Poetry Blog by Patricia and Stefan Wilde

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 renewed and rerouted underground.

 

I,m wondering if this useless to be carrier

of so many many voices-cum-bird perch 

will be i...

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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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HEY LOOK! ITS US ON HERE ENJOYING OURSELVES AGAIN/ AWHILE!

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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

the...

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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)

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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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