Poetry Blog by Patricia and Stefan Wilde
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 renewed and rerouted underground.
I,m wondering if this useless to be carrier
of so many many voices-cum-bird perch
will be i...
Monday 22nd January 2018 10:58 am
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...
Thursday 18th January 2018 5:28 pm
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
Wednesday 17th January 2018 12:23 pm
a little guy
aims his toy gun
at the other kids
to him,they are the 'baddies'
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...
Sunday 14th January 2018 7:20 pm
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...
Thursday 11th January 2018 8:50 pm
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
Tuesday 9th January 2018 7:44 pm
( 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 ...
Thursday 4th January 2018 7:31 pm
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.
Wednesday 3rd January 2018 10:40 am
Fiery day banked down
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.
Tuesday 2nd January 2018 9:16 pm