Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

Tidal

In silt and sand awaiting the thellasic lick of high water, flaccid buoys – tethered to mark the edge of aphrodisiac beds – rise in time for the smack and … Continue reading

January 29, 2019 · Leave a comment

Maps

And then there’s me… the reluctant God of All Distance, placing a foot on paths seen only In lucid dreams   and on Google Earth. Breathless and drifting I vault … Continue reading

January 3, 2019 · Leave a comment

Two of the reasons I’m doing a PhD

A Confessional Prose Poem of sorts. i) Martin came  by to babysit.        I was three and had heard          Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys     on the radio that morning   … Continue reading

July 12, 2018 · Leave a comment

Carrot

  There is   a car   rot on   the lawn;   the on   ly ev   idence   that we   once had   snow. Win   … Continue reading

March 1, 2018 · Leave a comment

Lullaby

The frenetic signal lost from Luxemburg at 0045 hours nightly, gave me time to retune the transistor radio to the long wave, ghost whining of empty air.   White mono … Continue reading

February 24, 2018 · 1 Comment

Hastings Beach 1974

Ignoring the arguments and the cigarette fug, I rub the condensation from the window. It won’t be long before white noise stops its sibilant assault on roof and windscreen.   … Continue reading

February 10, 2018 · Leave a comment

Hotel. Birmingham. 19.8.17. 03:17.am

Birmingham sleeps, its illuminated building works, a shadow jungle to trap the drunk and wary.   Lost in the plastic and sodium labyrinth; infernal circles traced in brick dust, he … Continue reading

February 8, 2018 · Leave a comment

Not Gold

A rucksack, mugger torn, spills a life to the floor. Gathering the remnants; wallet, money, destination gone;   no choice but a park bench; enamelled metal and stale beer sticky; … Continue reading

February 7, 2018 · Leave a comment

A Prayer to the Bean

February 7, 2018 · Leave a comment

Tromsdalen

There was a time when a small shack, – unused in decades – stood here, shaking under a barrage of wind and hail;   door barely hanging on by it’s friable rust devoured hinges; charged … Continue reading

December 12, 2017 · Leave a comment