Were we really all in it together…

The natural home of the poet
Is not among society’s elite
But away from the riches and finery
And the fat-cat country seat.

We’re the eyes for the one who’s the underdog
The one struggling hard for his kin
The one who lost out when they took all the jobs
Who stands in the food queue again.

We’re the questioning voice of the sickly
While hospitals have wards that are closed
Who wonder why governments say ‘We all spend more!’
And ponder where it’s been disposed.

We have Portakabin classrooms that just shouldn’t be
And walls full of mould in our schools
Yet pay and pensions in the Westminster bubble
Go up yet again, as we’re treated as fools.

It’s quite true we don’t wander around with the rich
For our hearts and our minds are elsewhere
We’re keeping a watch on corruption at large
And versing your created despair.

©Joe Wilson – Were we really all in it together…2015

Thoughts of Old Age

Photo by: Ahmed Al.Badawy, Cairo, Egypt

He was a very poor and sad old man whose pride belied his fear
That one day he’d be a burden to his folks who held dear.
He’d worked hard every single day, now he didn’t cope so well
He knew that his ears were a problem too, he was going deaf he could tell.

He guessed it was just a sign of his age, he’d soon be eighty-one
He’d been fitted with a hearing-aid, but he forgot to switch it on.
And though he had his radio on to listen to all the news
He struggled to tell what was being said, he rarely heard their views.

And so from time to time he sat and enjoyed his garden flowers
He didn’t need to hear them grow, he’d watch them sway for hours.
He’d take his paper and his specs and go down to his shed
And often not read anything as he’d fall asleep instead.

There are times when he forgets though and he sleeps in there all day
When his son or daughter find him, it’s getting more that way.
And he sometimes can’t remember what he’s supposed to do
It’s when his mind goes like this that his thoughts feel stuck in glue.

His son told him the other day he was looking for a place
Where others could look after him, but he’d still have his own space.
He’ll never want to leave this house, his memories are all here
His dear wife still lives in its heart, he won’t go, is that clear!!

But now the odds are against him as he struggles every day
He sometimes doesn’t dress quite right and he cannot properly shave.
And he’ll sometimes sit and weep the tears of a man who feels marooned
He’ll sit and wonder when he’ll die for it cannot come too soon.

©Joe Wilson – Thoughts of Old Age 2014

Mercy Street

How do you live on almost nothing
Can you ever make nothing go round
The seeds of despair
– hopeless – unfair
They drive you into the ground.

There are those who work hard
– they do what they can
They stand and are counted and stay true
They help, give advice and they never ever judge
They’re there every day, and there spirit doesn’t budge.

They don’t get paid, oh God, Good God no!
They’re there because that’s what they do
’cause when no-one else cares about what’s going on
They find that they don’t have a choice
Being the conduit for the proud and the poor
In a way it allows them a voice.

Is it you? Is it me? Who is doing enough?
Can we answer this question in truth?
There’s folks dying in pain
– on the streets where we live
We can no longer remain so aloof.

He never mastered the art of begging
In a previous life he’d have mocked
At his feeble attempts to get tourists to part
With a penny or two for some bread or a tart.

But after the shame and the breakdown
Near an archway with others like him
He found that he had no more ego
Nor well fitted suits to make him look slim

He lived from a moment to the next one
He ate when he could or just slept
And at night he tried not to remember
In his solitude he silently wept.

We’re not really a caring society
We spend more on fighting than care
It will never ever get any better
Not enough of us behave at all fair.

For there are those who will feast at the table
Throwing only bare scraps to those less able
Misery will increase – the poor get disease
While the rich and empowered stand at ease.