Down came the rain
And washed away the sin
It couldn’t ease the pain
That war had left it in
How scarred this Earth
How scorched the land
For such is caring’s dearth
By humans’ evil hand.
Profit and loss
The price of war
How ‘they’ call the toss
While raking in more.
This Earth feels the pain
Even washed clean by rain
While ‘they’ steal the gain
Till little will remain.
©Joe Wilson – Earth…the innocent victim…2015
Down came the rain
The world started weeping
I only felt pain
It was more than just sleeping.
Beat, beat, beat, beat
It stopped
My whole life ceased
You had gone away.
I cannot live alone
My frail heart cries
I find I’m on my own
A part of me just…dies.
©Joe Wilson – Emptiness…2015
The wind howled drowning out the shrieks of crows
As they harried and swooped at the buzzard above
Forcing him yet again to drop his hard-won prey
And as the clouds thickened, and sky darkened,
All signs of light started to fade from the day.
A mighty thunderous storm was surely on its way.
Once more, I emptied the bucket, that now
Seems to permanently live in the loft
Always waiting, to catch that single drop of water
That somehow manages to find its way
Through the edge of the roof tiles, to drip
In perfect correlation with the rain.
Then it began…
It started with a gentle pitter-patter
On the sun-lounge roof where it is always first noticed
Soon lightning flashed in its startling iridescence
Of pink and blue, to prove to us its presence
Shortly followed by the long mighty crash
Of thunder as it tried desperately to catch up
And with it came a reservoir of rain
At the windows it rushed so break-neck fast
It seemed they would surely just burst or smash
A bird-table outside in the garden fell
With a loud breaking-to-pieces crash
And flower pots took to the air in unison.
Jugglers may spin plates around on sticks
I’ve seen more than a dozen spinning round
But the wind has no boundaries and hurled up high
Plastic pots of all colour and size and shape
Outside the window such a staggering sight
The pots now looked as if they were Heaven bound.
And then it stopped…
As suddenly as it had begun, the lightning disappeared
The thunder, after a last weak gentle rumble, fell silent
The rain changed to a light drizzle and finally stopped
It was as if it knew it had other places to call, and it had.
And in it’s wake the sun peered wearily from behind the clouds
Daylight returned, and once more a sense of calm descended.
And as the wind gradually faded to a gentler breeze
And saplings that had bent over stood up again like trees
A small cascade of flower pots quickly fell to the ground
And added to the mess that the short storm had left
I turned my back and walked away to my den
That would be a tidying task for who knows when!
©Joe Wilson – The storm…2015
A big wooden train Dad made and painted red
Or a tricycle I sometimes preferred instead
Sometimes a Jeep or a truck or a plane
Those Dinky cars I played with again and again.
Cowboys and Indians that we played near the shed
At the end of the garden till it was past time for bed
Where I’d read Secret Seven books or Famous Five stuff
Till Mum put the light out and I’d feign a big huff.
It was a leisurely time full of fun with no fear
We enjoyed our school days and held them so dear
But it all fell to pieces on one Saturday past noon
When my beloved father died at years far too soon.
My childhood till then had been fun like a game
But from that moment on it was never the same
Though the standing by his grave in the cold pouring rain
Isn’t the memory I recall, it’s Dad’s home-made red train.
©Joe Wilson – The Big Red Wooden Train 2014
Relentlessly the hard rain falls
Filling rivers, then people’s halls
From coast to coast across the land
Built-on flood plains, foolish plan.
Water’s nowhere left to run
Clearing mud off floors – no fun
Twenty years, no rivers dredged
Agencies failed to keep their pledge
To support environments welfare
I wonder if they really care.
They say that it will get much worse
More than one has left by hearse
Meanwhile winds have picked up too
Downing trees as roofs unglued
Causing damage at bills untold
Premium help-line costs unfold
The political football has now been tossed
As always, it’s the ‘us’ who’ve lost.
Ministers forced into too-late action
Doing it to just gain vote traction.
It should have happened years ago
Sadly it’s how we always go.
Nothing happens till lives are lost
And that becomes the priceless cost.
Somethings that can’t be replaced
Perhaps at last it might be faced.
©JRW2014
Jovis on a Journey... 