Bittersweet

No place for children

How very sweet the roses smell
In the evening setting sun
As round a garden table sat
We drink fine wine and tales we tell.

Recalling things of little worth
As chat one does with friends
A little quiet spot we’ve found
Our peaceful place on Earth.

And yet – for others Hell will rain
As bombs fall from the sky
They’re simply people just like us
Caught up, in wars insane.

Such violence is the modern tone
And innocence lives no more
Where far away yet more will die
As they yield to anonymous drone.

And now the roses seem so bitter
A trifle in the scheme
While children fall to violence
And get scattered like so much litter…

©Joe Wilson – Bittersweet…2016

Some live are always violent…

Undervalued, as she had been her entire short life
She fell into her small simple cot, exhausted
It was eleven twenty-five and so cold that night
And four that morning since she’d left it in dread.

Given up by her frightened parents at only seven
She was just as other girls in her village
Carried away by the merciless men
Who’d terrorised the area to murder and pillage.

A virgin no longer at just eight and a half
A mother before she was thirteen
She’d had absolutely no schooling
She didn’t even know the word obscene.

The one single thing that she did understand
Was the pain of being beaten all the time
If she wasn’t fast enough at bringing their food
She was thrashed like it was a crime.

And now here she was…exhausted
She was only eighteen, but so old
And the only thing she ever got from her Lord
Was her death that night from the cold.

A six year old motherless child all alone
She’ll be safe until she turns eight
And then just like her dead mother
She’ll be cast to the men and a terrible fate.

©Joe Wilson – Some lives are always violent…2015

There are nations around the globe where this is still a common occurrence, even in so-called civilised countries. It is the 21st century, we should be able to stop this horrendous monstrosity.

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

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

Hope springs eternal…(acrostic)

Have we really lost our way
Open warfare every day
Perhaps if some could compromise
Earnest talks could open eyes.

Sparing children from seeing death
Plaguing memories till dying breath
Rights of all, to live in health
Interfering warmongers who all get wealth
No money, the poor go to food banks
Guess you dine anywhere if you sell tanks
Somebody making a fortune from others.

Each bullet fired can kill someone’s brothers
Talks round the tables among heads of state
Extracting solutions before it’s too late
Roses should be given by lovers on a date
Not on the gravestones of victims of hate
Armageddon is the end-game we fear
Let’s step back from the edge, it’s dangerously near.

©Joe Wilson – Hope Springs Eternal…2015

 

Taking the lead…

His pain from fire was seen round the world
And Governments’ collective lips all curled
Such profanity was displayed without a care
A King left the runway as his jet took to air.
Leading his people against this vicious attack
It began long ago and there’s no going back
They’re baying now for the terrorist blood
He’s sure to know it will come to no good.

So many wars and so much fighting
And so much bloody death
New children are brought into the world
Where wars just rob them of their first breath.
Everywhere now seems awash with the blood
With the blood of the Innocents
While the world is slowing destroying itself
In human inflicted increments.

©Joe Wilson – Taking the lead…2015

The numbers rise…

Walked I along this Autumn morn
midst trees with bright red berries borne
where once men stood with with tanks as shields
on Europe’s bloodiest battlefields.

And in extraordinary Worldly War
friends kill friends who’re friends no more
as lines are drawn and power revealed
where once such things had lain concealed.

How many men and women died
for pious thoughts and national pride
whose wasted lives now lie beneath
that trampled o’er when we cross heath.

The bodies fall, the numbers rise
more victims of political lies
and yet some people still would fight
convinced that they are in the right.

Twas ever thus and shall remain
the populace feel power’s disdain
yet even now we fight their wars
with they as pimps and we their whores.

©Joe Wilson – The numbers rise…2015

The Weeping Book…

He opened the binding of The Weeping Book
curiousity piqued, he needed to look
but how he wished he had never seen
the horrors therein that were so obscene.

The guilt of man along the passage of time
senseless slaughter without reason or rhyme
each page he turned ill had been done
by book possessed he ventured on.

The rape and pillage of those years before
children the victims of violent war
races were mixed, the one good thing
vicious hecklers of bigotry sing.

On and on through the pages now
the hurt caused pain behind his brow
saints and sinners all listed here
their sins for all to see quite clear.

He saw the vilest sins of history’s pain
enslavement of those for other’s gain
let loose man’s done some terrible things
hope’s voice is quelled by vicious stings.

The Weeping Book so perfect in name
from front to end it’s full of shame
and he a priest of noble birth
would find before day’s end, his worth.

No water passed his lips, nor food
his mind so troubled by soured mood
and then the page on which he gazed
revealed the future of a man gone crazed.

No change could he make to the book
transfixed at his poor fate he’d look
and as he pushed the dagger deep
as fate revealed he went to sleep.

The Weeping Book then slammed tight shut
till guilty man next came and put
his hand upon the tome’s dark cover
then his sad fate he’d soon discover.

©Joe Wilson – The Weeping Book…2014

I still live in hope…

I wandered into a maelström
where the shouting turned to war
I wished them all a good day
cast a spell, they were no more.

Would that real life were so easy
that men of violence could be swayed
by a simple spell or by reason
enmity would remain un-displayed

To think of the peace we could all enjoy
at the nurturing of every child
all of the knowledge that could be spread
in a world where war was reviled.

©Joe Wilson – I still live in hope… 2014

Self-made Armageddon…

And the days were spent in wonder
at all the horrors He’d seen
He sent unholy flooding and chaos
To wash the planet clean.

To see if change was ever made
He waited then two thousand years
But horror still was all around
And what He saw proved all His fears.

Can man not recognise his fate
can he not see when he is wrong
can man not see of His design
that words like peace and love mean strong.

The fiery pits that destroy our Earth
aren’t in the depths of Hell
they’ll be the fire and cordite
of that last exploding shell!!

©Joe Wilson – Self-made Armageddon… 2014