mammal

My mother was so proud of her breasts she would not let me suckle her tits. But our sow had just had a dozen mother put me with them the piglets didn't notice the difference. At the restaurant they served suckling pigs, I was naked and with an apple in my mouth before someone noticed An Arabic sheikh offered my mother plenty of money to eat me with pepper and salt, but that was the moment when my father made his great entrance. The sheikh had been too mean, anyway the police. I was sent to an orphanage and people there used to call me the sheikh. After my father died and mother was feeling lonely she said I could suckle her breasts, but by that time they were big an ungainly so I refused; I remember she cried and said I lacked consideration for her age.

to have and to have not

To Have and Have not I used to be outside looking in Saw light and food on tables I’m inside now looking out Much hunger and poverty I see Can’t do much about it Except eating cold soup For my evening meal It is not distribution of soup The world need But equal sharing of world recourses At 15, her father sold her hair Tears running down her chin Now a woman in the west can wear Natural hair extension But she made a sister child cry

homho

ho ho

ho,ho Ho, ho Ho, ho and ho; the last ho was not a ho Ho, ho and ho; the ho last was not a “ho” Santa Claus is old and has been so for a long Time, he has a yearly facelift in Argentina. He lives in the mountain range of Andes where The old junta had their summer villas but this Totally beside the point as the military had their Own Santa Claus, a retired General. The military Santa had a strange sense of fun Union leaders got to ride in a sledge, but had to Jump into the sea at the coast of Peru. Some made it ashore only to be caught by CIA Agents and given more water. Meanwhile, The civilian Santa had to traverse the world and Send Chinese- made toys down chimneys, And like the smiling pope, ask people to be happy.

to be or not to be a vegetarian

To Be or not to be...a vegetarian Christmas in Portugal is a dowdy affair, Supermarkets are open most days and there is no rush, and no expectation, the hunting for happiness, family union and all that shit. We had baccallao for lunch today, and the fish was salted and dried at a mysterious place called Ålesund, where the sea is calm and deep blue and teeming with cod and the fishermen/ women wear yellow overalls, speak Norwegian but change over to English in case we should miss something very important. Tomorrow we are driving to Alentejo to eat pork elbows, yes meat from the elbow of the pig, first cooked then roasted and served potatoes and cabbage. I like the cabbage the best as it has been cooked with the elbow- there might be a more culinary word for a pig’s elbow- looks it up yourself. I’m pissed off with this poem, my intention was to write something romantic about food. Tomorrow I’m going to Alentejo to eat Pernil, which is Portuguese for pig’s elbow, (why didn’t you say so in the first place) and I will eat cabbage and reject the bloody meat from the feet of brutally slaughtered animals.

the business of cuisine

The business of Cuisine Two tins of Swedish meatballs in cream sauce. The Swedish export their soul even if it is hidden in tins. Unsalted mind stem and a heart of creamy white gravy. The new world is about buying and selling, and that is ok, Chinese dumplings bought at a pavement cafe it took days to settle my stomach So you think I know nothing I have been dining at a posh Chinese restaurant with rotating tables I said then, but not too cosy up to the host, Chinese food was leading in the fields of cousin. That was when I had the misfortune to go to Paris. excellent food but served with an arrogance that was off putting. I thought is there nowhere were people serve food without prancing trays about. Finally, I did in Alentejo (Portugal) where food is served without fanfare, because the food is natural, wholesome and good.... and if you are not driving, try their superb red wine and avoid a French philosopher whose vanity is shifty as Libyan sand.

good intention

http://oskarthefirst.podbean.com/e/good-intention/

ghosts

Ghosts. I knew of a man who believed in ghosts but he didn’t believe in resurrection, he believed in dying as an end of all activity that was conscious. But he thought that some people left their mark on things they had cherish bend the wood to his will and when stroking his fingers on the table to make it polished, he leaves behind part of his being. so when you hear a murmur, it is left behind voices; someone walking in a hall on the way to the garden, the thought of the beauty they were going to see were felt by walls, halls and old paintings. Ghosts are the residue of feelings left behind by the truly holy people amongst us those who believe in the beauty and the use of nature and a true sense of the mysterious that always is surrounding us.

