In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk
Where’s the fraught frontier between
Mercia and East Anglia ? Guards were stationed here
gazing out from within. And within
was somewhere to die for. And without
was someone to kill. I explored it once,
that fraught frontier, now footpath
between nettles. It was sunday
and Cambridge families were out walking there
after a good lunch.
And where’s
the fraught frontier between Wales
Shall I teach my shadow how I like to dance ? Or must I learn the dance-steps my shadow knows ? Or should we learn a new dance, altogether ? … Continue reading Learning to Dance with my Shadow that Haunts me
I want to talk about the British Labour Party which – despite everything – still occupies the ground I look to for the beginning of this nation’s regeneration and return to health.
But “ground” is one thing ; the withered and stunted vegetation I see presently over-running and littering… Continue reading Britain's Return to Health
Lost in the chaos of present events, we – or something in us – look to leadership for orientation, guidance and comfort. And the same something perhaps assumes that, the worse the crisis, the better that leadership must be and rescue is on the way. And assumes as well that, in this chaos, our own… Continue reading Dust
This stanza was written just minutes before it was announced that Mr B. Johnson, sacked twice in the past for being a liar, had just become Prime Minister of the UK. He had been elected to that position, not by the country, but by members of the Tory Party, some… Continue reading The Parrot Studies the Human Brain
There was a strange pause in Brexit proceedings at around the time this stanza was written. May asked the EU for another extension and obtained it, amid outrage from the Tory grass-roots and right-wing. The right wing newspapers began to change the subject. Some writers began talking cautiously about Brexit… Continue reading The Bird of Paradise Takes Another Look
This stanza was written just after Theresa May had accused the Commons of merely obstructing her and the “will of the people” and just before she headed back to the EU to beg for an extension. The thought occurred that it is possible to have no pride and no humility… Continue reading The Parrot Meets the Grotesque
There’s Jez and John and the Final Say. And there’s Bill and Ben and the Little Weed. Bill and Ben were Flowerpot Men and belong with Listen with Mother in the nurseries of the past, along with the Little Weed. And Jez Corbyn and John McDonnell ? Where do… Continue reading Jez and John and the Little Weed
I’m thinking here of our sleek new Foreign Secretary’s recent comment, saying – as reported in the Guardian – that “relations with the EU will be ‘poisoned for many years to come’ if Brussels fails to budge in the Brexit talks.” In other words, says Mr Hunt, he of… Continue reading The Parrot Takes New Bearings
Copyright © Rogan Wolf – Poet and Social Worker
In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk
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