Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Stavanger Sketches



Dismas and Gestas

stare at the swords

and wonder if anyone

remembers them.



Haar drapes the cobbles

stone work shimmering

under it’s glister.

From the tunnel between

the gamle and the new,

cars pass, throwing light

and shadow, illuminating

mist into momentary

God-rays and for an instant

I am transported

to Vienna as the ghost

of Harry Lime.



I wanted to write a poem

about Harald Fairhair

and The Battle of Hafrsfjord,

but Snorri Sturlsson beat me

to it  by over a millennium

and he tells it better anyway.



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This entry was posted on February 7, 2019 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .
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