I hear the things that go unsaid

that slip between the words,

the spaces where you think perhaps

your silence goes unheard.

I hear the things your voice betrays

that crack when horror speaks,

the cough you make you think perhaps

belies you've dived too deep.

I see the things you can't relate

that dead look in your eye,

the moments when you think perhaps

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The backbone of this giving Isle

from marshy fen to firth of forth,

has soured the face of many a smile

beneath the crown that ventured north.

Then Westward too, the Kingdom torn

across a Wilding Sea,

its Children poor, to paupers born

that bore the likes of you and me.

With baubles traded, power for land

The Lords abused their folk the same,

to sit opp...

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I'm in the shallows now

the deep has stepped up to the shelf.

My feet firm in the silky sand

at the altar of this eroding land.

In the transition of silt and wash

a baptism of emergence plays-out.

The salty brine for peppered air,

where pollutants vie for surface share.

Where can I be cleansed

that I am not the host of dirt?

The Creator and The Parasit...

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Scratch at the night,

the irritation of darkness has you at its mercy.

Scratch At the night,

the visions are advancing down mirrored corridors.

The rash of the Sun will return

to flake its hours upon your open wounds.

The rash of the Sun will climb high

to pour your memories back into you...

Audio and Video attached at link below

https://wolfgar...

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A Sea Loch Graveyard walled and gated

hues of purple peated earth,

the stones stand stoic, weather dated,

washed up from their briny birth.

Some names unknown "A Sailor" lies,

in silence resting side by side.

Adrift they came from distant skies

as tears that fell, though never cried.

On other shores long lives lived out

to wonder at what might have been,

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To see a world in a coffee cup

and a hell inside a TV screen,

then still to rise and take a sup

and blink away the horror seen.

A memory flashed upon a mind

staunched by bitter pill,

to make a man and mankind blind

cannot the memory kill.

The slave fed by his master’s hand

is starved and saved the same,

he lives upon a lesser land

with no choice but ...

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Not on canvas but in frame

the eye and hand do make the day,

which with the Sun unbeckoned came

and at its want will fade away.

Between the rise and fall of light

in all that comes and all that goes,

a wealth of life befalls our sight

that none before could surely know.

And in that fragile frame of time

our brush strokes fill the fleeting page,

which wi...

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Their squalid death to purify,

on Olives Mount a bridge to God.

Then cedar wood and herbs burnt dry

to raise a Kingdom not forgot.

And in that ritualistic spell

the Kohen taints his cleansing soul,

that he is now unbound for hell

unless the cycle onward roll.

For future joy why all this death

where toil and dark abound?

Why not the warmth of living brea...

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I have attached a trilogy of my D-day poem readings for anyone who may wish to hear them drolled out in my dulcet tones.

There is minimal chatter but not so much that you might wish to slit your own wrists, hopefully.

https://wolfgarwords.com/2024/06/08/a-trilogy-of-d-day-poem-readings/

if that fails try here

https://www.facebook.com/628003684/videos/1274382196869039

Poetr...

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Borrow against your future days

that this moment ever lives,

for what such credit takes away

the joy of now forgives.

We cannot touch what has gone

nor conjure what's to come,

our memories may live on and on

what's lost might yet be won.

The silent harbour once a throng

with hope and fearful men,

sits peaceful now and has done long

for what was done ...

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My life force has gone

whatever confidence I had is crushed

I cannot hear my voice

I cannot hear any voice

except panic

and anger

I am lost in a street walking the wrong way

shoulders bumped and jarred

I move to the wall

I press hard against it

It pushes me into the flow

my fear turns to violence

There is no reason to lash out

no reason to h...

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These dunes have been draped with flesh,

some on summer days surrendering to lovers

some under the gun by blood brothers.

The days between then and now are in the sand,

each footprint, each drop of joy and blood still here.

Children rush the shoreline chased by foamy waves.

We built monuments and carved men’s names

where beautiful children share happy games.

Beyon...

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A soldier kicked down the door and stole a yelping dog,

the children sobbed while their mother cursed god.

Later the widows were blown out, the roof glowed red

against a ghostly bone white moon.

The dog curled itself to sleep beneath a different flag

after filling its belly for the first time in weeks.

This poem is based on an event I witnessed in the H2 area ...

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In a Spinney dark and cool

three pallets made a hide,

the pain endured at home & school

could never reach inside.

A buckled form bent and broke

grey face toward damp earth,

betrayed a tongue that rarely spoke

bitten hard since birth.

Of love there was no knowing

just thoughts of what might be,

within a hatred growing

as if a raging sea.

Becal...

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