Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
murmour
Murmour
Hipster jeans
And a big belly
Beard guarding
His face
Studying his hands
Unobserved
Man alone
In his cocoon.
Has Brussels
Banned tomatoes .
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Round Trip to Italy
From Bangkok
Plane landed in Rome
Transit hall
Drank some wine
You been sent home in shame
By fulsome jesters
Try Genoa
Martini…for sure
A new job
Easy now
Don’t let the fuckers catch you
Keep your head down.
Ship sails noon
From shores of misery
Screw them all
More wine mate
Wake up tomorrow midday
Drink a cold beer.
Tell the truth
You overslept…sorry
It’s no lie
Be contrite
Your young face oozes of sincerity
And moist blue eyes
embarrassment
Embarrassment
A glass door
How was I to know?
Bloody nose
Full café
Ringing laughter, the bastards
Crushed my exit.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
welcome onboard
Welcome onboard
I don’t care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with
me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked
along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.
I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.
On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.
The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73
and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals
onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.
The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no
one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are
people telling me I’m too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man
of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?
I don’t care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with
me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked
along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.
I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.
On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.
The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73
and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals
onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.
The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no
one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are
people telling me I’m too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man
of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?
welcome onboard
Welcome onboard
I don’t care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with
me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked
along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.
I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.
On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.
The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73
and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals
onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.
The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no
one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are
people telling me I’m too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man
of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?
I don’t care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with
me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked
along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.
I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.
On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.
The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73
and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals
onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.
The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no
one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are
people telling me I’m too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man
of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
argentina
Argentina.
When I got up and looked out of the window the village was
floating on a cloud. I walked to where the cloud ended and
saw the pampas of Argentine and horses galloping in a circle
around a dead cypress. The horses looked tired and starved,
but could not stop their senseless galloping around the tree.
There were also many dead foals trampled down in the dust.
I was in Buenos Aires once, remember a great ballroom and
a big marble staircase I saw the dictator’s wife walk down it.
She was dressed in white and striking at a distance, but close
up she looked hollow eyed and her skin was yellow. A band
played wiener waltzes, officers and their women danced with
decorum. It was only when thousand guitars struck up a cord,
music born from paucity and dreams to break free and flee,
the dictator’s lady smiled and looked young again.
When I got up and looked out of the window the village was
floating on a cloud. I walked to where the cloud ended and
saw the pampas of Argentine and horses galloping in a circle
around a dead cypress. The horses looked tired and starved,
but could not stop their senseless galloping around the tree.
There were also many dead foals trampled down in the dust.
I was in Buenos Aires once, remember a great ballroom and
a big marble staircase I saw the dictator’s wife walk down it.
She was dressed in white and striking at a distance, but close
up she looked hollow eyed and her skin was yellow. A band
played wiener waltzes, officers and their women danced with
decorum. It was only when thousand guitars struck up a cord,
music born from paucity and dreams to break free and flee,
the dictator’s lady smiled and looked young again.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
tanka
Tanka
NATO…is
A mean military machine
Looking for a war
It found one in Libya
A monster’s sweet taste of blood
Tanka
Hurricane Irene
Poured rain on Manhattan
The world press aghast
A coast guard shack damaged
U.S. under siege again
NATO…is
A mean military machine
Looking for a war
It found one in Libya
A monster’s sweet taste of blood
Tanka
Hurricane Irene
Poured rain on Manhattan
The world press aghast
A coast guard shack damaged
U.S. under siege again
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
fruit tree
The fruit tree.
Twilight, soon it will be dark, sparrows are flying back, god knows
where they have been. A flock meet in my plum tree, there is livid
arguing, who is going sit where. My tree doesn’t bear crops, yet
it is a fruit tree, my neighbour says so. I’m a plum tree too grew
up tall and stylish women flocked around me, I married five times
... and not a bloody plum. Grey trunk, limp leaves and when dusk
comes no one sits on my twigs; I have to invent stories of plums
I never had. Fine plums, juicy plums all of them females that never
matured and left me alone to fend for myself in time of solitude.
Night, and in my heart there a is longing for the unfeasible.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
stretched time
Stretched Time
Twenty years! TWENT YEARS! I have lived in this tiny hamlet
a lifetime…for some. Maybe I have been here hundred years
and the time before I came is shrouded in a mythical dream.
