Poetry Blog by Patricia and Stefan Wilde

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Patricia and Stefan Wilde on Blind dog (Tue, 31 Jul 2018 06:44 pm)

Rose Casserley on Blind dog (Sun, 22 Jul 2018 12:03 am)

Wood on Water music (Wed, 2 May 2018 11:58 pm)

Big Sal on Blind dog (Fri, 20 Apr 2018 04:00 am)

Martin Elder on Blind dog (Sun, 4 Mar 2018 03:48 pm)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on Less mouths (Sat, 3 Mar 2018 08:16 pm)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on ongoing futility of questioning finality (Sat, 3 Mar 2018 08:12 pm)

LEON STOLGARD on Less mouths (Sat, 3 Mar 2018 04:57 pm)

Jemima Jones on Less mouths (Sat, 24 Feb 2018 01:57 pm)

Jemima Jones on ongoing futility of questioning finality (Sat, 24 Feb 2018 01:53 pm)


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Flashbacks of the innocent

In remembering,

wars horrific stories

continue going back to page one

in the minds of old soldiers.

Cruelty prepares each new path

for them to re-enter the madness

where brotherly ghosts wait

trying to smile with torn faces

trying to wave without hands

yet remaining as hauntingly close as ever

to the living.

They who once were new victims

marching the cratered r...

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Blind dog

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But still,

he retains his senses

gleaned from his younger days

that make him aware of his surroundings.

He knows

he knows

he is safe, 



that the possibilities

of obstructive furnishings

won't get in his full shadowed way.


Occasionally he will brush his head against them

as though needing to know they are still there.


Very slowly precariousl...

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Less mouths

I have just thought

of the best way

I can help the third world

I shall go to the sperm bank

and withdraw all of my deposits 



© Stef Wilde 24/02/2018


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ongoing futility of questioning finality

Our time decreases unceasingly until

replacing this short-lived light with enigmatic gloom

so unkind the pace so unknown the darkening hour or its place

or why our journeys from the womb


shall our used flesh transmute to fleshless spirit

when ends it's earthly stay

will eternity expose such secrets to we it's passengers

or simply carry us forever and endlessly away?


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Neglected garden


Basketry of brambles

woven into a world of entanglement. 


Varying forms of fauna

attempt superiority

dotting the sprawl with colour.



near-hidden from view

a limpid green pool

slowly succumbs

to Summers evaporative smoldering

as it hovers over the thick brothy surface.


Adorning the flowerings

more beautiful still

a showy butterfly


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Haiku; Resin trap

Jurassic insect caught in amber

Single dead preserved prisoner for all eternity

Seen through deaths golden window. 

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To you on the highest stage

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Your words beneath our wings

your pebbles of humour

scattered among many pages



From every one of your invaluable lines

and befriending opinions

we continue learning

how to discover fire and flight


lessons kept 

treasured like precious collectable's

used to repair our ongoing faults.


No dear friend

there can never be a beginning to the end


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Farm girl

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Like a two-toned projectile

she speedily diminishes any distance

works the fields

with almost human conscientiousness.


To her the heights 

of any surrounding stone wall

fence or five-barred gates

are insignificant.


You will never see

tiredness or unwillingness

in her alert beautiful eyes


only the enjoyment of devotion to duty

and a keen state of r...

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Water music

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Ceasless thunderous

unfolding orchestrations


Subsiding into

whispering adagios


Blue-green compositions

played out

on golden grained keyboards



© Patricia Wilde 27/01/2018

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listen to the snicker man

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feeling miserable?


you have only a week to live!

Then you wake up

its all been a bad dream.





you are not yourself

when you just sit there finding fault

with the tiniest of problems in life.




© Patricia Wilde 27/01/2018

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facing redundancy

prior to the arrival of swallows lining up on it

doubtlessly chattering about the journey here

like an excited party of returning schoolkids 

the black liquorice looking cable

hung between creosoted posts, I hear

is being pensioned off

to be rerouted underground.


I,m wondering if this useless to be carrier

of so many many voices-cum-bird perch 

will be ignored and s...

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Duping the duper

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Sly pretentions hid in

the words given to this my heart

she thought captured

that it would foolishly believe

were messengers of love.


Her intentions glazed with skilful deception

and perceptions of my enslavement to her foolery

I thought deemed to be poorly schooled in the art of defence against manipulation.


How deviously she had sighted my inner lonelinesse...

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so here are the writings

that have inspired us

here in the WOL blogging's

the meat and veg of poems and stories

our favourites above all other literary fayre 


a celebrated crowning of our occasional days

that will never be allowed to go awry.


Here we learn how moods and opinions of all kinds

swing the poetical and story telling weather

through the compasses


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makings of a lone wolf

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a little guy

aims his toy gun

at the other kids

to him,they are the 'baddies'

playtime fodder

for his invisible bullets.


Each of his trigger pulls

seeing those in the imaginary crosshairs

pretending to die

plants an indelible overwhelming

feeling of power

in his young subconsciousness.


Just a kids game right?


But little are we able to determine


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Mr Dark and I

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Struggling up the hills challenges my age

but poses no problem

for my insubstantial companion


he can manage it lying down!

no aching joints or defiant lungs

in his fleshless boneless body


he WOULD find it easy

that voiceless negative of me

since it is I who am obliged

to keep him in tow


and despite the fact that at present

he weighs nothing and has n...

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precious number nine

a vandal thrown beer bottle in free fall 

at the point of smashing

about to rebound its echoey voice off the cobbled

alleyway walls and become a glittering shard carpet

sends me into immediate reverse

loud threats from the brain dead youth

not content with his meaningless victory

I cannot stop from luxuriating in my ears.


In retreat looking back over my shoulder


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trainee shopper

( Thanking Colin Hill for inadvertently helping me to glean an idea for this poem from one of my own comments on his Bread making machine brilliant yarn and also thanking my wife in allowing me to imagine how I would cope in her somewhat elongated absence)



Would she when no longer gathering at the check-out

into Asda ...

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my disappearing role in disappearances

each ache of longing

for the good old times

becomes lost when coming up against reality

where the modernised live

in sterile places not the damp terraces of Crumbling Town

doors of which I repeatedly try to re-enter in my mind

but even they are attempting to make good their escape

leaving me alone in the new cold

stubbornly refusing to adapt.


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in corridors of after light

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Fiery day banked down

subsiding into

a smouldering core of sunset


and you O handsome nocturnal creature

soon to be caressed

by unreeling celestial luminaries

enhancing the fluency of nightfall.


Oft near motionless monarchic observer

surveying your realm of moon powdered fields 

with clockwork fashioned turns of the head.


Ghostliness, vigilance

are yo...

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