Despatches to my Gazan Son


Justin C McIntosh has given his permission for his photograph above to be used for the cover of a long Turkish poem by Cahit Koytak, now published as a book with an English translation alongside. I am proud to have been one of the translators… Continue reading Despatches to my Gazan Son

Shavings from The Rainbow


What is God, after all ?

If maggots in a dead dog

be but God kissing carrion,

what then is not God ?


And when the war began

it seemed that the poles

of the universe were cracking

and the whole

must go… Continue reading Shavings from The Rainbow

The Angel Overhead


In his grief, he asked the angel hanging overhead,

his faceless confessor  :

Why, Lord, do sinners’ ways so grossly prosper ?

How can you allow the Lie so fatly to preside ?

And the angel answered :

I invited you to my feast,

my laden tables… Continue reading The Angel Overhead


Snowdrops copy

Earth Words

Earth Words copy

Body Parts

After death the eye fixes

of course. It was just a part –

now discontinued.

Each pupil has stopped

in its own disjointed way,

having nothing

to look at any more,

no one to show.

I looked at her, the mother

of my children.

She… Continue reading Body Parts

Poems for…meeting the “Dangerous Stranger”

Here below are links to four poems.  Each was written in a language spoken by people Mr Trump wants to ban from the United States of America. Please read them. The non-English original texts all have good English translations alongside.

Farsi Ebrahimi

Persian Khoi

Arabic Monzer Masri (Syrian)

Sad Songs of the Brain

Three of them. I haven’t yet found a way of actually displaying them as a post here, though it’s easily done on Facebook.

But this link takes you to a pdf version : Sad Songs of the Brain

Why the paltry brain, the paltry individual ? Why “in here” where the brain is… Continue reading Sad Songs of the Brain



I remember how I sat, even. Bunched.

There was nothing to hold on to

except my own flesh and the strong

bones inside. I’d never been

conscious of my bones before

(except when I broke them).

Everything in my world around

was either in shreds… Continue reading Bones

Copyright © Rogan Wolf – Poet and Social Worker
In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

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