Take these eyes

Pablo
Take these eyes that I may not see
the harm that went before,

and take this tongue which silently
withholds the words of war,

yet screams within a fractured mind
where only I can hear,

the terrors that were left behind
so far away but ever near.

Take my hands and wash them clean
of flesh tainted by blood,

that in the night they might un-claw
and grip some peace instead of war,

and please take my heart and fill it full
with all the things I lost,

that somehow might replace in me
all I spent to pay this cost.

© Wolfgar 2018 

The ruin

Ph60
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 love was true

and in that light see grandeur rise
where once the ruin beguiled eyes

© Wolfgar 2018

Drummer Lee-Rigby

Mountain Gorillas of Agashya Group

An updated interpretation of Drummer Hodge by Thomas Hardy

They throw in Drummer Lee-Rigby,
to bleed.
un-defended, just as culled.

His landmark a rain washed gutter,
which flushes the detritus of human life into a divisive Thames.
The cities true testament to multiculturalism.

Young Lee-Rigby never knew fresh from his red rose home,
that the pride of his life would out live that day, and be left to his boyhood alone.

And why up-rose to nightly unrest,
white boys with hate unleashed in their breast.

Yet portion of that well-trod street
will Lee-Rigby forever be,
from blooded tarmac to fiery melee.
From hate filled night,
to grief filled day.

The death of a forgotten land,
and a scarlet line drawn in their sand.

© Wolfgar 2018

Airfield thoughts 0630hrs

Farnborough - plane for web

Stopping for early coffee,
the car park is strewn like an abandoned chess board,
its players wantonly sprawled in beds of refuge
or drinking from lonely cups.

The airfield is a natural draw for cyclist
going round and round,
their music never stops.
Sit down, take a break,
you’re not the only ones awake.

Night workers and Day-breakers shuffle their biorhythms
into unnaturally fitting impositions,
chemically induced endorphins weave their moods
until the new day glistens.

Sporadic private jets interject my contemplation,
Sunday papers unfold as Marr awakes the Nation.
A subtle drift of aircraft fuel blends itself with caffeine,
I drink myself to life
and swipe my homepage clean.

I’ll drive from here to work and melt into the landscape,
becoming part of the art-form, part of life in just one take.
A panned out long-shot with credits running,
wide-eyed in widescreen,

Cinematically Stunning.

© Wolfgar 2018

 

Crimes against mysanity (notes to an alter ego)

860_main_plaguedoctor

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
stillborn 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 renditioned to
The Hague.

© Wolfgar 2018

Brisance

kabul 6

From brisance condensed in hatred
ignition came,
like the dormant dust of ages,
from careless words and truth-less history,
it came.
 
Some unknown, immolated, evaporated, disappeared.
Others reconstituted, pulling limbs and minds together.
Whilst the lost fragmented to darker corners,
into the splintered flash of a moment, screaming for eternity.
Thunder roars silent in their dead ears. 

The grey carpet laid randomly where it fell,
its fabric now woven into mine.
I wait for the second wave
to wash me clear,
away from the expanding storm,
to an untouched atoll.

© Wolfgar 2018

On the Beach

boy on beach

A disused children’s playground
the Carousel and Ferris Wheel,
where the seesaw’ed
when the peace thawed

Over there a shell hole
fifty meters from the breakfast buffet
The Al Deira Hotel fly’s freedom flags
but no castles in this sand today

The crippled body bent and cast
like a post-card from the edge
the broken promise clear at last
just another worthless pledge

© Wolfgar 2/2018

Fences

Ramallah fences

He found a stone in-between the fences
matted with blood and hair,
across the wire blackened canisters and rubber
which came from here but landed there.

There’s a fat old sloth slumped by the checkpoint
his weapon slung like a child’s toy,
he drags laboriously on filterless tips
and has no concern for a wounded boy.

From the tower, cameras scan the terrain
everything on CCTV,
while the man with the stone in no-mans land
ponders, which side of the fence should he be?

Ramallah 4 Feb 18

© Wolfgar 2/2018