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

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

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

Dogs on cobbled hobs
warmed by early Sun,
their owners folded into news
of things in flux and things to come. 

In sleepy hope the town awakes
its people’s heart beats anew,
though leaving slow my own does break
to be just passing through.

© Wolfgar 7/2018

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

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

On this my first night here the house bristles with life around me,
I listen to competing calls, whose unfamiliar tongues command.
Streets kid’s playing football, Manchester and Arsenal below The Mount,
The fragrant waft of Orange Groves, my senses overload.

A red sky wipes itself to black, Cross and Crescent bejewel the night,
feline skip invaders pick the flesh off lesser lives,
they see me come and slow my step, but they belong, not I,
unflinching from their well marked place, it’s I who pass them by.

Yesterday I left my mark
today my mark breaks virgin ground,
I lay my head at last to rest
and drink in every new-heard sound.

©Wolfgar 2/2018

On this my last night here, the house settles still around me.
I listen to the street with its familiar hum,
the foot-fall of people I’ve never seen but know instinctively
as they pass then move along.

Silver shards of moonlight pierce the slatted blinds
my friendly wild eyed fox sits beneath the window,
does he hear me breathing? imagining his movement,
he skips and slinks back into the starless forest.

Tomorrow I’ll be far from here
in a velvet seamless night,
my bed an empty impressed tomb,
My soul flying towards some other light.

© Wolfgar 1/2018

On the brown bracken hills blown and stripped dry
lived beasties and birdies all under one sky,
they scratched and they fluffed their feathers and furs
though they knew they belonged they knew not where they were.

While below in false order lived beasts who stood straight
who fenced themselves in behind stone-wall and gate,
they had names for their buildings their streets and their towns
they had rulers and workers and faces with frowns.

And it seemed to the beasties and also the birds
that they lived just fine without borders and words,
so they cherished the soil and they worshipped the air
and they all lived together without knowing where.

© Wolfgar 1/2018

Not a single pin hole pierces the sky
tonight its black as the flat-topped-sea
the gulls have migrated to where fishing boats lie
and the harbors a haven if only to me

There’s a hum from the tavern and a welcoming glow
it pumps at right-angle’s the beer in full flow
though not grape or the barley could sate me tonight
for its you that I thirst for to bathe in your light

As the cold of the wall creeps to my core
I long for the mornings reprise
and give thanks for the days the two of us saw
and throw curses at nights such as these