Freedom

Freedom
By John A. Wilson

To worship my God in the way that I chose
To publicly speak my mind as I will
To print whatever I feel is the news
And earn my keep according to my skill

To travel when and wherever I may
To be judged by a jury of my peers
To vote as I wish on Election Day
To choose the music that falls on my ears.

These freedoms are but a few that we know
In this country that I call home
Where our freedom has been allowed to grow
And people are free to settle or roam

But freedom is such an uneasy thing
And the price oft-times is war's ugly sting

Primal Fear

Primal Fear
John A. Wilson

My heart beats a tattoo inside my chest
My breath becomes short, respiration rapid
Sweat pours from my forehead
My mind becomes foggy
All rational thought stops
I want to run
But there is nothing to run from
An no where to run to
And the hardest part is
Trying to figure out what I'm afraid of

Hell

Hell
By John A. Wilson

I once could imagine the depths of hell
With all of its horror, torment and pain
For all of the souls who therein do dwell
Forever condemned to the devil's reign

But now of myself I am not so sure
As I sit here and try to contemplate
Just what those denizens there must endure
Once they have gone through that terrible gate

I thought I knew what real suffering was
But now I see how little I did know
I deceived myself as everyone does
Whenever we think that hell is just so

For hell is beyond imagination
Regardless the depth of contemplation

Everyday Heroes

Everyday Heroes
By John A. Wilson

Today like every day you put on that uniform
You can not know what today may bring
But ready you stand to take on come what may
The health and safety of our country depends on you
And you accept the responsibility even at your own peril
It matters not what uniform you wear
Be it military, police, fire or paramedic
Whether or not you ever hear a shot fired in anger
Rest assured, a hero you are.

Word Art

Word Art
By John A. Wilson

With lined paper for a canvas
And a pencil for a brush
Letters are my tubes of paint
My palate is my mind

Like a painter mixing colors
To create the perfect hue
I combine the letters together
To turn the perfect phrase.

My pen chisels away the unnecessary
To find the truth beneath
As a sculptor wears the marble away
To reveal the sculpture within

I use my words as building blocks
To build joy, suspense or romance
As an architect uses mortar and brick
To erect a magnificent edifice

Art is not confined to marble and paint
Or buildings and structures strong
Art exists in the mind's own eye
With none more beautiful than words

Complexity

Complexity
By John A. Wilson



Here sit I with pen in hand
Trying to explain what I don't understand
I don't know why I feel this way
Or why on my heart such burdens lay
I don't know what has brought me down
Or why on my face you see such a frown
The doctor says these pills will help
My friends say try this tropical kelp
But truth be known, no one understands
They say my happiness is in my hands
But the human mind is a complex thing
And from the brain strange things can spring
In my mind lies a living hell
And a raging storm I can never quell
So don't waste time trying to figure out
This thing that you know nothing about
Don't think that you can take away
The pain that I live with everyday
All you can do is love and care
And say for me a little prayer

The Sea

The Sea
By John A. Wilson

Storms will rise and gale force winds will blow
Waves will crash that can wash you overboard
Care must be used to best the windy foe
Though skill and nerve and trusting in the Lord.

Days there will be when there's no wind at all
Boredom sets in and your eye may wander
`Till another ship may hold you in thrall
Beware of the intrigue that you ponder.

Most days your sails will be filled with fair winds
The sea that you sail will be smooth and sweet
And with everyday problems you'll contend
With gentle hands on the tiller and sheet.

With love you can handle any weather
As you navigate life's seas together.

Our Guardian Heroes

Our Guardian Heroes
By John A. Wilson

I'll admit they aren't perfect
But can you say that you are?
They drive around all day
In a very conspicuous way.

You think all they ever do
Is hassle the likes of you
You never stop to consider that it is
Because of some of the things you do.

It's true our streets aren't safe
There seems to be crime everywhere
But can you imagine what it would be
If they were not even there.

You are free to go about your life
And do what you wish to do
Confident that you are protected
By the heroes in khaki and blue.

Dirty Old Man

I've never written a limerick before, but this one just came to me this morning.

Dirty Old Man
by John A. Wilson

There once was a dirty old man
Who thought he had a wonderful plan
He had a quick fling
With a pretty young thing
And wound up five years in the can.

Journey Through the Heart

Journey through the heart
By John A. Wilson

Freedom won at the point of a sword
Is expressed by the point of my pen
The joys and sorrows of all my days
I express just the way they have been

From the joy of a bounding puppy
To the pain caused by Cupid's sharp dart
I pour it all fourth onto paper
And every work is straight from my heart

My Faded Rose

My Faded Rose
By John A. Wilson


The petals of the rose are wilted now
The heavy hand of time has left its mark
The once-proud head begins to stoop and bow
The bright red petals are now turning dark.

