Safe Home

Safe Home

In the whiskied candlelight the night is still
not a single footstep falls for home
for all are home

The sky is full of emptiness
the foxes full of cunning doubt
and the quiet knows the storm will come

Yet now my pillowed head is calm
and tomorrow holds no fear
for all I love are safe and near

© Wolfgar 2020



A siren on a paper cup in swollen hands is offered up,
to shadows fleeting right and left that quickly pass the huddled cleft.

Now woken cold and cardboard wet the wretched refuse dawn begets,
shudder doglike, crouched and bent their yearning breath for freedom spent.

Between the pulse of city beats lay hopes deprived and incomplete,
Oedema swells their laboured flesh to blueing hues of emptiness.

While hurry home those who belong who pass and pass then soon are gone,
yet never see the vacant space where once there beamed a human face.

© Wolfgar 2020

Surge Sursus


What better spurs a man
than words of what he can’t or can?

What turns his palm into a fist
from God’s good grace to Atheist?

The Godly War to make men follow,
then fill with hate what once was hollow.

They separate the State from Church
their Dollar Bill with fraud besmirched.

A promise borne to pay the bill
though Nations fail, indebted still.

The chambers raised with gold resplendent
mere hallowed relics now co-dependant.

So what better spurs the thoughtful man
than to crush such folly where e’re he can.

© Wolfgar 2020

Among the furrowed waves


Under small sails from Itchenor she catches the tide,
in the middle the waves cut both ways. Holding course,

westerly away from the Steeple and the coastal path,
the beckoning Sea awaits.

On the headland a child sways quixotically
The Horizon turns and sinks beneath the day.

Speeding now, she feels the life-force pushing her out,
out and out and free from roots.

She lets it slip and skim until all is blue and sky,
Until no sound of home is heard.

Here the biting salt no longer stings the way it used to,
the way the cloudless tears still do,

Where home is anchored to a barren land,
adrift among these furrowed waves she stands

© Wolfgar 2020