This land has been robbed of all that it had
Nothing is left, even for the slick and the rich
Crumbling edifices to our capitalist greed
Our world no capacity now left for its need.

There were those amongst us fought agin this
Imprisoned in jails within our own tortured selves
Not enough of us tried to stop the horrors we saw
Now nothing is left, our charade is no more.

Your fathers all fought in such ****** campaigns
There fathers too, and there fathers before
New weapons of destructive powers previously unheard
That slaughtered the innocent in ways cruelly absurd.

Buildings left standing with all inside dead
People didn't matter, but the real estate did
And thus the corruption swept over the Earth
We were judged by our value but not by our worth.

It angers me now as I feel guilty shame
For I didn't do enough and that makes me as them
And for you with the mess whatever is left
There's a world that was rich and is now so bereft.

One thing is certain, save the wealth of the land
The one crucial thing that we never did foresee
Don't go down the pathway of war-like inventions
Create things for peace and for better intentions.

Think in these ways and you may stand a chance
It's a message I couldn't ever iterate to much
War and corruption lie together in bed
Growing good crops gets communities fed.



©Joe Wilson - In mortal pain...2014

Our world cries out in sorrow again
People dying on lonely streets
And blood is shed and spirits crushed
It seems that history repeats.

Would that we could see the truth
Of all that’s good within our sight
That we would see our own great wealth
And help to ease another’s plight.

If we could see and do all that
And in ourselves we understood
Would we not find ourselves at peace
And know at least we’d done some good.



©Joe Wilson – The world cries…2014

Were I a man less fortunate
If I could not my words express
Would I not humbly shun the light
And all my boundless thoughts compress.

My heart is full and begs release
Outpourings flow from deep within
And words flood out and take their form
Of love and pain, and life and sin.

To sit and wait these countless times
Considering this or that to say
Thoughts writ in beguiling form
Thus written they then speed on their way.

Characters flit betwixt mine eyes
So fast sometimes I cannot catch
Letters caught in melee furious
I place them here or there to match.

When all these letters are thus laid down
In words to make some form or sense
Then read by ones’ discerning eye
With open mind and no pretence.

Who reads these words I cannot know
But surely if when read they think
That thoughts they have become theirs now
Thus quill or pen make seamless link.

©Joe Wilson – to express oneself...2014

...nagging doubts (quelled)...

He arrived and saw her all alone
And wondered if she felt lonely too
Or if she had come here to their place with him
But then their eyes met and he just knew.

He still could feel the love of old
And hurt still from what she had done
But something told him she still cared
<em>Say something now or be undone.</em>

He slowly walked across the crowded room
His head still full of nagging sway
But seeing her so vulnerable, his heart reached hers
He took her hand and chased his doubts away.

Many years since that time have passed
Their love has grown and grown and grown
And of that time so long ago
They remember but keep their thoughts their own.


©Joe Wilson - ...oh the misplaced doubts of young men...2014

To be free of this nagging doubt
Oh to be free of this pain
I know that I'll never miss her
I don't want to see her again.

Why beat myself then I wonder
Could it be there is still a spark
She was cruel and she hurt me on purpose
And yet...

I don't know now, I loved her so deeply
The days pass much slower now she's gone
Even now I still can't forget her
Till I do I'll never move on.

If I go to our old haunts I'll see her
I wonder if she'll still be with him
I can't bear to think of or to go there
But the chances I won't are so slim.

I'll just watch some telly and forget her
I'm sure there's some pointless tat on
But the nagging doubts are driving me crazy
I give in, my coat's already on...



©Joe Wilson - ...nagging doubts...2014

If I raise my head I can see out the window
But I know it’s raining I can hear it
I’ll not raise my head
Why the hell is it raining
I’m supposed to be going for a job interview
And it’s raining…******.

I’ll be soaked to the skin and my hair will be
plastered to my ****** face again
just like it was at the last of these things
Where I was the blasted wet interviewee.

So why I ask did I not cut my hair?
I didn’t get it cut last time either
and I can draw a sad conclusion too
I don’t wan’t the job nor the mither.

So I know that it’s raining
I know I’ll get wet
It’s a thankless job anyway
So I’ll stay here in bed.

Get up, get up, lazy sod!
Oh God it’s my righteous inner-self again
**** and Blast!
One more pointless interview
coming up…



©Joe Wilson – A sort of pointlessness…2014

Things were very different in the Sixties
Everything was like new fresh breath
But this sad, true tale of my childhood
Is the tale of a friend's early death.

Peter helped the Co-op grocers delivery-man
After he'd finished school for the day
He'd sit on an upturned milk crate
And they drove merrily along on their way.

He'd helped the man deliver for ages
It was what teenage boys would often do
But as the van took a corner in Rising Brook
Out to his sad fate Peter flew.

The van only had the single driver's seat
No one else was supposed to be there
And the doors all slid back and stayed open
Safety wasn't really thought about to be fair.

So out of the van my friend Peter flew
And fate treated him so very very cruel
He disappeared right under a passing bus
Right in front of the gates to his school.

My best friend was Harry, Peter's brother
And for him everything changed on that day
I watched Harry wither before me
As his spirit of mischief flew away.

Just a few years later Harry drifted
I've not seen him from that day to now
But I hope he was able to find for himself
A way to survive the horror somehow.

I've not spoken of this since those dark days
and the flood of the memory is still raw
If only I could step back and warn him
My friend, please, please close the door.

By a sad twist of irony I lost my brother as well
He was struck down by the first 'Asian Flu'
That memory hurts like a stab in the heart
I was twenty, he was just twenty-two.


©Joe Wilson - The cruel hand of fate...2014

Sadly, this is entirely true. Peter was killed falling under a bus in this manner and my brother was a recently married policeman who died of so-called 'Asian Flu' in 1970.