The bright green leaves are now drawn and curling
The thorns once so sharp, have now lost their edge
The beauty lost, the flag now furling
Their undying love no one stands to pledge.

I could have kept the rose just like it was
Pressed `tween the leaves of some forgotten book
Freeze it in time like a botanist does
Its soul would be dead but not its new look

But my love's still strong for the fading rose
With all her aches and pains and aging woes.

Thank You, My Friend

Thank you, my friend
By John A. Wilson

A simple little gesture
Probably meant little to you
But it meant the world to me
Such a wonderful thing to do.

Today my spirits were really low
My ego had taken a blow
But you made me feel much better
With just a simple hello.

You could have walked on by
And not taken the time to speak
You made the choice to spend some time
When I was feeling down and weak.

I won't forget that little kindness
That you paid in your sweet way
And I vow to show my appreciation
With a similar gesture each day.

My Arduous Journey

My Arduous Journey
By John A. Wilson


Blindfolded I walk a treacherous path,
Through the dark swamplands of life.
The dangers that lurk there daily I face
Armed neither with spear nor gun, club or knife.

All manner of dangerous beast lurk here
In the shadows and the trees and pools.
Ready to pounce on the unwary ones
Who think they are protected by fancy jewels.

But the beasts, the snakes and the biting flies
Are never the things that concern me most
For always am I on my constant guard
Against the danger of the beastly host.

Those things I can see and defend against
In my trek across this dangerous land
My greatest fear is the thing I can't see
Like the deep sucking pools of the sand.

The ground that I tread seems solid and firm
Where the danger lies I can never know
My next step may bring disaster to me
As again I'm caught in the undertow

There's no reason why I sink into the sand
And nothing there is that can make me stop
I only can struggle and claw my way
If not to get out at least stay on top

It frightens you when I begin to sink
You care for me so you worry and fret
You want to find a way to help me out
Throw me a rope or be my safety net

I'm sorry but it doesn't work that way
This is something that I must do alone
Try to understand, this is not your fault
You're not the reason that I cry and moan.

You ask why I walk this dangerous path
Why not leave this treacherous place for good
I don't know how to make you understand
If there were any way I could, I would

It wasn't my choice this path that I take
The place where I am was thrust upon me
I must deal with it the best way I can
Fighting depression and insanity.

Seasons

Seasons
By John A. Wilson

Tripping through the lillies,
Sprawling in the grass,
Falling backward into fall leaves
Sliding on winter ice
Diving for a line drive
Doing a belly flop in the pool.

God, I'm clumsy

The Nature of God

The Nature of God
By John A. Wilson


You come to me and ask
What is the nature of God?
That's an answer I can't give

Many have tried in many ways
To explain that which you ask
No one ever will.

Some say the nature of God is a circle
Whose center is everywhere
And whose circumference is nowhere.

I have heard God described as a tree
Every living being is a leaf
And its roots are infinity

Some describe God as a superior being
Yes God is superior
But a being ? No!

You ask why the nature of God
Cannot be described ?
It is because of words

Every language that man speaks
Uses words to describe
The things of this world

Words that describe the things
Of this world can never describe
A thing that is not.

God is not of this world
So the nature of God
Cannot be described

So the nature of God
Can never truly be told
It must be felt

So if you want to know
The nature of God
Look only into yourself

Clear your mind and open your heart
Look deeply into your heart
And there God will be found.

Pain

Pain???
By John A. Wilson


Pain? Don't talk to me about pain
You don't know what pain is.
Pain is holding your best friend's head in your lap
As his blood flows out and slowly stops.
Pain is just waving at a friend rather than take the time
To speak to him and pass a few minutes of the day
And find out the next day that your friend is dead.
Pain is watching a friend's body waste away
While cancer takes it's deadly toll.
Pain is sitting and trying to decide
Whether that bottle of pills or that shotgun
Is the way you want to step out of this life.
But real pain is when that decision is on your mind
And there is no one, no one at all, to talk to about it.


Lake last Saturday night.

Persevere

Persevere
By John A. Wilson



My tears are as cold as the thick black ice
That weighs down the limbs of the trees.
My existence as pointless as the bright yellow stripes
On the tails of the worker bees.

But even though I suffer great pain
I know that I must go on.
If I can just hold on for one more day
Soon the pain will be all gone.

Nothing in life remains the same
On that you can depend.
The fragile pine tree snaps in the wind
But the mighty oak will bend.

Just ride out this storm I tell myself
It will all be over soon.
Then the clouds will pass, the sky will clear,
And I'll gaze at the stars and moon.

Lonely

Lonely
By John A. Wilson

The world goes on just outside
A giant windowpane
All I can do is sit here
And watch it go by.

I'm always an outsider
Though not by my choice.
The harder I try to be a part of it all
The more I feel left out.