Ghosts. I knew of a man who believed in ghosts, but he didn’t believe in resurrection, he believed in dying as an end of all activity that was conscious. But he thought that some people left their mark on things they had cherish bend the wood to his will and when stroking his fingers on the table to make it polished, he leaves behind part of his being. so when you hear a murmur, it is left behind voices; someone walking in a hall on the way to the garden, the thought of the beauty they were going to see were felt by walls, halls and old paintings. Ghosts are the residue of feelings left behind by the truly holy people amongst us those who believe in the beauty and the use of nature and a true sense of the mysterious that always is surrounding us.

mercy

Mercy In Australia a mother appears To have killed Her eight children with a knife And before we think of vengeance Let our mercy reign What she did when her mind was confused Is an unbearable knowledge A burden so great Forgiveness is the only thing we can Offer her now.

verse maker

Verse maker Poetry is to see Ignorance in a sentence The filling out of pleasant words The intention being Making the reader cry a little A poet sometimes is a mockingbird A mimus humming bard of Christmas songs

Tanka

Tanka Wake up at dawn Listen to your gentle breathing Can’t bear the thought That fate should be so cruel Let me live after you,

Tears

Tears When I was young I cried for no one I drowned my sorrow In pride f being dry-eyed. And inside of me a dam of tears not shed. I had a dog she lived to fourteen I borrowed A spade and dug her deep into the soil. The dam busted. For days I cried for my parents, siblings, The dog and all those I loved so deeply but never said I did. Old now I cry easily when seeing children and animals Being harmed And it pines me to know This is the way of the world and no God Around the corner to save us.

Olsen's America

Olsen’s America If a Danish sea captain by the name of Egil Olsen had discovered America, would it be called Olsen’s land, and if so would it have become a more friendly land without ambition to become a superpower? I would not let the Name Egil come into it, people would soon change it to eagle and as we know that is more aggressive. And since no one had heard of Canada – not many has- it would have been Olsen all the way to Behring Strait. He would have to deal with red Indians though, let them dress the way they wanted and wear fur which, as we know, is frown upon in Europe; but most of all he must have kept the with missionaries out.... more banned them outright.... Funny thing names, America is like a uniform, fits all sizes, But an Egil Olson would have had a grey beard and be fond of beer.

washing machine

Washing Machine There was a time I always went home, by road rail, flight or by bus I always got there and still do. Even though when I get there I want to leave. The house shrinks every year sibling’s gone mother too, she never looked up from the romantic novel she was reading to say halloo. 1953, it was summer, well there are summers every year, some are warm, some not. I was home from the sea and had bought mother a washing machine and we were the only ones in the street that had one it was a warm summer, open windows, cold beer and laughter. Then for a reason I could not fathom a silence fell, the sky was grey and nothing was the same again; it was only me who kept returning home. The washing machine I bought in 1953 is still in the basement rusty and dusty, but it had for a short time brought happiness and an end to stifling poverty after the war ended, when factories stood still and it was hard to be working class.

politics of work

http://oskarthefirst.podbean.com/e/politics-of-work/

the writer

The Writer. When young, long before the computer was invented, I rented a cabin in the north of Spain, serious and Nordic I wanted to be a writer and brought with me a travel typewriter – you will find one at a technical museum- ready to stun the world. North of Spain is winter cold the wood in the shed was damp gave off smoke and little fire. Daytime not bad a frozen pond and a pair of skates kept me warm. Nights, however, was cold till a flock of sheep was seeking shelter I let them in, soon the cabin was warm if smelly; mucking out in the morning took time. Keeping company with sheep and ice skating is not an ideal intellectual pursuit, to make matters worse I had no ribbons – a sheep ate them- Having read Ernest Hemingway I knew I had to live a little and find my own way of telling a story.

not being born

Not being born. Has anyone thought how it must feel sailing in utter darkness in a place of no place waiting to be born. Hundreds of years go by the unborn is dead, yet not so even there is no one missing it. To exist, yet not exist.... in the cold starless night Then it happened, a chance to be born, but someone changed their mind, fun night gone wrong. This time there is no waiting, no hope. Eradication is final as ultimate as masturbating into the kitchen sink when home alone.

useless waterways

Useless Waterways It is a long river goes on till water meets the sky and as I have no oars have to follow the waterway till the place when all things are the same Nirvana, some people say other calls its nothingness. But there rivers that run into the sand never given the chance to flow and dream of becoming a Nile or an Amazon.... Stillborn they are. The lucky river runs deep underground and has fish with no eyes and frogs white as new fallen snow. The river ends up in a lake where fishtailed women live. If you stop and listen you can hear the lake sigh and the river throbs, it never misses a beat. Mermaids have no uterus cannot bear children and lament that sex is more important than babies.

