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Wolfgar

Email: wolfgarmunk@gmail.com
Updated: 16 hours ago
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Biography

I have won no awards for my writing, so cannot endlessly bore you with a list of them with which you can measure me by. Sorry for denying that pleasure to any who enjoy it, and well done to all trophy owning listed literary giants. Instead I have posted some of my scribbling's here, call them what you will. I lack the brass to refer to myself as a poet, that is a distinction to be made by others and not self. Born in Scotland with English blood. Currently freelancing to the lowest bidders. I enjoy reading, music and recounting great military failures of modern times. I also enjoy shooting at moving targets especially if they are retreating, I always aim off target in the hope that one day someone might do the same for me. I have travelled and lived on every continent except antarctica. I have lived in almost every despicable place imaginable. I have met the most evil and the most selfless of people. I have done good and bad, I have renounced the bad, though it is still there for me to call upon if needed (hopefully not) I have survived quite a few of my enemies, some are now friends. Some are simply forgotten. I am a Humanist, though independently, I do not like associations. I do not believe in a supreme being (certainly no god). I have not come to that conclusion in ignorance or without a real search, I respect the right of others to their beliefs, however irrational they may seem to me. I am respectful of nature and am resigned to the fact that it can crush me at any moment, a fact that probably demands more than a little respect. I was raised in a religious Methodist household of which my father, a Minister was head. Despite my writings I am relatively happy in my world, though I wish I saw my family more. I am not what I write. I dislike ignorance when it is willingly embraced, I dislike it no-matter of its root, but accept much of it can be mitigated by opportunity or blamed on the lack of it. I like to offer comments on the work of others, I work on a basis of positive words including constructive criticism. I am not concerned with the punctuation deployed by others, and if I were to mention it I think for the sake of courtesy I would do it privately. I might expect the same consideration. PS, I do not take life as seriously as all that waffle might suggest. Wolfgar.

