Wrapped in sky and heathered hills

caressed by briny horses wild,

so far from dark satanic mills

survives the empire's favoured child.

Once stripped and starved of tongue and god

its people slaved and banished cold,

crofts and mànas razed to sod

that none who dwelled there might grow old.

But land in time calls back its own

disgorging tyrants, killing king...

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He has taken things from children

and sometimes from the dead,

often both at once

yet not a word was said.

He has broken imposed curfews

commandments and the law,

in many different countries

protected by a war.

He has spoken of sedition

incitement and of hate,

with words as ammunition

he's schemed to obfuscate.

He has dealt with kings and ...

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Ice puddles like lily pads

an archipelago of creeping freeze,

stepping stones of tears perhaps

shed by autumns grieving trees...

then captured in the frozen glare

of sunlight’s first defiant rays,

they'll fade as if were never there

to herald in such hopeful days.

So many things unseen by men

the simple and the subtle change,

that slip through time like...

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I see them in forgotten towns

men in pairs and burdened mums,

nowhere stares with heads bowed down

"Something broken this way comes"

In carless forecourts of bleak hotels

where fag butts rot and litter blows,

cruel deals are done that no one tells...

We turn our heads so no one knows.

While in the dens of whispered spite

be-trolleyed locals sneer and scoff...

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Though there are wars we cannot see

their wounds and scars leave history

some is carved in marbled stone

the names of those beloved and known...

and some is seared to flesh and mind

unknown to those we left behind

who waved us off and served us well

and in their waiting shared our hell

Video and Audio available at link below

https://wolfgarwords.com/...

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Flesh is commodity

guns universal

uniforms reversable

flags incontrovertible

Kimchi for Borscht

tank for a horse

fodder for force

mutual of course

Bodies for bags

medals perhaps

dictators relapse

generational gaps

Star for a Sickle

water for trickle

allegiance for fickle

too much for so Little

Blood for the soil

dollars fo...

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The Jag is in the driveway

behind the iron gates,

the home was christened "My-Way"

(he who loses hesitates)

All the frills are garish

from The Pillars to The Pool,

the gothic-faux nightmarish

its rendition most uncool.

The topiary is phallic

it's freudiently flawed,

the colour palette so manic

passing psychopaths applaud.

A bronze eagle guard...

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