Abortion

Abortion When my mother was pregnant with me, she was too poor to get an abortion and it was also against the law in those far away days. My aunt gave her the advice to try skipping Luckily for me, mother was not very athletic and I was born. Abortion should be legal, as a human right but I think a woman should think long and hard of the world she stops the unborn from seeing

blood in the sand

Blood in the Sand There is a war in the Middle East people against people in the name of Islam, chop heads of one another like it should be a sporting prowess and then holler Allah. I’m sick and tired of these people who have mindsets that are 300 years behind us how can we have a sensible talk with such persons who in the name of their god kill anyone, mostly them for reasons one has to have a 300 years old mind to understand how they can accept their blood thirst done in the name of an abstract god. And then there is betrayal they are forever betraying each other to the enemy. But it wasn’t always thus and we must accept we have made it worse. Yet there are Jordanians, Palestinians, Syrians, Persians and Arab -Israeli (the Jews and Christians not) too who are not like the cruel of sword swinging Muslims we read about, they are the people who can bring the unrestrained, wild -eyed backward people to book because I’m exhausted of defending the indefensible.

Foreigner in Portugal

Foreigner In Portugal At the local shop I met an elderly woman, mind most of the women I meet are elderly but this one was primordial, she dropped her bag when seeing me and exclaimed is it true you have two hearts? Not wishing to disappoint her I confirmed rumours she had heard. I even let her touch the battery just under my skin. Nothing keeps a secret in a small village, it appeared they knew before me, the doctor who did the job came from farming stock, perhaps he rang someone. Odd people live here, those who were young when I came here have middleaged children now, but forever I’m referred to as the English, telling people I’m from baccallao land is met with a smile...I’m English so there.

oil change

Oil Change I’m not a poet never was, but I like to tell stories Most of the stories are for my inner ear, But for some reason my collections are called poetry. I’m a practical chap, just changed oil in my car and Filled up the coolant, which is pink coloured. Later I will drive to the local garage and see if the tyres Have the right amount of air, and then clean the car. When I write about carob trees and my special tree The almond, which in my mind, strews flowers on mine Fevered often walked track, I do so in tenor like oiling The hinge of a door or hammer a long nail into a wall, Nothing can be less poetic. In Kaleidoscope once I saw My future lover’s face, can that be called poetry?

umbrella of love

Umbrella of Love. If you drive along the asphalted narrow road that runs Parallel with the vine plants, turn left, you will see A muddy road more like a track now after rain, From here you have to walk till you see a quiet little Corner where two stone walls meet; and you will See- not a great deal- the place I’m going to plant A carob tree comes spring. The reason for the corner Is two brothers who couldn’t agree who of them it Belonged to so they left it untended and with time No one took an interest in weeds and stinging plants. The tree will be in memory of a girl a met a day of rain And she shared her pink umbrella with me. Not a big thing, but I was home from the sea and lost In the big city she gave me the shelter I needed.

sea lion

Sea-Lion I saw a seal in Durban big and sleek and its smile Was wondrous, I think it had green eyes, right, But I’m not a very god swimmer and is sceptical Of water, mermaids and swimming pools. By, chance I saw a sleek woman cleaning a pool And it was morning, she had green or blue or Perhaps brown eyes of the type lionesses have When a lion, has caught a prey it has to give it Up when hyenas come around. Conquests are a hyena’s fare, but it lacks delight And the ability to laugh. The seal from Durban I remember so well, had a hearty laughter and A smile “thousand miles.” Am I getting confused Talking about lions and seals? Not at all but it was A female and she sat my heart aflutter.

the wests fortune

The west’s Fortune In the disappearing evening light the car outside looks like a ogre or a relic of a dead religion, dying headlight, a battery that will not start the car it must be pushed by men who understand that Christianity must be brought back to guard us from strange believes that is alien to our culture. Atheism makes a country weak and insipid, it is in its tolerance willing to accept demands from other faiths that, will if given the opportunity burn our books and ban the culture, that have made us westerners who know the value of justice, even when it fails us. In the name of equality let them burn our cherished book and ask us to believe in a god not belief in God that has lost all meaning, yet I believe we have to hold on to our culture and tradition Christian based as it is, to preserve our identity; for we are people who has suffered through time to reach equilibrium, yet we know we are still a long way from Nirvana

winter jacket

The Warm Jacket Ducks have two sets of feathers outer ones, which are watertight and inner feathers that is soft as a young man’s whispery beard. Ducks are never cold and can waddle a frozen pond with the greatest of ease if not with elegance. I wanted a jacket of duck feathers so I killed five hundred of them and asked my elderly porcelains’ duck to sew me one. In case you wonder I sold the plucked birds to hotels and restaurants. I’m never cold now can walk out in all weather and not feel the cold. Only I do feel like a mass murderer- send him to Hague- so much killing just so I could feel snug. When spring comes I will put the jacket near the lake so ducks can pick feathers that ones belonged to their fore-ducks and make cosy nests for their chicks. My porcelain’s duck tells me that if I had shot two polar bears, I would have had enough soft fur for two jackets and a pair of trousers. Now, why didn’t I think of that?

