Poetry Blog by Wolfgar

How many Christmas trees

 

Eight cars

big gates

six doors

 

deliveries

livestock

and yours

 

staff and visitors

contractors

and those to be ignored

 

unrooted trees

ripped from soil

their bulbs of borrowed light

 

give praise to the new born

and the commoners toil

affording their still silent night 

 

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Dead Man

 

 

(Dialogue kicks in after first few bars)

 

Through a tunnel carved in dead mens bones

the living went to hell

the stoker fed the flaming mouth

as the hammer struck its knell

 

The landscape flattened beneath the plain

its rivers turned to dust

strange tepees ripped ragged by blackened rain

sit fragile on the crust

 

Passengers cling to souls long sold

...

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Dead ManJim JarmuschNeil YoungStuff

Hallucinogens and Conversions (how junkies find god)

 

He chased it down the mirrored hall

his own reflection on the wall

then into aether the two did fall

like they were never there at all

 

They drifted for what seemed an age

in laudanum’s self indulgent cage

from the horrors of a shared reality

came one singular duality

 

Then sober in some new-found reunion

they set out fresh upon the land

enriched by some ...

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Limp Biscuit

 

I was the custard in your biscuit

the dodgy bit in jam

the currant in garibaldi

I was your undigested man

 

You took me from my shiny tin

and rubbed me into crumbs

I was the one that you let in

the hard bake that succumbed

 

Dunked within your poisoned drench

you made my crunch un-stiffen

I supped until my thirst was quenched

struck dumb too drunk to lis...

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Death Message

 

He hadn’t been ill in the clinical sense

but he had destroyed his soul in search of it

 

He had chased it across deserts and

through

            Labyrinthine

                               Streets

through whore house windows

                                                 with no socks on his feet

 

The Policeman who found his wrung out corpse

rifled his pock...

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Between Bells

 

The pale Sun clambers up St Andrews steeple

for a moment it trembles like a spinning plate

 

appealing bells ring out its rise

as the pagan sphere ascends through immaculate skies

 

dog walkers desecrate the sacred stones

their canine companions water old bones

 

the ancestors wetted they wander off home

while the bell ringer ponders the silence alone 

 

In...

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