Even those that speak to me
Every single day.
I'm just someone they know
Not someone to spend time with.

I'm not asking for much
Just to be included now and then
Let me be a part of things
I'm a lot more fun than you think.

My Pledge to You

My Pledge to You
By John A. Wilson

When you need someone to talk to,
I'll listen.
When you need a shoulder to cry on,
I'll hold you.
When you need a second opinion,
I'll give you mine.
When you need to be alone with your own thoughts,
I won't intrude.
When you feel like being playful,
I'll join you in your game.
When you need to vent some steam,
I'll be your pressure valve.
When you just need someone beside you,
I'll be there.
When the world is all against you,
I'll be on your side.
When the deck is stacked against you,
I'll back your bet.
No matter what your problem, situation or mood,
I'll be your friend.

The Wasted Search

The Wasted Search
By John A. Wilson

For more years than I remember
I searched to find myself.
Too busy in the search to see
That I was right here all along.

I sought the company of many
To be accepted into the crowd.
Never knowing that what I really sought
Was just to be alone.

I struggled hard to build my wealth
To have the things I need,
Too blind to see that what I really need
Cannot be sold or bought.

I sought the noise of laughter
Of those who seemed carefree,
And through the din I strained my ears
To try to hear the silence.

The Little Patch of Sky

The Little Patch of Sky
By John A. Wilson


I see a little patch of clear blue sky
And just the tops of half a dozen trees
I hear the droning hum of honeybees
And see an occasional butterfly

I stare out that window and softly sigh,
Minds can't be controlled they do as they please.
My mind travels out over distant seas
My spirit is free although here I lie

I lie here in this fetid little cell
And stare at that hole up there on the wall
I'm too tired to struggle, too hoarse to yell
My body shackled to a chain and ball
A prisoner for life in this earthly hell
Until my day in Execution Hall

I Answered the Call

I Answered the Call


By John A. Wilson



I answered the call when you needed me.
For my country, I gladly took a stand.
I took my rifle and I crossed the sea,
To fight for freedom in that distant land.

The blood of my comrades flowed at my feet,
And with each of my friends, part of me died.
I sweated each day in the jungle heat
And every night I hid my face and cried.

I cried for the loss of so many friends,
I cried for the loss of my innocence.
For youth is borne away on smoky winds
All in the name of national defense.

A few good men did what we had to do.
I cry today for those forgotten few.

Time

Time
By John A. Wilson

Gone are the playful shouts and
The raucous din of two active little boys.
No longer do we hear the running of little feet
Through the house despite my warnings not to.

Gone is the wide-eyed wonder
As the world around them is discovered anew.
Never again will there be hours of make-believe
And heroic adventures in lands as far away as the imagination.

Gone forever are the two dirty little faces
That looked to me with innocent trust
Gone are the little boys that made my world
Such a wonderful place to live.

For time, that slowly creeping thief
Has taken from me my two little boys
But mercifully time left two fine young men
Standing in the hall where the little boys once played.

Why Do We Dream?

Why Do We Dream?
By John A. Wilson


Why do we dream of soft winds
And moonlight in the trees,
Of branches reaching to the sky
Stripped of all their leaves.

Of Cassiopeia and Orion
High in the November sky
Of running feet, of bloodcurdling screams
As a Phantom rushes by.

Why do we dream of dust and smoke
And the moans that the wounded make?
Why do we dream of a night firefight
And the lives that we had to take?

Darkness

Darkness
By John A. Wilson

The darkness closes around me.
It holds me like a lover's embrace.
Darkness so thick I can almost feel it against my skin.
I don't fear the darkness
I welcome it.
It feels warm and comfortable to me, not cold.
Here in the darkness away from prying eyes
I can finally be myself.
Just me, no pretensions, no reputation to keep up,
Just me.
And no one can see my tears quietly fall.

The Plea

The Plea
By John A. Wilson


I hear your voice cry out
"Won't someone help me, please?
I cannot do this all alone
Please help me, please,"

Your eyes turn toward me,
Your plea is echoed there.
Others turn and look away.
They just don't seem to care.

What you ask is risky,
To help you could be my end.
Can't someone else do this?
On them can your life depend?

Your plea resonates through my soul
As you face the merciless horde.
I square my shoulders, step to your side,
Heft my shield and draw my sword.

My Watch

My Watch
By John A. Wilson


I stand my watch on the tower,
Not for fortune or for fame.
I'm here to do my duty,
Not add glory to my name.

I've stood my ground when others fled
Or ran and hid from the call.
But I add my sword to the others,
The defenders of this wall.

I'm only one of many
Who stand guard every day,
To guard you and protect you
As you travel on your way.

Through war and peace I'll be here
In case there is a need.
Even if it means that I must die,
For my country I will bleed.

