Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

Oil and Algae

We tramped through narrow dew set paths lined with gorse, it’s barbed wire limbs waving warning trophies of rent clothing; a BMX, abandoned in the no man’s land of briar … Continue reading

April 22, 2019 · Leave a comment

Bullshit Detector

1983 and faux anarchic romanticism seduces me. Squatting for peace dreaming that the threat of Threads is gone and Barefoot Gen can sleep unhindered; ashen shadows confined to graffiti.   … Continue reading

April 13, 2019 · Leave a comment

Go Fund Me

As much as I hate to ask, the funding for my PhD project has fallen through. My last ditch attempt at funding is via Go Fund Me. I would be … Continue reading

January 11, 2019 · Leave a comment

The Wrong Forest

Mean aluminium trees – plastic vines circulating analgesic sap – fail to sway in the bare thoracic snap from tired, syncopating lungs.   Phoney canopy on geometric bough. Silent, motionless … Continue reading

January 8, 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

Well, gosh!

I’m in the London Magazine, again! Two of my poems about Norway, ‘Tromsdalen’ and ‘Losna (Winter)’ appear in the December/January issue which is available via by clicking on this link  … Continue reading

December 10, 2018 · 1 Comment

Lunar Tattoos – Available Now

I’m thrilled to announce that my first poetry chapbook – called Lunar Tattoos – is now available from Amazon in both eBook and physical form. It’s a collection poems about … Continue reading

August 1, 2018 · Leave a comment

Dais

The wrong shoes impede my ascent and I struggle-slip through grass and gorse.   The keen thorned shrubs tug on too thin clothes and claw at barely waxed haversack   … Continue reading

June 2, 2018 · Leave a comment

Flesh and Feather

Drab brown drag bustling with the snap and jitter of twelve frames a second. Squabble tweedling with dickering kin scrabble-flickering for errant grain.   The farmers sons with .22 strength … Continue reading

March 30, 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