The morning mist conceals the birds,

yet still their lilting song

is heard.

I lay a while beneath my shroud

listening to the

warbling cloud.

The coffee cup drains itself

while topping up my

fickle health.

From radio's reluctant news

blooms yesterday's

emerging bruise...

to spread its spill like rancid oil

toward the day

as if to sp...

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Words emerged from alphabets

born of tongues the world forgets,

hieroglyphics from a wall

their echo sent to teach us all.

The documented "Rites of Spring"

the histories that they danced within,

so frantic that they lost all breath

their language spoke itself to death.

Yet here we stand at Babel’s Gate,

tongues still tied, is it too late?

to learn from...

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The bus is double decked for fear

that those below might come too near,

and break the spell of motions peace

where trials and tribulations cease.

I float above the addled Streets

on clouds of ruined ragged seats,

I see the penned in office slaves

computer screens, like headstoned graves...

Traversing through this fashioned feast

I'm swallowed by some other...

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In the pit of me

my own epitome,

within which lies

the wasted grit of me.

From pearl to sand

the sea made land,

washed up and used

a gift abused.

The clam prised wide,

hollow inside,

pearlescent sheen

of what had been.

The jagged edge

remains to tell,

that trusted pledge

can be but shell.

Audio and Video available at link be...

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Four Stations,

stumbling steps,

inspiration,

life’s precepts.

The hand of peace,

a step toward,

that distance cease

with loves reward.

Four Stations,

walking tall,

realisation,

breaks our fall.

Through perilous night

our journey’s wind,

yet we shed light

when we are kind.

There are numerous accounts of "The Stations of T...

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Dreams slither away from me.

Beneath sheets of layered retreat

they rise as conjured wishes,

then fall like chances lost.

Memory seeks what eyes can't see.

Invented glories the lies of conceit

history revised where hits were misses,

the balance outstanding, no matter the cost.

Video and Audio at link below

https://wolfgarwords.com/2024/09/06/deficit/

...

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Sometimes like a cat poetry refuses to leave the tree,

we know it isn't truly stuck, it's up there being free.

Among the leaves and branches with jumbled words and winds

that make no sense to anyone unless the songbird sings...

sometimes soft and sometimes shrill it wisps the flailing breeze

to lift and craft within its will a moment sent to please.

All things of form h...

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