Midnight Squall In Memory of Anne Sexton Here at death’s doorway – gothic and brooding. Depression is king – I can’t be happy with anything. Anyone. Any burst of Sun. I have checked my sextant and I am rowing home. I have done my hitch! I have crossed my canvas – stitch by stitch. (c)Peter Hague 2020 "Bio: Peter Hague has written and studied poetry for most of his life and now has a number of books available including ‘Gain of Function’ and ’Summer With The Gods’. His main occupation was Creative Director in the field of advertising and design. He has a dedicated web site at https://peterhague.com and a digital art site at http://e-brink.co.uk He posts frequently on the web @PeterHague"
*These first two poems were written in response to the war in Ukraine and first published on Twitter. They will appear in a new volume of poetry in September* The last poem is from Peter’s book ‘Louder Prayers’
The Poor Pariah
Where will the world go now without Russia – without its complex weave of power and monstrosity? Where will the world move to sit apart from these endless instalments of misread glory; from beyond this confusion of the rebirth of empire. The philosophical conversation of war and peace still burns in the anxiety of the Russian hearth – with the crime and punishment of jealous blood, where the vanity of conquerers justifies death. We will need a place where their guns are silent now we have found our own guns wanting or misplaced. We will disguise our weakness with sanctions and aid, while firing sterile criticism at logistical targets – wounding ourselves with the backlash of expectation; falling for the politics of jingoistic representation. Mediocrity has been embraced by the crumbling West and nursed to a position of fragile health. We will conduct a proxy war of pompous psychology, passing forth munitions from an imagined safety – while always underestimating the crude march of ambition and the patriotic fervour in the idiot soul. And Death Shall Have No Opinion? If I wear your flag on my lapel will it help you win the futility of war? Or will you be displaced by reckless courage – buried beneath the illusion you were fighting for. My badge of promises may not be secure; it may lead you up a deadly path – where the earth is scorched and the trees grotesque and we all play dead in the aftermath. Peace A skein of geese crossed my path; high in my window and heading north. I was on a treadmill – ebbing into the future; moving like a time machine – moving like a V shape. Peace. Wolfpack Contributor: Peter Hague A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Peter Hague 3 Re-published poems from Peter Hague
“Bio: Peter Hague has written and studied poetry for most of his life and now has a number of books available including ‘Gain of Function’ and ’Summer With The Gods’. His main occupation was Creative Director in the field of advertising and design. He has a dedicated web site at https://peterhague.com and a digital art site at http://e-brink.co.uk He posts frequently on the web
Here are the U.S. Links for Kindle & Paperback. Please check for availability for the links in your country on Amazon.
Features artwork by Geoffrey Wren, poetry & stories from David L O’Nan, Ethan McGuire, Tom Harding, Joe Kidd, Robert Frede Kenter, Joan Hawkins, Ankh Spice, Arthur L Wood, Sadie Maskery, Kari Ann Flickinger, ps pirro, Peter Hague, Lorna Wood, Benjamin Adair Murphy, Attracta Fahy, Christina Strigas, Barney-Ashton Bullock, John W. Leys, Amy Barnes, Jim Young, Elizabeth Cusack, Richard LeDue, Michael Igoe, Samantha Terrell, Lisa Alletson, Carrie Sword, Samantha Merz, Janet Beekman, Lennon Stravato, Catherine Graham, William Taylor Jr, Kat Blair, Adrian Ernesto Cepeda, S. Reeson, Shane Schick, Gerald Jatzek, Merril D. Smith, Jim Feeney
photo by Kym MacKinnon (unsplash)
Three of Peter’s poems first published in a now defunct literary magazine called ‘Anima’. Issues 4 – 2017 and 5 – 2018
The Fish-Eye Lens of Death You cannot see the world without some form of distortion. It wraps around your head mysteriously – half of it unsure and held only in memory – it is a second gone by and anything can happen, especially in that blind spot of unnecessary coordination. You cannot see the world from any other place than where you are, even with technology – certainly not – that would always be suspect and unsure. It would likely be awash with trickery and invention. No, you cannot see the road behind your back, or those leaving as you turn. The world makes you nervous that way – makes you squirm, until you rest in the fish-eye lens of death. Then, with closed eyes you are blind to nothing. ©2016 Peter Hague Walking on Water If I could walk on water, would I be a fool to think it was more than just tears beneath my feet? That kind of skill never leads to very much, like magic – its praise is never quite complete. It will always seem a trick to some and you would never gain their trust. A true messiah would be an ordinary man, whose wisdom leaves such elaborations out – especially potential feet of rust. If I were walking on water now, I would be standing in a similar room, on a similar street, in a similar gloom, with a similar, tear-stained carpet at my feet, and the warm blood of my own grail hidden in defeat. This carpet is a map of things to bear, with ripples instead of wear and tear. I could distract myself and dance with castanets. I could allow fishermen in to cast their nets. But I would probably move myself on then and start the process once again – to summon an angel with a single click… or just to hang this dripping carpet out and beat it with a stick. ©2016 Peter Hague Out in the Estuary I have the mind of a swollen river. It has become brown and dirty these days – scrubbing at its banks with a rebellious message; whispering with insidious lips. It keeps me awake and makes no sense – washing at the roots of established trees, but I will not sign up to being part of the sea. I am a river – and between these falling shores I have set myself free. I will languish in mud and bide my time, with an old, broken boat and other debris. I have an enlightened opinion of my rippling life and let it pass into the blur it must be, but I will not follow that dilution into the sea. I need no details of waves and tides and have come to a halt in a soothing sludge. I am the torrent of spring that never was – I have seen too much and blessed it by and I am frozen like Lot's wife – looking back at the fresh water of new beginnings, yet undeniably tasting of salt. ©2016 Peter Hague Wolfpack Contributor: Peter Hague 5 poems from “Gain of Function” by Peter Hague Book Review: Peter Hague “Summer With the Gods” A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Peter Hague