In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

Three Poems post-Brexit



Last Stand


The hyphen between

I and Thou

is our last stand

and foothold.

There’s nowhere else

to retreat to. No set answer

no fixed place. Centuries back

the desert fathers came here

and left strange word behind

among skull and thigh bone

and the odd green shoot

forced into life through ardent manuring.

I retreated onto this bare scratch

so much later, thinking to build here.

Instead, acids are at work, eager

to make yet deeper inroads.

Connections fade.

Meaning withers.

Where else in the universe

may now we place our feet ?


Rogan Wolf, 11th July 2016




Chaos at least is energy

it is release.


It charges out of its enclosure

shrieking. We should not assume


this leads only to gore

or founder,


succumbing at last

but yet again


to the Grand Inquisitor

the hedge fund director,


the luxuriant yachtsman,



all hidden behind the batons,

the helmets and the tear gas.


Order does not spring

from stasis, from show.


The artist does not begin

with picture complete.


Chaos is God’s clay

from which a vase may rise.


                                                Rogan Wolf, July 14th 2016



Siren Sounds


When no one can be trusted

or believed,


when language becomes

just siren sounds


of ill intent,

the word “honour”


rises from the dust

and from the pools of blood.


An honourable fool



through the empty forum.


Rogan Wolf, July 17th 2016