Samples

Eternity’s sunrise Are we not men weighed down by earth? though anchored firm by chains held fast, may no day pass to this, from birth that we not live as if our last. Fear not eternity’s cold embrace that crawling sift of withering, but lift our hearts and sunward face to greet the hope each day will bring.  A call to arms A bloody ball, a tissued knot, from busted sac and membranes snot. What joy! this spat out burst of life, bestows us all in midst of strife. Yet, Still some say they fear to give, breath to new life that it should live. And by so doing seal their fate a legacy, of joyless state. Let not the acts of earthly fools diminish natures founded rules, but steel ourselves to populate with those that love not those who hate. The Bishops Tale Dear Mother who's my dad? I'm curious who you've had, or alternately who had you dependent on ones view. My lineage now in question, has been challenged by suggestion that you when less than guarded, saw my bloodline set retarded. Now a man of sacred threads, I'm accountable to my flock so need to know the beds, in which you serviced cock. Crimes against mysanity (to an alter ego) Sycophantic, word-pedantic dictionary whore. Your literary vacuum leaves me wanting more. Your spewing words thick with rot, from something ill ingested tie my patience like a knot, intestines worm infested. You’re like a stain of afterbirth still born and flushed away, I’d write a book about you if I thought that it would pay. As it is, you’ve raised my hackles and forced my angry tongue, I’d restrained it under shackles until my hate you idly won. Please walk into an ocean, a propeller or a plague. If justice had a notion you’d be rendered to The Hague. In the forest of future words In the forest of future words branches expand ever upward, competing to tear the skies rich belly. From where a pour of inspiration falls, to drench the woodlands dreamy ramblers. Then on the forest floor, in the sodden earth of hope, wormy crawling. Evolving thought embeds itself, seeking seed. By chance to couple some dormant gift and sprout the chute that offers life. Where ancient bark is stripped from trunk to lie beneath what it once was, and slowly sink back to the mulch. Its only purpose, to rise again and fill the empty sky, reaching as before. as if to answer, why? This cycle of events uncoils, un-thought. Absent of conscious reasoning, it has no known agenda, no predictive text. The forest of future words, is mankind’s sheltered womb. From which all else is born, and to which all returns. Tilt Things seen unravelled from the sense they make, make non-sense of sense. Collected and reassembled they are merely the same thing repackaged, brand new shiny exciting exotically uncharted. though there is nothing new under the sun for she is ever static, yet falling it is the light she emits that alters the view and how prepared we are to tilt Black lung Nostalgic remembrance, cobblestoned thoughts sparking memories and nudging senses, of wide eyed fathers descending clean. The yellow helmet resurrected ascending home Black as the cavernous eternity that disgorged them. These happy few assaulting the faceless face, brothers in arms picking a seamless seam. A glory in labour and grime, hardship rewarded by fellowships respect. Sinewed muscled bodies, labyrinthine with tissue and tunnelling vein. Spit and blood as they dug and dug, black dust mined their souls Its vengeance silent A dormant insurgent. And then to the death, Of gasping, frothing and wheezing. Armchair’s torn and ripped, clawed by white knuckled hands. Clinging to life and breath cursing the owners who shoved them down, tear stained rage. Released back to the black cavern, back down, and down beyond the dust to cleansing fire and deliverance. Cap those pit heads, blow the shafts tear apart communities that canonised dead men digging. Bring on the shopping malls, the wind farms the nukes. Let the earth cough up its dead. To scream never again, scream never again. The Bucket ‘O’ Blood The Bucket ‘O’ Blood’s Cobbled yard Red brick walls Bottle scarred Toe to toe And ale ready Bets put down Nerve’s held and steady Weighty men Of lowly breed Heavy of hand Or quick of speed Thrust like dogs Un-leashed Un-fed More alive The nearer dead Snarling spitting biting Leap Its stand and hold Or lose your keep Its knees and knuckles Smashed and broke Its gouged plucked eyes Its throats that choke For all the combat on the floor Its those that watch that I fear more And throw their coin on blooded stone To ply their trade in flesh and bone Every Kingdom Comes Every kingdom battles through generations of its own blood, Leaves behind a footprint trampled deep in mud. Every kingdom rises in the sunlight of its wealth, Then vents its subjects’ children in honour of itself. Every kingdom adorns its martyrs and frames their sacred faces, High on walls, in statued squares they hang in hallowed spaces. Their judging eyes fixed on us To remind us where our place is. Every kingdom comes to know, That every kingdom dies. And In its mournful passing, See’s another kingdom rise. The Arc of the convenient Atheists, aren’t they scum? hating everyone, until their Kingdom Come. Swarming over deserts locusts on the land. Dropping bombs and purging those not in their plan. Burning books and temples, raising treasures to the ground, they are the non-believers for they the truth have found. They’re raising up whole armies with no God to go to war, those silly little people don’t they know what Gods are for? Slabs (reflections on Sachsenhausen) 2015 Cold white slabs stand stark in the room, an aspect of manicured lawn’s. Gun towers straddle the fence-line, two worlds divided by blood. Separated by the accident of birth. Come Kinder, come Oma, come Opa. Under the knife, under the hammer, under the gun. Come all you who are not us, lay yourself on slabs. When darkness falls they’ll sluice the waste, and wash the filth away but who of you bears witness, to the horror’s of this day.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Audio entries by Wolfgar

No tribe (25/05/2017)

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And the weeping should waken (23/05/2017)

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No quarter (22/05/2017)

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In the heart of drought (20/05/2017)

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Rootless (18/05/2017)

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Child of no hope (13/05/2017)

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Tweseldown (11/05/2017)

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No note (10/05/2017)

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Do you want to talk about it? (07/05/2017)

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Topographic oceans (06/05/2017)

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Comments

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Emer Ni Chorra

Mon 15th May 2017 20:39

I am pleased to log in here and see that you have won poem of the week on wol for the second time and that you are the first person to do so. Well done, David! You are a powerful, humble writer and as an avid reader I am constantly drawn into your wonderful poems. Always a pleasure to read your work. I don't know how you can write so many masterpieces every few days. Stay motivated, Congratulations again, absolutely delighted for you. 🙌😃💪

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Stu Buck

Fri 12th May 2017 19:43

cheers david - as bill hicks once said, 'everyone should have at least one psychedelic experience in their life, really get that third eye squeegee'd'

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keith jeffries

Thu 13th Apr 2017 16:17

Hello Wolfgar, Thank you for your biography which I found interesting, illuminating and humourous, in particular when you say that you are not what you write. I also enjoyed the poem Private Viewings in the City of Light. Short but it conjures up so much in the way of thoughts and similar experiences. Thank you again. Keith

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Tommy Carroll

Sat 18th Mar 2017 22:00

"Growing weary at a folkies bear and banjos. Cheers Wolf.

