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As you may have seen on the News and Features page, I have compiled a selection of fifty poems to mark the second anniversary of Russia's invasion of Ukraine. Some of these poems will be familiar to regular contributors, but a number have not yet featured on the WOL blog.
This is a private print and not available for general sale, but I would be pleased to send a free PDF copy by e-mail to anyb...
Thursday 22nd February 2024 5:08 pm
‘Time passes,’ said the man at our table.
‘People want something new.’ I guess he’s right.
It's the prevailing theory round here.
‘The same old faces,’ opined another;
‘You know, Zelensky. Always wants money.’
And ‘here’ is anywhere, maybe everywhere.
Time passes. All of us know that feeling:
You turn a new page in a calendar
Or put away Christmas decorations.
Friday 16th February 2024 5:41 pm
Grey clouds roll in
The Sun sets in
Long ago was the summer of smiles
Now dark brooding anguish riles
Only the forgotten battlefields remember
The light green and the fond Heather
While with winds kiss
The clock winds and begins to hiss
The ticking is louder than ever now
As we wind our lives further down
While far away the threat is real...
Friday 9th February 2024 2:34 pm
A morning to freeze the spirits.
As they shiver in hollowed times,
Workers stamp and spit used breath.
At the corner I see two men:
Their eyes wet from today’s bad news.
‘You can always tell,’ says my guide;
'They both had sons where it happened.'
I try to do an interview:
Get short shrift. Understandably.
As we leave, one of them calls out:
‘Poetry is dead. Art is dead...
Thursday 8th February 2024 8:17 am
We queued at the supermarket;
I saw that everyone was dead.
And yet they were still standing.
Out of defiance? Contempt?
Perhaps just out of habit.
We queued at the bakery,
And in the rows of cakes
We saw the faces of the fallen:
Unmoved, at last at peace.
We queued at the bus stop.
A passer-by called out to us
And we called back,
But no one was alive...
Saturday 3rd February 2024 8:48 am
A viper slides its way beneath the grass;
The animals of prey are on the prowl.
The innocent and helpless stand no chance
Against the savage tastes of hawk and owl.
Upstairs, forbidden lovers take the plunge;
Their beads of sticky sweat adorn the bed.
She’s fast asleep while he boosts up his pack;
Outside waits a procession of the dead.
The hunters beat the heavin...
Monday 1st January 2024 8:59 am