Tales of life: Old age~sadness…

Life has now started to overwhelm

Sadly, he no longer feels at the helm

And where he was once in complete control

He often now thinks his brain takes a stroll.

He’s not one for moping and sitting around

Giving a hundred percent for each pound

It’s a rate of exchange that he understands

How one should pay for ones life’s demands.

But it seems too much as the years add up

His fingers can now barely hold a cup

And his voice has developed a wheezy gasp

As many small things seem beyond his grasp.

He sits in the study and reads his book

And ponders the path the journey took

Though he has regrets he can’t recall

When thinking back his mind will stall.

In his long life he’s seen such things

In younger days they gave him wings

To fly and soar, his love nearby

No longer here, it makes him cry.

He feels so very old and worn

A heart once full seems badly torn

And as he sits a silent sigh

Is all it takes, he starts to cry.

‘Where did it go, so quickly too

His life no longer spent with you

And soon his time will come to pass

Then he will join you there at last.’

©Joe Wilson – Old age~sadness…2017

Tales of life: Old age confusion…

He potters about in his kitchen
Anything to try to keep warm
Outside the noise was incredible
From the howling of the wind in the storm.

He was running short of milk for his tea
And bread for his lunchtime today
But he had plenty more in the freezer
Yet in the freezer he thought it must stay.

For the freezer was out in the garage
Which meant venturing into the storm
And though it was chilled in the kitchen
Compared to outside it was warm.

So he reads and he writes to keep himself warm
And a thought just pops into his head
‘If I can race out with the key in my hand’
Then he goes back to reading instead.

And every so often he looks out that way
At the garage door just too far away
For the snow and the wind caused a blizzard
So he won’t get to try it today.

And then he had another thought
‘I’ll need milk and bread today’
So thus he opened the kitchen door
And went into the garage that way.

A single thought, a mind astray
Sometimes he gets so confused
The way through the kitchen had never occurred
Despite it’s the way that’s most used.

©Joe Wilson – Old age confusion…2017

Old age and hand-written journals…

The pen moved slowly now in his old and aching hand
He was writing trifling notes, it was nothing very grand.
Putting down on paper a few of his daily thoughts
Of friends he’d met that very day, and odd things that he’d bought.

His journal was his record of a simple daily life
He’d kept one from his childhood long before he’d met his wife
And when sometimes he’d wonder of his friends from years ago
He’d pull out some old journal and very soon he’d know.

Page and page he’d filled with happenings from back then
But yet without his journal now, he’d not remember when
It was as if his memories had all transferred to the page
He guessed that kind of happened when you got to his old age.

So many books were very full of such a lot of lines
Sublime writing sometimes, as his thoughts were always kind
He always noted down events as they happened though his life
He got through even more books during times of greatest strife.

He’d started his first journal as a lad between the wars
He followed Aston Villa and he jotted down the scores
And soon he added other things such as birthdays and the like
Once he even wrote about the day he caught a pike.

He wrote about the horrors that he saw in World War Two
He’d lost so many friends back then and some he barely knew
The skies were ever thunderous and they lived with cordite smell
And parts of Europe ran with blood as dying soldiers fell.

Then times moved on and many things began to change
As borderlines were argued and then finally rearranged
Another war began so soon, as deadly as the last
And no one trusted anyone, the Cold-ness, it was vast.

He’d been an angry young man in the Fifties, yes indeed
Protesting nuclear weapons and the new generations seed
And his heroes, Osborne and Amis, were as disillusioned as he
Things don’t really change that much, the electorate’s not so free.

The world declared they’d had enough, there would be no more war
Except of course Korea, and Vietnam, and many more
And in his written journals he had noted all this down
He hated violence so much, there was bloodshed all around.

Yet after many, many years, the Berlin Wall came down
He’d noted in his journal when it went up – with a frown
At last he thought, united, perhaps this is a chance
But he was only fooling himself in some dreamt up romance.