darkening sorrow

Darkening Sorrow It was a strange summer I wouldn’t say reluctant But rather old fashioned, rather like an old man Crossing the farm yard with a slice of bread in his Hand to give to the horse by the wooden fence. It was not a summer that will be remembered by Bathers by the beach, the sea was cold that year Often there were bands of cerulean silk scarves On the sky keeping the day from being too hot. We walked everyday although our walks became Shorter and we didn’t go to the river as usual. You had gone in September and I had got a buyer For the house, alone it was pointless living there. I will be moving into an idyllic home for the aged, And from the window see your resting place.

black ghettoes

Black Ghettoes So now they are burning down small shop they use daily use in rightful anger. The police are mostly white in a black neighbourhood which does not goes down well Bloody guns you may say, but everyone is armed. But my thought was of the poor black people which now have to go a long way to shop, since it appears they burnt down their own cars too. It seems to me Afro-Americans have sunk into a hole of delayed slavery depression, and struggle to get up and fight back, not with guns, but education. Black young man with pistol wants the good things in life, but only find early death or a prison cell. Pandering to this we must not, there is a limit even for grave historical injustices, it is time to break the chains of the past and be free men again.

not socially inclined

Not socially inclined We drove to Cascais for two days holiday at a posh hotel and I promptly fell ill a sort of fever I do not travel well. My wife and her extended family had a swell time, while I shivered under three blankets and claimed the air condition was sat to freezing. On the third day I arose, had solid breakfast no had seen anyone recover so quickly, it is I said because I’m a Norwegian After breakfast and packed suitcases time for goodbyes, lots of kissing and hugs and they all hoped I would be better next year.

tuesday

Tuesday afternoon in November. Well this is, the ending of another day I’m looking out of the window the road is clean and tidy after rain. The sun is coming out of hiding and strews golden dust on the window ledge, it is a sort of thank you since I’m taking care of a sunray I found huddled behind the gas bottle in the back yard. It was too cold for it to get back so I put it under my bed – I need only one blanket now- so there are times being kind can be helpful. The sunray, not talkative, hides behind the china I bought for my daughter’s wedding only I never had a child; it was a dream I mistook for the real thing; but never mind the cleaning lady likes to drink tea and pretend she is a grand dame. It is darker outside than inside so I lit the fire drink a cup of coffee, at this end of a beautiful day.

not socially inclined

Yule Christmas

Yule/Christmas Obscene capitalism Can best be observed At Christmas Midwinter festival Larder full we share our Luck with our nearest Christmas is the devil’s revenge He was never invited Now he gives us hell with glitter.

Jesuitta

Jesuitta, God’s only daughter. God only had a daughter Jesuitta, which he gave to mankind to teach us love. She was a good little girl with blond curly hair and often helped her mother with the washing up and other household chores. As she grew up and came a shapely young woman she was coveted by men, who could not grasp her preaching of unconditional love was not about sex, they began talking behind her back. Rumours had it she had twelve lovers, there was talk of orgies with wine a fried fish and fresh bread. She went to the church demanded to be heard, asked why there were no women priests, and why the let sleazy merchant selling overpriced artefacts? The clerics who had enough of this noisy woman told Pilatus, he first raped her and to his shock realised that Jesuitta was a virgin; this knowledge haunted him the rest of his life. Nevertheless his throw her to his Roman Legionnaires as a usual tart. And the men taunted her: “Is this what you meant by calling love absolute, they bawled. Their women said nothing. They put her on the cross and as semen of a thousand soldiers ran down her legs, she died with forgiveness in her heart.

underage

Underage A moonbeam sat on a bough just outside my bedroom window, it as of the shy sort and it didn’t frolic about in the forest during the happy hour. I invited it in, the moonbeam was cold I tucked it in a blanket, careful that there was no physical contact between us, the beam was of a tender age one ought to be careful lest the “Guardian Harridans” find it nasty and demand a hanging party; no more playing of football and forever be and outcast less I repented. Children and moonbeams like stories and I told a few before the moon paled and I sent the little moonbeam on its way...untouched by human hands.

