My own personal hero…

 

The man who lived on the silver screen
Was never the real hero to me
For he was the man who worked the side-door
And let me and my Mum in for free.

Back in those days the heroes were many
Tex Ritter and Roy Rodgers were just two
The cowboy films shown were always the best
Watching those I never felt blue.

But the real hero for me was my granddad
Who attended the cinema side-door
He’d trained engineers till retirement came
And the side-door job helped a bit more.

There were stories of robbery and mayhem
Tales of magical mystery and fun
And we were always let in through the little side door
The moment the programmes had begun.

Everyone sat there in the darkness
Curtains opened and then the screen lit up
And as the sheriff rounded up all the bad men
Our hands were diving into big popcorn cups.

My granddad was as good as those cowboys
He took me to my first cricket match
I remember once when the ball flew at me
He put his hand up and made a good catch.

He served his country throughout the First War
As auxiliary he served through number Two
He was a fine man who everyone loved dearly
He did good things just like heroes do.

They don’t give medals for just being a granddad
They should do when they are the best
Now I have grandchildren of my very own too
I just hope that I too pass the test.

 

©Joe Wilson – My own personal hero…2014

The man to whom I refer was indeed my granddad and he took on this job for the reason I say. He did however, have an allowance to let two of his relatives in by the side-door on Wednesday afternoon in the school holidays. This is the time to which I refer.

 

A new start…

He walked down the length of that long lonely street
His footsteps tapping a short rhythmic beat
He encountered no one at that time of day
There was no one to stop him and have their say.

It was a dark three o’clock in the morning
As he wandered aimlessly along the road
But it wasn’t as if he had any place to go
He was only but another poor homeless Joe.

He was on the search for some food or scrap
New enough still to hate this poverty trap
Recently separated, he lost his job and his home
He now find’s himself on the road, where he roams.

He’s tried very hard to keep his dignity too
Not mixing much with the others who do
And he now walks about with an air of fake calm
Thinking that might protect him from coming to harm.

It had never occurred to him that he was always at work
His wife needed more, he understood that too late
Over years it had taken a hard marital toll
So she’d stepped away from him and he’d lost his role.

But he wouldn’t give in, he was determined about that
He desperately told himself every day
He couldn’t let himself live like this for long
He felt if he said so that he would remain strong.

His wife said she still loves him, despite that she left
He caused her such pain and he feels so bereft
But as long as she loves him it gives him some hope
He’ll fight his way back up this steep darkened slope.

He walked down the length of that long lonely street
You could hear a slight lightness to the short rhythmic beat
His eyes filled with tears as his wife filled his heart
Determined he walked on to make a new start.

 

©Joe Wilson – A new start…2014

to express oneself…

quill

Were I a man less fortunate
If I could not my words express
Would I not humbly shun the light
And all my boundless thoughts compress.

My heart is full and begs release
Outpourings flow from deep within
And words flood out and take their form
Of love and pain, and life and sin.

To sit and wait these countless times
Considering this or that to say
Thoughts writ in beguiling form
Thus written they then speed on their way.

Characters flit betwixt mine eyes
So fast sometimes I cannot catch
Letters caught in mêlée furious
I place them here or there to match.

When all these letters are thus laid down
In words to make some form or sense
Then read by one’s discerning eye
With open mind and no pretence.

Who reads these words I cannot know
But surely if when read they think
That thoughts they have become theirs now
Thus quill or pen make seamless link.

©Joe Wilson – to express oneself…2014

…oh the misplaced doubts of young men…

…nagging doubts (quelled)…

He arrived and saw her all alone
And wondered if she felt lonely too
Or if she had come here to their place with him
But then their eyes met and he just knew.

He still could feel the love of old
And hurt still from what she had done
But something told him she still cared
Say something now or be undone.

He slowly walked across the crowded room
His head still full of nagging sway
But seeing her so vulnerable, his heart reached hers
He took her hand and chased his doubts away.

Many years since that time have passed
Their love has grown and grown and grown
And of that time so long ago
They remember, but keep their thoughts their own.

©Joe Wilson – …oh the misplaced doubts of young men…2014

…nagging doubts…

To be free of this nagging doubt
Oh to be free of this pain
I know that I’ll never miss her
I don’t want to see her again.

Why beat myself then I wonder
Could it be there is still a spark
She was cruel and she hurt me on purpose
And yet…

I don’t know now, I loved her so deeply
The days pass much slower now she’s gone
Even now I still can’t forget her
Till I do I’ll never move on.

If I go to our old haunts I’ll see her
I wonder if she’ll still be with him
I can’t bear to think of or to go there
But the chances I won’t are so slim.

I’ll just watch some telly and forget her
I’m sure there’s some pointless tat on
But the nagging doubts are driving me crazy
I give in, my coat’s already on…

©Joe Wilson – …nagging doubts…2014

Whisky and my pen…

Faceted whisky glass
Faceted whisky glass

 

Wind blows its way right through my senses
All my thoughts have but slowly disappeared
One more large smoky glass of cheap whisky
One more sad lonely night that you’re not here.

Loneliness set in as the door quickly closed
Using the back door now and keeping that one shut
It will stay like that until ever you come back
But I’ve a notion now that it will stay put.

