The Blue Field

This poem was written over ten years ago, when flying was still a safe assumption and planes were common overhead. This year we’ve been been hearing less of the planes, but – thankfully – the swifts are still with us.… Continue reading The Blue Field

Anthem for a Lying Toad

The UK’s Brexit government have been showing us their true mettle in recent weeks. Following their disastrous response to the Covid-19 virus, they are itching to move on to enterprises more to their liking, but equally vulnerable to their incompetence. It has been said that “The Sleep of Reason Brings Forth Monsters” (it’s the title… Continue reading Anthem for a Lying Toad

Steps

Centaur

The centaur belongs in Greek myth and is part horse, part human. Some aspects, or strands, of the story portray the centaur as teacher, and as having healing powers.

The photograph here is of the Uffington White Horse. It can be found in Oxfordshire, ten miles east of Swindon… Continue reading Centaur

Gathering Fruit

Broken Colour

I Send Greetings from this Place

 

The place I’m thinking of this evening is called St Aldhelm’s Chapel, pictured above. It is a small and simple Norman structure built right on the edge of a Dorset cliff, facing out over the English Channel and beyond that to Europe. The chapel has no electricity and… Continue reading I Send Greetings from this Place

The Widow

 

Here is another poem of loss and it’s called “The Widow” (the title links to it). I wrote it some years ago, in sorrow for the grief of the person concerned, but also in awe at how she voiced her bereavement, the words she reached for, and… Continue reading The Widow

A White Shirt Writ Large in the Rose Garden

Dear MP’s Office Manager,

Thank you for your earlier response and yes, please, I would like to hear the Cabinet Office’s response to your news, that by the 26th May you had already received 1500 emails concerning Mr Cummings.

I need to report that the responses I’ve heard so far… Continue reading A White Shirt Writ Large in the Rose Garden

The Photograph

“He first deceased : she for a little tried

To live without him, liked it not, and died.”

 

 

There they stand,

those old antagonists,

posing at the head of the high-walled city,

that vast coronet of ruin.

 

Above… Continue reading The Photograph

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

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