New mildew mania, oh man-of-war
Live by the letter, and **** for the car
The dreamers, constrained by the fog they can’t see
I uttered this song in Breakaway Alley

A wandering blonde in the restless air
Their kids, half-afraid that they’re halfway to nowhere
Think what you may, they are not in a trance
Wield what they say and you’ll find that you dance

Upon every row, lies a flag waving by
Apartment gravestones kissing up to the sky
Now, must we try so hard for fake jubilee?
The happy ones live in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is on the run

All the country crows, they’ve committed a crime
Each of their wings, flapping mad out of time
To fly with such freedom yet stay so cloudbound
Cacophonous sounds fighting for our own ground

The buds only look up for leviathans
To take them to the realm they misunderstand
To pity the fool that does not try to flee
We sit on our stools in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has emptied the guns

The youth do not stir at the visage of hell
There is no romance in the streets’ calling bells
And while we may treat such a threat to be shown
The dagger of a mind is dull while unknown

The ravaged pretender spoke of the Romans
His gauntlets of gold, earned from fate’s happenstance
To escape his blood, he would face down the sea
The velvet hands shook in Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is due to be shunned

The eye of childhood feared the forgotten paint
They lay, unencumbered, on secular saints
The falsified folly in full leopard print
The troops in their trollies with pockets of lint

The radio is silent in time’s aging vice
We hear and don’t listen, bats spliced with mice
But maybe, you will see this sweet harmony
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley

In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has finally gone

When the baby screams for the first time, aged five
Will it lament the loss of its life?
When the kids rear for a solution wherever you go
How much will it take to say “God, I’ll never know”?

Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
It’s not all you see, it’s not simply me

From little dollies,
To sitting in trollies.
Sitting beneath trees,
In the summer breeze.
Not a care I felt,
Nor a worry to feel.
Just me and my friends,
Imaginary or real.
The delight of innocence,
In the simpler days,

As I ponder back to the simpler ways.

Blood pumps through the veins of a weary traveler,
Every pulse salivating the teetering skepticisms of reality;
flowing through the fragile doubts of terror-
an omen to suffering and constant lack of fervor

The burden of unsatisfactory and the tattered walls of a loose mind start,
Constantly creaking and promising to give way
and crumble unto the molded floorboards of a heavy heart.
a bullseye in happiness with a wandering dart.

The bones as broken hulls to a ship that’s lost sight,
Abandoned shores tempting her for haven
and taunting the starving crew with false delight
another block of cinder to give way and lose it’s might.

20/20 eyes yet blind in bitter harmonies of fowl follies,
Visions of future calls to dreams that were broken before pieced
and carried to better men on royal and despairing trollies.
remembrances of a body drenched in longing and wrapped in hollies.

A child of the fifties, born in mid-forty-nine
We hoped for a future where all would be fine.
But many like me became angry young men
Things just weren’t so fine,  it was like that back then.
The class system flourished, it was ever thus
Kids from estates discouraged from fuss.
The woollen school blazer was so heavy in the rain
Barathea too expensive,  so much lighter again.
But the grammar school system saved so many of us kids
Success was on merit and we rose from the skids.
“You’re the top two percent who’ve got into these schools”
They delighted in telling us, the such snobbish fools.
And then it’s to work and a living to make
You give such a lot just for crumbs from the cake.
And surviving it all was a fight on your hands
The boss on your back with his pointless demands.
Men called for strikes which meant countless lost days
And wages reduced I recall through the haze.
The making of goods soon slipped into the past
Strike followed strike, it just couldn’t last.
But that was the then, and it can’t be retrieved
Ships, pits and steel in which folks all believed.
People took sides, but both sides were so wrong
Communities torn open that were previously strong.
A generation of workers were thrown on the dole
Made to feel of no value by those in control.
When crossing a picket line unsticks family glue
Through it the wives bore the brunt as they do.
Some men retrained to escape from such follies
Others just survived gathering supermart trollies.
And then we moved on into bright retrained days
Technology beckoned and computers amaze.
Learned how to programme them to do work for us
And all about memory and the serial bus.
Then we started to write and note it all down
And the hard looking back made us think with a frown.
It had not been so bad, as the anger suggests
Though life seems to be such a series of tests.
Part way we took turn to raise kids ourselves
Notes put to one side at the back of dark shelves.
With no one to teach us, we plodded down that road
Our children, so wondrous, sound paths they both strode.
Each has now married and set out for themselves
It’s past time to get back those notes off the shelves.
Sitting at the  keyboard and pondering life
Casting one’s mind back to those days full of strife.
It could have been different, I think that, we all know
But protagonists have muscle that they do like to show.

©Joe Wilson – Perhaps it was just an illusion…2015

has mostly left the building.

one imagines packed
in sellophane,  other
sundry packings, boxed
for transporation, waiting

a collection. alongside
the robes, trollies, and

coffee making services.

she is a small thing,

accompanied by other things.

sbm.

E.V. This is not true, and it's not a salt,
deep, diamond. For sin power,
the new Vaishajahan is named
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Rumman is in Armenock Amen,
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Island Islands and OCI. The Director
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New Carriage Trilogy, "Required",
Willie "Jules, Jazz, Gupiter,
Pipelatusu Suserisis, Worst Order ....
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October, September, April,
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Trailers, Trailers / Trailers,
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Backpops II are going to wall
after returning with Dental Retreat,
Russia, Desael Lucia A Nondinker
17 The Osasun ARG and Ten Men,
the history of Noga Summit,
face painting sites, Julia, McLean,
William App Alley, Good Luck
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ivono finis no iogor is not a theory,
it is not taha in the Kola power.
For example, the Philippines,
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have chosen rugby, women,
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Fancy they wish for
Moments i pray for
As they lay high flying with the birds
I hope i hold your hands by the palm and walk with you
As they carry bags and trollies i carry smiles and laughter on our voyage

I know money is necessary but cant be everything

We got God and we got we
We got music and sounds of nature
We got rain and kisses of the sun
And soon we get a copy of us

For if the wind blows us in the same direction in a union of the roots and soil
They ground shall be I to catch you the leaf off the tree