Wilfred Owen

A Heap of Broken Images

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say,…

4 years ago

Night Patrol

All agreed that 1917 had been a sad offender. All observed that 1918 did not look promising at its birth.…

7 years ago

Things that Matter

We had just evacuated all the students to the playground, lined them up and done a head count. It wasn't…

7 years ago

In Parenthesis: Part 1

This writing has to do with some things I saw, felt and was part of. The period covered begins in…

8 years ago

Art and Our Times

How will artists and writers portray this Trumpian time of disillusion, delusion and deception in which we now live? All…

8 years ago

Treasons Greetings: The Ghosts of Happy Holidays Past

It's politically incorrect to say Happy Holidays these days. We must all say Merry Christmas. No word on the acceptability…

8 years ago

A Darkling Year or Joy Illimited.

BBC's Radio 4 first tweet for 2014 was a thrush with a bright blue sky background and a quotation from…

11 years ago

“And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds”.

Ninety years since the end of the First World War. Passengers at Paddington station on Armistice Day, 11 November 1919.…

16 years ago