Poetry Blog by Wolfgar

Shadows

 

In La Línea we kicked dust for days waiting for the man,

we drank and fucked and argued, and drank and fucked then killed.

Back streets like tattooed scars, their whores rattling with pills,

we broke their beds and then their legs, 

 

                        and flushed away their poison.

 

You went West and I went Mad, ten years intervened.

Windhoek found us,

dust ...

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Open Coffin

 

I have lost the ability to tell a lie

it will be the death of me

 

I am a coffin without a lid

begging for closure

 

Those rusty nails to be hammered down

my arms folded so peacefully

 

I’ll be spat on and laughed at when I’m gone

that’s fine my blood will live on

 

I’m sorry I constructed my own demise

but not that I saw it through wide open eyes  

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The bad Soldier

 

The bad soldier stopped firing at Omaha beach

he unloaded his MG 42 and lit a cigarette

 

The bad soldier in Helmand

walked out of his compound and blew out his brains

 

The bad soldier in Ireland 

put in his notice

 

The bad soldier at Belsen

died of typhoid

 

The bad soldier in Paris

gave up his life for another to live

 

The bad soldier in Homs

...

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Slaves without Masters

 

A thistle in his palm distracts his mind from real harm,

white knuckles on the rail dilute his terror into calm.

The quiet of the stairway and his mothers doorway shut,

the ticking of the Bornholm and a sinking in his gut.

 

These things all distant memories yet living tears now flow,

in haunted rooms un-reveries that no-one else should know.

While the authors of his secr...

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The Ruin

 

In beautiful decrepitude

the structure stands bereft and crude

 

through windows cobwebbed and curtain’s torn

it gazes down where dust was lawn

 

the slated roof now patched with fern 

its chimney stacks that once did burn

 

are housing rats that left the ship

but never quite abandoned it

 

and often when the Sun breaks through

it warms the rooms where l...

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Revenue generator

 

Once I was fined for uttering the word fuck

it was in a midland town in England

a Policeman happened by and took offence

 

It was directed at nobody

just an imaginary enemy

yet he chose to be offended

 

And I was sick

 

I wondered what he would do

if I related the murdering of innocents to him

how throats were cut and hearts bayoneted

 

I called him a...

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Rule Britannia

 

There was a young man from these shores

whose Trident was rusted and bent

and when held to account for the cause

could not clearly state what he meant

 

So he blustered and coughed and otherwise stalled

and flicked through the pages of books

then found that history of what was recalled

was other than how it had looked

 

And whenever a soul from other than there

...

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Beyond the Dark Wood

 

And I noticed the folds of the silken wings

had blended with the Oaken bark,

as one they formed natures pillow

both dead, yet comforting to my fractured mind.

 

Slumbering, my memories carried me above the sheltering canopy.

They shook me in my dreaming yet still the lumber held me firm,

it’s rotten boughs forgave my fall

and Angels wings embraced me there.

 

In ...

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Mostly Compost

 

I am mostly compost,

reconstructed from the dead and the tossed.

My ancestry is not linear

for there is many a bastard 

                                           from here    

                                                           to Killinkere.

 

In those Cavan fields with their mounds of dead earth

my forefathers laid awaiting rebirth,

in the black and the pe...

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