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Tommy Carroll

Sat 18th Mar 2017 21:53

Wolf I'm getting there re Christy Moore-

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Tom Harding

Mon 13th Mar 2017 01:14

Hi David, thanks for taking the time to look at my collection, really appreciate the support and the kind comments!

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Ian Whiteley

Sat 11th Mar 2017 01:01

thanks for commenting on 'Soldiers Box' David - yes - you've got it in one - must dig out that track and have a listen. I've been on an infrequent theme about my dad - who served in Burmha in WW2 - this is the latest 'visit' to his things that he left me. It makes me sad and proud at the same time. I appreciate you commenting - and sorry for the delay in replying - I don't come on WOL as often as I once did
Ian

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Tommy Carroll

Fri 10th Mar 2017 19:05

Cheers David re "Lift" ;- )

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elPintor

Sun 12th Feb 2017 23:54

Hi, David,

You know, I'm a big fan of your insight. It bears repeating that hearing how a reader receives a piece (not necessarily praise) is immensely gratifying. I truly appreciate the ability to communicate on this level. And, I know that wouldn't be possible without people like you stepping forward and speaking up with their personal thoughts.

Thanks for supporting me with your continuing comments.

Rachel x

Martin Elder

Wed 8th Feb 2017 21:14

Hi David
Thanks for reading to write or not to write, glad you enjoyed it. Us Orwellians have go to stick together
Cheers
Martin

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Rhiannon

Thu 26th Jan 2017 12:26

I really like your exploration of the 'the forest of future words' as you put it... nice imagery. In particular - 'Evolving thought embeds itself, seeking seed.' Very good, mind altering stuff.

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Paul Waring

Fri 20th Jan 2017 11:43

David, just wanted to say thank you for your reply to my comments about Shatila 2017 and for the link to your poem 'Not Enough'. I have read it a few times now, it is a brilliant rage-fuelled statement that captures the tradegy of Aleppo (and, of course, many other places blighted by this type of war). It also reminds us the absurdity of war (and other absurdities in the world) that many of us feel helpless and pained about, hurting for our fellow human beings.

Paul

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Natasha Townsend

Thu 22nd Dec 2016 19:14

Hey Wolfgar! I read biography. A fellow living contradiction! Love it. Life is ever changing, moving, flowing. I am what I am right now nothing more and nothing like yesterday or tomorrow. I also am not what I write or as serious as I seem. I like the sound of you. And your poetry's not bad either 😉. Nat x

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Tom Harding

Fri 18th Nov 2016 20:00

thanks for your recent comments on harbour wolfgar!

Travis Brow

Thu 17th Nov 2016 15:31

Hello Wolfgar, i don't think i've read your biography before, at least not fully. Now, having read it, it strikes me as one of the best, witty and serious and thought provoking. I'm particularly intrigued by your claim that 'I am not what I write'. How true is that? I sort of feel the same, but at the same time i wonder if i'm EXACTLY what i write. There's an archaic (no offence intended, at all) style to your writing which i really like. It's unusual, but you deploy it beautifully in A call to arms.

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Katy Megan Hughes

Thu 15th Sep 2016 20:24

Thank you for your comment on my poem 😀
Much appreciated, Katy

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elPintor

Wed 14th Sep 2016 21:59

Hi, David,

"before I learned mechanics.." is definitely true, save the location (though I remember the snow having a layer of ice over it, that's how cold it was) and--I'm not sure now why--but I didn't leave him for good for several years after that.

