war ravaged city

The sun shines very brightly now
Perhaps there is hope in our hearts
We struggle out from warm bedclothes
In sleepy fits and waking starts.
And time moves on as always
It waits not once for us
Tomorrow comes inexorably
Arriving without fuss.

For none of us can yet evade
That relentless passage of time
It’s how we choose to live our lives
Will dictate our chapter’s rhyme.
For in the end it matters
How we chose to live those lives
For life that’s lived in using pen
Achieves far more than sword-shaped knives.

And when the tide of hatred flows
There are those we should consider
Where fires are always being stoked
By those selling arms to the highest bidder.
The bottom line for the armourer
Is not about life, but death
They care not a jot for that innocent child
Or the fact that they stole her last breath.

So thus the sky clouds over
As cordite fills air once more
And some men will make more profit
As others set off to war.
That ever present danger lurks
And fear the watchword now
Where all would like a peaceful life
The ‘bloody’ question is how?

And politicians play their games
They’re juggling with your lives
But they don’t stand and face the foe
Or carry sword-shaped knives.
No sir, that job belongs to those
Who stand at the front and defend
And take the bullets and the danger
While politicians only pretend.

The sun shines very brightly now
Perhaps there was hope in our hearts
But some now lying in their beds
Await prosthetic body parts.
And time will still march slowly on
Though the innocence is no longer there
And the politicians have made their play
And the cost? They just don’t care.

©Joe Wilson – The cost…2016

Lauds…(the 5th morning)

A sparrowhawk swoops down for food
Spring blue skies will lift the mood
When days go rushing by.

Children race to school pell-mell
There are some who miss the bell
When days go rushing by.

Spring blue skies will lift the mood
And garden tasks are now pursued
When days go rushing by.

There are some who miss the bell
Who’ll waste time catching up as well
When days go rushing by.

And garden tasks are now pursued
The growing season is reviewed
When days go rushing by.

For He will hear the church bell ring
As hearty, thankful voices sing
When days go rushing by.

The growing season is reviewed
A sparrowhawk swoops down for food.
When days go rushing by.

©Joe Wilson – Lauds…(the 5th morning)…2016

To my very core…

Impose your love upon my soul
That I may be alone no more
You reach inside my very core
With love that binds and keeps me whole.
My heart is under your control
What happy state this do I feel
Such joy as this has great appeal
Blessed am I in envious role.

And you, your happiness to me
Is of such vital import
That I would not with love cavort
To force what’s intertwined set free
For love as yours I fiercely sought
A love as sweet as it could be.

©Joe Wilson – To my very core…2015

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

The choice…

Everywhere that he ever went
He always travelled in style
With supple leather and cocktail bar
He sat in the rear for mile upon mile.

He traded this, he traded that
Till finally he didn’t care
It was weapons he sold, they were deadly
To him in war, all things were fair.

And then one day he got the chance
To choose twixt loss or gain
Some men kidnapped his family
He had never felt such pain.

The ransom when it came was surprising
There was just one simple demand
Stop all of the sales of your weapons
Including those already planned.

For him the choice was so easy
He turned from the cocktail haze
Now he writes of love and of romance
With his family near, life finally pays.

©Joe Wilson – The choice…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)

The letters…

Heavy the heart
Painful the burden
The messenger’s part
In passing the word on.

Deep are the creases
That now line his brow
The pain never ceases
It’s personal somehow.

His was the book
Which counted the dead
But each killing took
His heart’s peace instead.

They were his men
He loved them like sons
They’ll not sing again
Silenced by guns.

The letters he wrote
To tell of each death
Families he smote
By words of last breath.

The killing decided
There’s no final amount
Messenger lies dead
One more for the count.

©Joe Wilson – The letters…2015