My many coloured life…

Of unknown origin
Of unknown origin

Colour me brown for the woods I played in as a boy
For the bow and arrows I used for a toy
For the friends and the fun and the unfettered joy.

Colour me beige for my calm and neutral look at life
The nothingness that could have been spread with a knife
The colour I felt before I loved my wife.

Colour me green for the nature that surrounds
For the children we had and their ever happy sounds
For the promise that their future hopes abound.

Colour me cream for your quiet elegant ways
That fill my life with beautiful days
The joy of being in a life-long phase.

Colour me blue for the truth you speak
For the trust you gave when my life was bleak
For the quiet solitude we sometimes seek.

Colour me pink for the true love you give
For the beauty of each and every day that we live
For the small thoughtless sins that you always forgive.

Colour me red for the passion we still feel
For each other a passion that is still very real
For the hearts that we tied with an emotional seal.

Colour me purple for the compassion you hold
For the sensitive spirits that with you unfold
For the judgement and dreams that help me feel bold.

Colour me yellow for the wisdom you set free
For the knowledge I learnt so empowering to see
For the sunshine in your heart saved especially for me.

Colour me all the colours so magnificently
You gave to me life far far less ordinary
You gave me your love and you showed to me…me.

©Joe Wilson – My many coloured life…2014

Just getting on with life


The years get ever shorter
the number I’d not bet
but it’s not been a bad life
least-ways not up to yet
though there have a few things
its best that we forget.

That time I faced that big bloke
who was giving you the eye
I kicked him in the knackers
he still might wonder why
I caught him as he left the pub
he gave me a big black eye.

The times you almost lost me
you were waiting when I woke
I knew the hurt you were feeling
though not a word was spoke
you covered it up so bravely
and your spirit never broke.

The time when you were poorly
we worried for months so long
yet you were so amazing
your determination strong
I realise so many times
I’m right where I belong.

Retired now we still hold hands
as we go along our way
we remember to say ‘I love you’
each and every day
and as I sit down with my writing
I wouldn’t choose another way.

So yes we are in the twilight years
But we’re not about to fold
we won’t be hanging our boots up
we prefer behaving bold
and we won’t be taking it easy
we just don’t do what we’re told.


©Joe Wilson – Just getting on with life 2014

1914 – We call It Wipers

ypres field guns 1914

Mud goes so stiff as it dries on the clothes
And it gets in the rifles and ammo
And men live in the mud for day after day
And they die there as the death tolls just grow.

The lads call it Wipers, but we know it’s called Ypres
And we don’t know the language but know mud
And the massive field guns that are firing this way
Causing lots of men to stay here for good.

In two months I’ve not heard the sound of a bird
With the fighting and dying you don’t listen
But I saw a dead blackbird lying out in the mud
And memories of home made my eyes glisten.

I’d rather be back at my home on the farm
Tending cattle and working the land
But I’m lying here shooting at men I don’t know
In a hard bloody war that I don’t understand.

We’ll soon be coming to the end of this year
We were told that it wouldn’t last too long
I don’t know how much longer the men can last out
The spirits willing but their bodies aren’t strong.

We’ve been pounded for hours, we’ve been pounded for days
It seems like so long and it’s so cold
There are men who’ve got frostbite and gangrene and sores
But it’s the dysentery that makes some men fold.

When will it end and who will make peace
They’re decisions that aren’t made at the front
But by men back at home who think they know best
Not by poor dying men bearing the brunt.


One in a group of poems I wrote recognising the centenary of the outbreak of World War I