Deep oceans of pasts that wash up on the strand of illusion
and must therefore be reinvented.
On top of a hill I can see the ocean…and yes it has sunlight on
and glitters just like a postcard or a holiday brochure.
Vaguely remember, didn’t I used to be a seafarer who spent
too much time alone, in a blue cabin, reading too many books
about intrepid travelers so I could forget my own voyage?
I wonder if Nelson Mandela remembers he once was president,
or does he dimly remember it as a youthful dream?
My dream was to be a cowboy not a shipboard cook cleaning
pots and pans and endless, the Irish stew, bacon and meatballs.
Twenty years, yes it has been a long time, a lifetime…for some.
Twenty years! TWENT YEARS! I have lived in this tiny hamlet
a lifetime…for some. Maybe I have been here hundred years
and the time before I came is shrouded in a mythical dream.
Deep oceans of pasts that wash up on the strand of illusion
and must therefore be reinvented.
On top of a hill I can see the ocean…and yes it has sunlight on
and glitters just like a postcard or a holiday brochure.
Vaguely remember, didn’t I used to be a seafarer who spent
too much time alone, in a blue cabin, reading too many books
about intrepid travelers so I could forget my own voyage?
I wonder if Nelson Mandela remembers he once was president,
or does he dimly remember it as a youthful dream?
My dream was to be a cowboy not a shipboard cook cleaning
pots and pans and endless, the Irish stew, bacon and meatballs.
Twenty years, yes it has been a long time, a lifetime…for some.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
another war
Another War?
The young prime minister is declaring war he looks righteous and
proud, his historical moment. ...We fight for the Libyan people,
but something disturbs me, the braying for one man’s blood.
The excitement of going to war, this lust for action sits deep in our
mind, jingoism brings its own political reward.
A just war? The man Kaddafi is an odious bully and oil supply must
be secured. But is it not also a selective war? People are being killed
in Yemen, an oil poor country; why not declaring war against their
repellent autocrat?
For now the Israeli are busy building settlements on occupied land,
they know a democratic Middle East will shift the balance of power,
a united Arab world will demand it. So let the war commence, but
I regret our leaders look of, almost, sexual excitement when issuing
orders kill the enemy.
The young prime minister is declaring war he looks righteous and
proud, his historical moment. ...We fight for the Libyan people,
but something disturbs me, the braying for one man’s blood.
The excitement of going to war, this lust for action sits deep in our
mind, jingoism brings its own political reward.
A just war? The man Kaddafi is an odious bully and oil supply must
be secured. But is it not also a selective war? People are being killed
in Yemen, an oil poor country; why not declaring war against their
repellent autocrat?
For now the Israeli are busy building settlements on occupied land,
they know a democratic Middle East will shift the balance of power,
a united Arab world will demand it. So let the war commence, but
I regret our leaders look of, almost, sexual excitement when issuing
orders kill the enemy.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
short poems
Short poems
On paper napkin
I wrote a haiku moment
In the bin it sings
Empty café
Five flies on a table top
Drink spilt milk
Stubborn phone
Glum sits on sideboard
Refuses to ring.
On paper napkin
I wrote a haiku moment
In the bin it sings
Empty café
Five flies on a table top
Drink spilt milk
Stubborn phone
Glum sits on sideboard
Refuses to ring.
Friday, January 21, 2011
देमिसे ऑफ़ माय horses
Demise of My Horses
I had been away for a few days,
visiting the aunts of Cascais,
and found my three stone horses gone.
Just cheerless holes
where they had been tethered.
Widening the road, they said
and for that beauty must go.
When a road is enlarged more
cars will fill the space until
the bigger road is too small and
they decide to build a motorway.
The other side of the road will be
impossible to cross and neighbours
will become strangers.
Sun or rain endlessly stunning my horses were
before turned into grit.
I had been away for a few days,
visiting the aunts of Cascais,
and found my three stone horses gone.
Just cheerless holes
where they had been tethered.
Widening the road, they said
and for that beauty must go.
When a road is enlarged more
cars will fill the space until
the bigger road is too small and
they decide to build a motorway.
The other side of the road will be
impossible to cross and neighbours
will become strangers.
Sun or rain endlessly stunning my horses were
before turned into grit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)