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

How grey the sky…

Once more the rains came
To soak up my resistance
My heart is now a sea of hurt
From memory’s harsh persistence.
And see how grey the sky now grows
Though still the sun will shine
It warms me not I find these days
For how my heart does pine.

And all the gold from winning
Some mythical jackpot prize
I’d trade for just a moment
Of joy in your sad, sad eyes.
For all the pain that’s in my heart
No more than lives in thine
Is love that fuels this sorrow
In two hearts that intertwine.

©Joe Wilson – How grey the sky…2017

Sticking plasters…

Run cold the silent weeping heart
Yet warm the tears that fall
While memories of that once keen love
Get harder to recall.

How long the bitter taste can last
As sadness fills the mind
But how the recollections hurt
Of times when life still seemed so kind.

And as with sticking plasters
That cling for just so long
Till wounds that feel so painful
Will leave one less than strong.

Courageously one battles on
To struggle to that bitter end
In hopes, that even loveless
Perhaps one has at least one friend.

For what is life if spent alone
A dark and dismal place
Surely life is more worthwhile
When one can see a smiling face.

—————-

It’s fortunate that I have been
One love is all I shared
With one who chose to stay awhile
The only one for who I’ve cared.

©Joe Wilson – Sticking plasters…2016

Unbridled passion…

summers-passionate
Sand fell from his feet as he waded ashore
The water so cold his teeth still chattered
But he’d swum to the buoy as he promised he would
And when she kissed his cold lips nothing else mattered.
They walked, arms entwined the length of the beach
All alone still, as dawn had not yet even broken
Their love kept them warm and they both held a smile
And down the length of the beach not many words were spoken.
And in the small private cove at the farthest point along
They abandoned all pretence of calm cool fashion
Literally leaping into each other’s waiting arms
They made love on the beach and unleashed their passion.
O how they laugh when they think of that time
And the fact that they nearly got caught
But they still love each other as strong as they did
And that sort of passion can never be bought.

©Joe Wilson – Unbridled passion…2016

An excess of pride…(two sonnets which can be read individually, but my intention is that you read them together as a single poem.)

injured-child

 

For life is not a young man’s game
To flutter like moths around a flame
Yet as we age the larger scene
Will leave the clues for us to glean.
And in maturing as we do
With friends right there to help us through
It’s clear, though some may need a shove
The only thing that counts – is love.

And of the world in which we live
So much war, who can forgive?
And yet forgiveness is a start
More men need Mandela’s heart
A blood-soaked land he turned to loam
By finding peace as he walked home.

——————————–

And so full circle back to dust
Disposed of with respect we trust
Earth to generation new
With baited-breath, what will they do?
For surely now they see the light
As love gets lost in vicious fight
And yet it could with care reside
If foolish men had far less pride.

For battles now need not be fought
If peace not power were what men sought
As children die along the way
Never to see a better day.
Look in their tiny saddened eyes
Sit down and talk, and compromise.

©Joe Wilson – An excess of pride…2016

This Sunday…

Vicky (McMillan)
Vicky

Sunday, and my garden offers me privacy
I sit drinking essential coffee and I cogitate
About all that has happened, all we have lost
The bottles of whisky, my own body’s cost
And I ponder some more and feel second rate.

I wish that you’d known the muse of my life
For so many people loved my beautiful girl
Her courage and her resolve so strong
Friends all say how she was loved for so long
In my last film of her she’s dancing a twirl.

I forced myself , I’ve had to, I really have
To stop drinking whisky every night
I think she’d say I was bat-shit crazy
To spend so much time drinking and seeing life hazy
So I’ve stopped because I know it’s so right.

So I’m digging a hole, in the ground, in the garden
And the sweat runs so heavy down my back
It’s a hole, just a hole, there’s nothing going in
But it’s helping me a little, and perhaps I’ll get thin
And it helps lift the mood when it’s black.

©Joe Wilson – This Sunday…2016

This is very personal to me and I once again beg your indulgence.

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