And even after all these years since the war to end all wars
Soldiers and civilians are still killed for politics flaws
He closed his books so many times with tears in his sad eyes
Concluding all too often that the governments aren’t too wise.

And now here he was again with his old pen in his hand
He’d tried that new-fangled webbing, but he couldn’t understand
He decided that he’d always stick with his books, his pen and the word
The Web would never catch on, the strange idea was just absurd.

©Joe Wilson – Old age and hand-written journals…2016

The unbearable waiting…

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No recognisable thoughts are in his mind these days
Only sorrow for the loss, he feels so achingly sad
He had never lived alone before, it wasn’t for him, normal
His life at this time was the unhappiest he’d had.

He’d watched as she crumbled and the weight brought him sorrow
He was crushed by the heartache that accompanies such loss
He had not faired too well by himself to be quite honest
Now he sits by the grave that slowly covers with moss.

And all that he waits for is for one day to join her
The unbearable wait overwhelms him so much
Only the end when it comes can now please him
For he so hopes to find her for their hearts to retouch.

He’d loved her for all of the time he remembered
Theirs was such love that one never defines
Now he sits so lonely and awaits his dark angel
To carry him back home to the love he so pines.

©Joe Wilson – The unbearable waiting…2016

Holding hands…

Moulded together in love and pain
They were always by each other’s side
That’s how for life they chose to remain
Each to the other was their pride.

Heartaches came and went yet still
They were steadfast in their love
Held together by their simple will
They fitted like a hand in a glove.

They aged and their bodies grew fragile
Yet that love still carried them along
As a thing that was always so, tactile
It sustained, it was so very strong.

And then one day they were there no more
But their love was now so cast in stone
That devotion to each other went right to the core
As holding hands they passed into the unknown.

©Joe Wilson – Holding hands…2015

Marching forwards in love and in life…(Acrostic)

Marching forwards in love and in life
As snowdrop and crocus cover Spring earth
Raw though the wind, as Winter still lingers
Chapping the faces exposed to its wrath.
Hope springs eternal as I sit by the hearth
Indoors the warmth of a nice open fire
Nicely chopped logs all stacked by a scuttle
Glorious flames up the chimney rise higher.

Flames soporific and soon I am sleeping
Out like a light from the heat of the fire
Running in dreams and thinking of roses
Wrapped in a beautiful paper display.
All for the lady who loves me forever
Roses the flowers from my heart every day
Dreams full of happy, and our lovely children
Slight sadness now as they make their own way.

It’s many years now and our love we have found
No more needs the blankets we laid on the ground.

Living a life with one who inspires you
Overly blessed like the Spring that now hails
Verdant the grass round the bench in the garden
Each night during Summers we tell lover’s tales.

And as we enter our twilight of living
Not for a second our passion shall wane
Drawn to each other, a one made from twain.

Isn’t it wondrous when love makes hearts bind
Never a doubt in your passion-filled mind.

Letters we’ve written of love for each other
Ink that was written, but not by a sage
Finally we slip into hot-chocolate evenings
Enjoying the warmth as we turn the next page.

©Joe Wilson – Marching forwards in love and in life…2015 (Acrostic)

I bet…

I bet that as a child I climbed up many trees
Sometimes in tears running home with cut knees
I’d have played with Dinky toys and Hornby trains
And jumped into puddles after pouring rains.

I bet that as a youth I was petulant and daft
And sailed down a river on a home-made raft
I’d have ridden on my bike for miles and miles
Watching all the steam trains at railway styles.

And on a rugby pitch I’d have felt right in place
Charging down the wing or lying on my face
To clubs I’d have gone for the rhythm and the blues
We’d dance through the night like we’d nothing to lose.

I bet I met a lady who would love me forever
Who’d nurture our children and make us seem clever
She’d always keep me warm on the coldest nights
And be by my side when I get these frights.

I bet these things I’ve written may have all taken place
But the end-game approaches at an ever-quicker pace
I see it is the sort of life someone like me would need
But the memories have faded like an old dried up seed.

 

©Joe Wilson – I bet…2015