Poetry Blog by Wolfgar

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Wolfgar Miere on The Voyage of Sleep (1 day ago)

poemagraphic on The Voyage of Sleep (2 days ago)

Wolfgar Miere on The Voyage of Sleep (2 days ago)

raypool on The Voyage of Sleep (2 days ago)

Frances Macaulay Forde on Survival? (3 days ago)

Wolfgar Miere on Reportage (3 days ago)

Phil Kay on Reportage (4 days ago)

Phil Kay on Reportage (4 days ago)

raypool on Reportage (4 days ago)

Wolfgar Miere on Survival? (5 days ago)

The Voyage of Sleep

 

This bed my nightly raft to sail a thousand seas

descending into darkness the davit lowers me,

cast and swept, ripped and hauled beneath the waking world,

through silver blue translucent light some other plane unfurls.


Mirrored scales reflecting cool peaks of milky foam 

my cells mitosis multiply renewing then regrown,

from the healing of a timeless womb cocooned in vacant...

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Reportage

I kissed your hand you held it out to me in a song

you were taking photographs of children dying

I was shooting madmen in a jungle

 

I came home took drugs and fucked whores

you went home and fucked life and decried wars

 

I stripped skin from my worthless corpse

you put flesh on lost causes and pissed on cornflakes

 

I hated you and loved you too

you hated me and ...

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Survival?

https://wolfgarwords.com/

 

The skyline spattered by air bursting shells, 

canvas of grey, the birds have flown free.

The Belfry relieved of its heavenly Bells,

the crucifix splintered to saviourless tree.   

 

Rats eat bootlaces through to the bone

then we eat the rats and so eat our own.

God has deserted what we now defend

but the Devil is stoic, the Devil's a frien...

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Nomads

https://wolfgarwords.com/

 

Sycamore seeds turning like keys,

unlocking new seasons

blown on a breeze,

 

but now they lay dormant

through Rain and through Snow,

colours fast fading no warming red glow.

 

Within them sleep Summers and Winters unknown,

but all shall rise up

wherever they're sown.

 

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Bolton Abbey

https://wolfgarwords.com/

 

Nothing can be written of beauty

for serenity is silent.

 

Only cannon and drum

can pepper the page.

 

These hallowed places cleansed by blood,

their gift is peace.

 

Across history riders rode

Angel and Demon,

 

Tyrants sent emissary’s,

altars smashed and crosses burned

 

From darkest night

came the brighter day.

...

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