Jesus and other Levantine

Jesus and Other Levantine Yes, it was this thing with Jesus he didn’t like the way Judaism was preached so he set about changing it. As one can imagine the priests of the day set in their way and receiving bribes from the Romans to keep the peace were no too taken with this rather talkative man who claimed he also could do miracles. As long as he walked the countryside and spoke to the uneducated peasants they sort of let it pass, but he went a bit far when claiming he was God’s son it all started; it was said he kept company with whores and thieves, mocked the priesthood said they were only in it for money; and when he saw how they sold things like overprized relics he became angry as only a son of god can be and cast out the sellers. The clerics called in their marker. Pontius Pilatus duly had Jesus put on the cross. He did so with a heavy heart as rumours would have it Pontius was gay but didn’t want anyone to know. Ever since that time the Jews have been confusion for those who cannot see the difference between a kind Jewish carpenter and a Zionist wanting total control over us.

history lesson

History Lessons History cannot be understood During a weekend It takes about hundred years Before we appreciate What fools we have been But since history cannot be undone We are doomed to repeat Our mistake because we are fools Easily deceived By money, power and false promises Given by those Whose only name history remember, Murderers and false prophets

a short note for you

A short Note for You This is a little missive written in some haste as we have to go back to hospital for more tests. Only you could get me there and wait 4 hours in a packed waiting room. Time is tough for those who have no private health insurance and most of us have not. I tell you about the inequity of this, but you are not listening just look through magazines like “HALLO” touched by a million sick people. When we finally get to see the specialist, a woman of around 45, I tell her lies about my splendid health, but you are there and tell her the truth. I insist I’m ok and want to go home. Ignored by two women I agree to go back to hospital one more time about a bloody pacemaker, I gruffly leave for a coffee. But I’m glad you are there looking after me, I always knew how much I loved you, as long as you don’t tell me how to drive my car.

Philossomite

Philosomite And I will tell them if time I want a simple coffin The type the cousins the Palestinians and Jews prefer The preserving of corpses always shocks me, it is So futile sooner or later they have to replace the corpse on Display- like in Russia- with a plastic moulded one. And what is the point of having someone dead for seventy Years and will never open rotted eyes and say something Remotely rational. Writing late one night I looked up and saw Hitler standing there with a half smile across his narrow lips: saying democracy was dead, we made a mistake hating the Jews – they were too smart- but since we need an enemy to fight wars with and sell weaponry to anyone we wants to-the enemy too- so any Muslim will do.

tanka

Tanka It is the nameless voices The souls of those we never knew That shapes our world As it is today We are the ghosts of the past and future.

love affair

The Love Affair The road that leads to a smallish agricultural flatland has two walls. One wall was built by a slob, just throwing one stone on top of another. The other wall was built by a craftsman where stones fitted and he had used decorative and white painted cement between them. Every Sunday the meticulous man walks to his wall and find great satisfaction to see his work again and wishes the slob would rebuild his wall. Every Sunday the layabout goes for a walk to, first to the bar for a few beers with his mates; he walks to the good man’s house and have sex with his wife.

the man who sold his soul

The man who sold his soul I can’t let go of Christopher Higgins yet, not that I knew him, but I have read a couple of his books – not impressed- he is not an author. A very erudite man with a photographic mind He could remember everything he had read at University, and that is impressive and on occasion he used his scholarship prowess to dazzle an opponent to stammering silence. But I have been watching man you tube programs of his act or performance and it struck me one day he has no depths and he is also an intellectual opportunist who realized which side of the slice of bread to but the butter on. He was a man who defected from his own youthful promises Who sang like a joker and received accolade, because he only 0Raged against the has been – like Kissinger- no one likes him A mild criticism of the foreskin cutting Jewish practice, but he reserved his venom to the Arab world which it became clear he had only bookish knowledge. He had a good life in America and seduced by its naivety he continued unsteady journey

the erudite and the bible

The erudite and the Bible And then it was Friday and I had tried to keep my promise of writing no more, as it is a waste of time, there are so many other interesting things to do, to be member of a literary group, have interesting talk about this and that drink cheap red wine and walk home hammered. It was sad to see how much Christopher Hitchens deteriorated when whisky took hold And he and he preferred to talk about religion which is and easy subject since everyone like to mock religion these days. But we should respect those ones fearful who need a stern God . From early childhood I thought the bible as a fairytale book with Bad kings, brutal soldiers a few good guys who tried to do good. I liked to read about Jesus but didn’t believe in his resurrection, I think him and Maria Magdalene, with help of friends, sailed to Cote Azure where she became a seamstress and he a carpenter Who delighted the children with his tale? But he never said he was Son of God, he had promised Maria to stay clear of that subject. The Jews use the Old Testament and the Muslims the Koran, that is ok, I only wish they would tone down the language a bit, make their bible more like the Brother Grimm’s fairytales