It was about 25 years ago..something brought up the memory and I couldn't stop laughing about it all day yesterday. It is a departure from my usual, but I just had to write about it--even though its also more personal than I would usually permit myself to be in such an open forum.

It was terribly comical. And, for that moment, I felt bad for him. But he was a mean prick and I've never felt a moment's regret or guilt about divorcing him.

Good to hear your comments. I really appreciate it.

elP

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Estelle Haward

Mon 12th Sep 2016 15:23

Really like "tilt".

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elPintor

Sat 10th Sep 2016 23:24

Hi, David,

I want to say thank you for commenting on "night vision". I share your sense of wonder at the timeless quality of the cosmos. And, to know that we are each part of it--I would say--in turn, makes our lives eternal.

Your opinion means a lot to me. Thanks again for encouraging me to write.

elP x

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Hallie Elle

Fri 1st Jul 2016 17:37

Your bio leads me to believe that you are a beautiful person. Bravo.

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Vicky R.

Thu 23rd Jun 2016 22:42

Hi David,

You're very welcome! It was good to hear from you. Hope you are having a pleasant day :)

-Vicky

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Tom

Sun 5th Jun 2016 00:21

Hi David, thanks so much for your comments on Bullet Holes in Backyards. Really pleased you enjoyed it. I know it's not 'learning from the past' exactly but taking stock of what could be, and what has been, is a good way to quickly gain some perspective when needed. Thanks! T.

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Helen Elliott

Wed 1st Jun 2016 21:21

David

Sometimes (not often) I read a poem and wish I had written it. 'Write me something of love' is one of those poems. I keep re-reading it. It truly is beautiful and has such a classic feel to it.

I definitely connect to your softer poems.

Helen :)

Emily Kate O'Sullivan

Thu 26th May 2016 15:23

Your writing aside...can I just say I thoroughly enjoyed and respect your bio!

Emily

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 23rd May 2016 23:36

Thanks for the kind comments regarding 'The Bayonet In The Shed' Wolfie - pleased you liked it - I know what you mean about the end lines - was a difficult write as 95% of it is true and it brought home a lot of memories
Ian

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Graham Sherwood

Sun 22nd May 2016 18:12

David thank you for commenting on Rush Hour

There is a back story to this. A couple of weeks ago my wife asked me to clear last year's debris from the box. As I removed it (requiring a considerable wiggle) I peered inside and to my horror Mrs Tit was already inside and three eggs had been dislodged into the corner of the box.
Carefully replaced, I seem to have done no harm whatsoever, thank goodness!

Thanks again!

Graham

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Phil Kay

Tue 17th May 2016 18:09

Just got through "Black Lung"... what a tribute to the fight those folks have made and still make.

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Graham Sherwood

Fri 13th May 2016 10:09

David, many thanks for your kind words on Audience.

They have made me edit out (unusual for me) the word robed as I thought from your comments it gave a wrong impression.



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Phil Kay

Thu 12th May 2016 18:50

Hey man, thanks again for your comments, this time on "My Grandad". Your comments are spot on.

If I tell people that my Granddad was the bare knuckle champion of Old Hull which was pretty much of Hull then I usually get some sort of remark romanticising the whole situation as some sort of working class anti hero in my family.... They are brain blind to the realities of someone who can do that.

Also the damage we suffer in war is hidden for many by the realities of life after. But families are the ones who see the person who left and the one who came home.

Then there is vilification, the suggestion that by signing on the soldier sort of "asked for it"... and the reality which is by my experience that for a young guy there is a romanticism of the whole situation which is normal and blinds to the realities. How can a young person truly know.

But again thank you so much for your always thoughtful comments David.


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raypool

Tue 10th May 2016 14:20

Hi David. Thanks for picking up on the slavery poem. I don't usually put on stuff with social content, but the idea came to me about how human time is just a thin layer on old footings (unless you don't believe in evolution of course). Hypocrisy is in there and sadness and how humanity treads down what it takes for granted as civilization apparently moves on. The walkway is just a metaphor, interestingly the chalk is threatened by erosion as we know - but that's life. This is the first entry of the poem anywhere.

Ray.

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