Chords struck like bells,
within the straddle of a hand,
Ivanovka rang out to the stolen land.
Through Summers and peasant days
before The Great Silence,
the artist plays.
Though men without music crushed the soul
the melody remained,
and through decades of winters the refrain refrained.
It flowered in blooms that smother the cruel,
and love pushed on through..
it’s natures rule.
© Wolfgar 2019
Good morning folks. A little follow up to my video posted the other day, I wanted to say that admitting to bad behaviour in itself does not “make it alright” it is not an apology in itself, that would be something else. Also it is risky being honest, people easily and sometimes purposely misinterpret things, In the latest rambling I said I stole my fathers car which could be understood to be I took it for multiple reasons. I borrowed it without asking never meaning to take it permenantly, technically not stealing but maybe TWOC for those who know what that is. Anyway, it’s out there now lol. I am posting this “Specials” song “It doesn’t make it alright” although the sentiment of the song is not exactly what I am referring to here, the tag line of the title applies. Admitting is not in itself enough, it might be the start of the right path. Anyway…it doesn’t make it alright folks.
The first mouthful turns me inside out,
my soul screams down a tunnel of memories.
The slap, the fist, the spittle in my eyes
the sound of my mothers whimpering cries.
A key in the door, the stairwells echo
panicked faces in torch-light.
The desert with impact craters like a scarred brain,
sack cloth floating in the hot seared air.
This is where I laid that memory to rest,
where I exorcised my trauma by transference,
where I pollenated a thousand miseries,
with lead and fist and bomb,
where I punched a peoples shadow
until the shadow was all gone,
and I’m pouring in the poison that blackens out my skies,
for that fucker on the stairwell, he’ll never hear me cry.
© Wolfgar 2019
A shard of light rifled through infinity to embrace a petalled bulb,
across echoless voids enough to tempt The Christ.
Waterless and unbound by pathways yet still it arrowed straight,
no curtained silence, no hiding place, with a single radiant intent.
And then dispersed it scattered to a million points of purpose,
toward Corners, Deserts and Oceans, subtracted, refracted then gone.
I’ll ride that shaft of eternity some day and be carried to illumination,
burning like a returning Son, to flicker out and fade to nothing.
Oh but what a journey to just see its very end.
https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=90415
© Wolfgar 2019
Should we talk of those who we know not,
should we presume to know their hearts?
to measure all by our own lot,
is that not where division starts?
Could we not find some other tongue,
not forked or held or shackled dumb?
one true enough that all might hear
above the Babel-buzz of fear.
© Wolfgar 2019
And when I opened my eyes at last
when the fear had subsided
and my throat let me breathe
I saw your face and heard Angels Sing
God told me that I was God
and he was just a voice in my wilderness
He took my hand
and we walked into the Sun
and everything I knew just fell away
Toward the Bliss
© 2019 Wolfgar
Notes from life 