Category culture

Satan at Meat

Parrot Addenda

Over this Summer of 2018, I have written a series of stanzas in rhyme royal, mostly on the subject of Brexit. Here they are, as a collection.

Each has been written as a separate item, rather than as part of a longer poem. They were produced in response to, and often very soon after, various… Continue reading Parrot Addenda

Parrot Speaks of Dividends and Dishonour

Parrot Speaks of Youth and Hope

Skelton’s parrot is a bird of paradise. But  he mustn’t go on too long. If he has truth to tell in our storm, and wants to be heard, he has to be strategic. His cage is also his sanctuary.

&nbsp… Continue reading Parrot Speaks of Youth and Hope

Parrot Speaks of Law and Dust

The caged parrot keeps talking and seems to have quite a lot to say. His original author John Skelton was alive during the Reformation, another time in which England broke away from Europe in various ways. For the Reformation was not

Poems in Public

Poetry once belonged only in open space – the mead hall by a great fire, where flea-bitten warriors sat at table with their lord ; or a place of worship or ceremony, the wedding, the funeral. Not in private, on paper, let alone on screen. Poetry belonged in the air between people, out loud… Continue reading Poems in Public

Poet on the Cliff

Let’s look again at St Aldhelm’s chapel, a small square Norman building on a  cliff-edge. It stands at the very tip of a promontory on the Dorset coast called –    a bit confusingly – St Alban’s Head.

Image result for st aldhelm's chapel

The chapel is… Continue reading Poet on the Cliff

Rafts in the Flood

The lords of misrule continue to flood our minds and lives with their disgraceful doings. But I can speak here of two small developments which, for me at least, are cheering and act in a way as rafts.

One concerns a new website, designed by Joseph Wolf : https://poemsforthewall.org

Here is… Continue reading Rafts in the Flood

The Flotsam of Frantic Dreams

 

We don’t know any more

where our lives belong

or even where to hide.

The walls of home

hold nothing up

or out

and the door hangs slack

on the hinge.

 

Where have our lives gone ?

 

I consult the… Continue reading The Flotsam of Frantic Dreams

That Child Alone in the Tower and Out on the Golf Course

That Child Alone 2

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

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