live
To live among those who are left
Left behind to mourn and weep.
Those whose needs are pressing
Those whose needs are alive.

I hold my memories so very dear
Of missing a one who still seems near
But yet —– I choose life!
For that which will become
If it is so…as we are promised
Will indeed come soon enough
And my time will in due course come.
But not yet…not yet.

And I would not sully – such a beautiful memory.

©Joe Wilson – I choose life…2016

The rusty nail…


A nail, bent from being caught every time by the wind-swung old shed door
Slowly begins to rust, its response to facing all that weather could ever offer
It had become a metaphor for life, as it was slowly and completely devoured.

There had been a time when it was bright, and very shiny
A time when life was rich with possibility and hopefulness
The time of plenty, of joy, and of such great prospects.

But, as with so much in life, the nail was always at the mercy of that old door
A door that was relentless, absolutely relentless, in its need to close
And as with most things, it was gradually weakened by the persistent pressure.

It was just a little at first as it withstood the battering shed door
Though inevitably, the rust got inside the old nail’s core
And it slowly began its gradual decline from usefulness.

Until one day a heavy wind, stronger than ever before
Lifted the old shed right off its base, and dropped it, completely shattered
And the old rusty nail was found lying on the floor, broken in two.

And as with all rusty broken things, it was gathered up
Dropped in a nondescript, soon to be thrown out itself, rusty bin
Never to be of any use to anyone or anything ever again.

©Joe Wilson – The rusty nail…2016

The warmth inside…

There is no beating that central heating
If peripheral warmth is your need
But there is no warmth like love-filled warmth
Where two hearts harmoniously feed.

And when long Summer days in sunshine
In laughter in daft lover’s games
Are snapshots then taken of moments
And placed in keepsake gilt frames.

Frames they now view in their Autumn
Of perhaps the best days they recall
For as time marches forward regardless
They seem in the photos, less small.

Until one day there is then only one
And the central heating is switched on
As the one left behind now tries to keep warm
And the ticking clock of life moves along.

© Joe Wilson – The warmth inside…2016

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

Life in the clichés Pt 2…

They say…

It is not the winning that counts
It is the taking part
So it seems the stage was set
As I made a bid for your heart.

They also say faint heart
Never won fair maiden
I rose up to the challenge
With arms that were fully laden. [chocolates, flowers, humble pie, you know the kind of thing]

Well! All the worlds a stage, they say
And some of us merely players, they say
So I battled on regardless
Because every dog has his day.

And to the winner goes the prize
I won fair maiden’s hand
For I had moved all heaven and earth
Like a regular one-man-band.

So, since I’d won the love of my life
My heart now took up the slack
Then off we set on life’s travels
And by George! We’ve never looked back!! Toot, toot!

I say…

©Joe Wilson – Life in the clichés Pt 2…2016