Old sore wounds that somehow resurfaced
Caused a bitter rift long forgotten to return
And the memories and the tears from the last time
Hit the heart, exploded and then burned.

So I sit trying to write and supping whisky
As I wait to hear your key in the front door
I hope with all my heart that you’ll forgive me
I can’t bear to be alone here any more.

The wind is getting stronger now and I thought I heard the latch
But it was just some fighting creatures out in the dark
So I’ll wait as I do each night with my whisky and my pen
Sitting here and waking up with the sound of the lark.

 

©Joe Wilson – Whisky and my pen 2014

He was thinking of flowers and the one he loved…

Gardenia-steph-hydrangea-bridal

 

He was thinking of flowers and the one he loved…

His first thoughts were of jasmine for her elegant grace
And lovely hibiscus for her beautiful face.

He thought about hyacinths as she was so sincere
Yellow tulips, he was hopelessly in love it was clear.
The red roses he gathered for their passionate love
And forget-me-nots together till the heavens above.

He picked orange-blossom for the children she bore
With larkspur for her beautiful spirited core.
Her lack of desire for great wealth to unfold
Meant he put to one side any marigold
He sprinkled them with daisies for her innocence
Adding some black-eyed Susan for encouragement
Then he wrapped them all up in a very large mass
Of beautiful gardenias for a joy that will last.

©Joe Wilson – He was thinking of flowers and the one he loved…2014

The Pebble of life…

Unknown
Unknown

The small stone fell from a ledge
in a study somewhere
and dropped into a travel bag.

Later the bag was picked up and carried away.

Much later still it was put in a car
being placed on the back seat. The car was
then driven to a port where it was taken off
the seat of the car and carried on-board
a cruise ship. The cruise ship was about
to sail up the Norwegian Fjords. It sailed
there quite frequently, though not
exclusively as it also sailed
around the Mediterranean Sea.

The bag was taken to and placed in
one of the luxurious staterooms.The
owner of the bag and her husband
were celebrating an important event
by enjoying a journey that they had
always promised themselves. The bag
eventually ended up on the deck as the
husband had fetched it for his wife
for an object that it contained. In
getting that thing out, the small
stone got caught up in it somehow
and was pulled out of the bag and
fell onto the deck of the ship,
whereupon it started to roll about.

Ultimately the stone found its way
to the stairs down to the lower deck
where it found a gap to lodge in. The
cruise ship sailed into the fjords
during a sudden heavy storm causing
much turbulence not only on the ship
but in a number of the passengers
stomachs, one of whom, a drinking man
I chance, could not contain himself,
and he was violently sick. The storm
abated however, and all was well.

A crewman took on the task of
cleaning up after the apparently
bibulous gentleman and washed down
the deck, and in doing so, washed
the small stone through a gap,
specially there for the deck washing
purpose, and into the fjord whereupon
it sank to the very deep bottom.

Such are the mysteries of life, but
in that one pebble’s journey you can
gauge the unpredictable future of
every man, woman and child and creature
on Earth.

Isn’t life utterly bewildering?

It is unlikely that the ever-moving tides
in the fjord will not have moved it elsewhere
many times since it fell in off the ship,
out of the bag, out of the car, into the car,
into the bag, and off the shelf
in the first place.

How it arrived on the shelf is
a story for another day.

Utterly bewildering!

©Joe Wilson – The pebble of life…2014

No longer shy…

He was often a little shy round the opposite sex
His shyness caused so often his mates to be vexed
But this lady he decided he’d ask for a date
Though he fully expected a miserable fate.

So he asked her to dinner one summer long ago
And to his utter bewilderment she didn’t say no
They fell for each other and they talked all night long
And from that night on his heart filled with song.

Each Valentine’s Day he sends her a rose
He oft writes her poems or occasionally prose
His love no bounds nor does her love for him
Each feeling their hearts are filled to the brim.

No longer that shy like he was once before
They married and he carried her over the door
She bore him two children who they love oh so much
Their love so ethereal, bewildering to touch.

If ever you meet the person who makes your heart glow
And you’re both free to love, then perhaps let them know
You’ll both read the signs and then maybe it will be
That you too will have a life as happy as me.

 

©Joe Wilson – No longer shy…2014

He walked a willing mile…

He walked a willing mile
To see if all was lost
He made a dreadful error
And he feared the awful cost.

He walked the mile to see her
He knew he’d been so wrong
The slight that he had caused
The evidence seemed so strong.

He’d realised that he was wrong
Another had poisoned his mind
And he had been so gullible
He’d not been very kind.

Love’s tricky path he realised
Was a difficult place to tread
With dark and cruel danger
If you let others into your head.

So now he walked the willing mile
In the hope of being forgiven
And though he knew it wasn’t due
He’d grovel if he was driven.

She hurt so much as she saw him
Anger and love filled her heart
She’d make him earn her forgiveness
But she’d never drive them apart.

But she wondered why men were so foolish
Why they took other’s words with such ease
Why sometimes they only worked at love
As if they were shooting the breeze.

©Joe Wilson – He walked a willing mile…2014