So rest ye well America
Worry not at all.
You are safe as long as I am here,
Standing on this wall.

A Field of Yellow Daisies

A Field of Yellow Daisies
By John A. Wilson


Hand in hand, we walked along,
In a field of yellow daisies.
The cares of the world we did not feel,
In a field of yellow daisies.

I spoke of my undying love,
In a field of yellow daisies.
And asked her please to be my bride,
In a field of yellow daisies.

The church and all our families gathered
In a field of yellow daisies.
I took her there to be my wife
In a field of yellow daisies.

A cottage we built, warm and stout
In a field of yellow daisies.
We loved our lives together there
In a field of yellow daisies.

Then cold winds blew and tore apart
Our field of yellow daisies.
A fever took her and she fell ill
In a field of yellow daisies.

She died in the spring and I laid her to rest
In a field of yellow daisies
But her soul lives on in every breeze
Across a field of yellow daisies.

Death cannot end the love we had
In a field of yellow daisies.
For I remember her love each time I see
A field of yellow daisies.

My Strongest Need

My Strongest Need
By John A. Wilson

My need for you is strong.
I think of you and my heart races,
My body trembles, and my spirit soars.
I try to fight the craving for you,
But I know the cause is lost.
I must have you again.
I fear that the world will someday know
About my weakness for you.
I know that if I go to you
For one more taste of you,
My guilt will overcome me
And a heavy penance will be paid.
But my resolve weakens and crumbles.
I go to you, I take you and hold you.
The wonderful smell of you fills my senses.
This is insane, why can't I resist you?
I know that any other can have you
If they but pay the price.
But my need for you overwhelms me
And I slowly strip you bare.
My mouth aches for the taste of you.
My tongue gently caresses you
And the flavor of you fills my mouth.
My body relaxes and my eyes close.
The delicious sensation rushes through my body.



Ahhhhhhh, chocolate.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day
By John A. Wilson


I know that to you, it's just another day.
But to me it's a day of memories and pain.
I have given up hope of you ever understanding
And just saying a kind word to me when I need it.

Today you had a good time
With your family and your friends
Cooking out and just being together.
And never once did you think of the reason for the day.

Maybe it's because you didn't hold
The hand of a friend as his life slipped away
All for a cause that you can never explain
Or even understand.

But you are free today
To go about your day as you please.
Enjoy your freedom and your way of life.
But for just a moment, can you pause
And remember those who gave their lives
So you could have that freedom.

Beauty

Beauty
By John A. Wilson


The butterfly floats on delicate wings
With vivid patterns bright and colors pure,
And stately beauty of a thousand kings.
What'ere your melancholy it will cure.

The rose's beauty is like no other,
With dew-kissed petals and soft blushing hue,
The gentleness of a smiling mother,
With fragrance fresh, the fair lady to woo.

Though it seems such a waste of time to me
Countless poets are laboring to try
To tell what is the more lovely to see,
The blushing rose or the bright butterfly,

For your beauty is greater, I propose,
Than a butterfly perched upon a rose.

Tending My Field

Tending My Field
By John A. Wilson

For many years I was jealous,
Of my neighbor's field of corn.
The stalks were tall, the tassels long
With ears so plump and sweet.
Until one day he spoke to me
About my plot of peas,
"I wish that I could grow my peas
As fat and sweet as yours.
But, alas, the soil in my garden
Is not the proper kind."
My field is suited for one thing
His field for something else.
Time spent in envy of each other's gifts
Is woefully, forever lost.
So I no longer try to raise corn
My neighbor doesn't plant peas
He brings me corn, all that I need,
And I give him plenty of peas.
The Lord has given us each a plot
To till and tend our crops
Our job is to find what best grows there
And share our gifts with the world
And not to dwell on other's gifts
Because yours are special too.
So do not envy others
For talents you don't have
Just tend your field as best you can
And be proud of what grows there.

Fifty Eight Thousand Names

Fifty Eight Thousand Names
By John A. Wilson

Fifty-eight thousand names inscribed on the wall
Stare back at me in silent reproach.
They seem to ask,
"Why did you get to live and we had to die?"
Fifty-eight thousand names is all that is left
Of those brave sons and daughters, husbands and wives, sweethearts
and parents
That bravely took a stand
And paid the ultimate price.
Fifty-eight thousand names, their voices forever stilled
That never again heard children laugh
Or watched a crimson sunset,
Or felt the warm embrace of someone they loved.
Fifty-eight thousand names of those that never returned
To be publicly insulted and spat upon
By those who did not understand,
And to be shunned by a society where they no longer seem to fit.
Fifty-eight thousand names, now peacefully at rest,
Spared the years of nightmares, pain and tears.
My bitter answer is clear,
"Maybe you were the lucky ones."