Phones squat like idle frogs on lily pad desks
screensavers roll impatient eyes so unimpressed
the cleaners missed the paper cups
where penicillin grows un-supped
the water coolers sulk forlorn
no whispered love no spat out scorn

When static has no hair to raise
it saves itself for future days
unseen in its electric shroud it wanders
lonely for the crowd
no hills or vales to float on by
pressed up beneath a white tiled sky

And those who parted from this place
the Exodus’d the chosen race
who once beyond the crippling cage
re-found themselves and turned a page
might they retain their hearts that sing
when once again the squat frogs ring

© Wolfgar 2020

Through the glade there shines a light
in shafts of fiery flare
and none who come to shelter
will find much solace there

The shaded track and hollow
are beacons to the few
who lead where others follow
to rest on natures pew

Yet when the fallen spearheads dull
and silver black returns
there settles in a peaceful lull
for which the Spirit yearns

No sound of voice or foot befalls
the blanket laid so fine
I walk the path that gently calls
to where the forest’s mine

© Wolfgar 2020

Quietly and without attention nature turns
pushing itself toward sunlight from the darkest places

From the root to the flower each day a perfect miracle
yet not one that could make a Saint

but an every-day-taken-for-granted-kind-of miracle
trod down by those too busy in their moment

If time should halt Gaia would not pay heed
stepping past the unmarked days she would instinctively proceed,

In our stillness will we hear life louder or feel it stronger,
Might its never changing resonance change us?

Beyond this hectic place far from artificial light
The world beckons us out of silence.

Should we emerge unchanged our eyes still blind
Or might we be freed by a miracle we’ve missed?

© Wolfgar 2020