batteri

How long does a battery last A square flat thing Just under his skin It will give him more years If he takes his lukewarm milk Every morning Eats tasteless food all savoury Extracted Leaving behind bland vitamins Or he can join a club where people Find their illnesses Endlessly fascinating as a subject. Be optimistic everyday and Do not show bad form by Mentioning death

tamco

Tamco Before space arrived Time was not in attendance Zero was nature Stillness carried no echo Until a soft breeze blew Brought space, time and colour Strange life forms appeared And so did mortality

Letdown So many chances so many near misses, like a promising spring suddenly turning wintery and killing budding plant life. Or a storm came and blew away all senses Turned it into a loathing where success dare not Intrude like spoiling a dream. Falling down an ice cavern unable to get up in time Not trying hard enough, so the dream can live on Failure is the ultimate goal it does not need to be Repeated

Letdown So many chances so many near misses, like a promising spring suddenly turning wintery and killing budding plant life. Or a storm came and blew away all senses Turned it into a loathing where success dare not Intrude like spoiling a dream. Falling down an ice cavern unable to get up in time Not trying hard enough, so the dream can live on Failure is the ultimate goal it does not need to be Repeated

poetry by numbers

Poetry by Numbers I got an email naming the best poets from poetry site ...As expected they were love stories, About loneliness and the mixed bags of The poet’s monotonous candyfloss of anguish. All poems looked worked- shopped, the same Phrases sometimes returned And they were all meticulous in show not tell Which is a mind-numbing mantra. For some, especially The academically inclined, making poetry Into a cross word puzzle I think all 100 poets had the same teacher who, As many poetry teachers do, lives in New Mexico

tanko

Tanka I had so many dreams They laughed the ones who had lost theirs Told me I was a fool But in their laughter I sensed their tears. Tanka There am two of me One goes to hospital a lot The other drives a bike Thinks he is going to live forever The sick knows better

big breakers

Big Breakers. Frothing, the colour of spring leaf, a mountain top of ocean intent on drowning you it is not like crossing a road and just have the time to jump clear of a car. No, you are totally helpless and your salvation is down to luck not maritime ability. The beast has gone mad something we said down in the mess-hall when playing card? Not to forget the good moment when the sea is flattening out flecked by light blue. Our promises of not drink and smoke and to be kind to our mothers vanes. There is something mesmerizing about it, will the ship be able to shudder and get up from the tons of water? Are we ghosts from a past that never was? I Kingston we drank rum & coke and never spoke about our inner thoughts, we had survived and lived in the moment. But what can you expect of a simple seaman when landlubbers can’t even remember last year’s war.

mountains

Mountains and Generals What scared me most as a child were tall mountains dark silent sometimes white topped and often wearing a crown of a murderous miasma of gloom. Once my ship docked in a constricted fjord, a smelting plant, a few houses and a restaurant surrounded by Somme like nakedness. I tried to close the curtains but they wouldn’t let me insisted on keeping what they called summer evening light as long as possible. I had reindeer steak down in the cellar served with moss and boiled potatoes and brown gravy – in Norway you get thick dark gravy with everything- Going back onboard I felt the mountains naked, life hating presence like crazy generals ordering men to attack over open terrain killing a million young men in the process. Fortified with aquavit I just made it back onboard, the sea was flat and calm. And I heard General Haig’s raised, voice “let us do this once more this time it may just work “Should I ever come across his statue, I’m sure there is one in a town, the great man sitting on a horse looking heroic, I will without delay piss on his statue. and get free from my fear of tall mountains.

a pair of brown shoes

A Pair of Brown Shoes I once slapped my brother across the face, it hurt me more than him, the palm of my right hand is still red. You see, we lived in a small flat- I had bought a pair of shoes, they were un-walked in and shiny; was going to put them on that Saturday evening to impress my friends; but my brother beat me to it. I was so furious I cried; “it is only a pair of shoes,” my mother bleated in the background. This was fifty years ago I now know the difference of what is important and what is nothing to bother about, but sod it all... he shouldn’t have taken my fucking shoes

mortality

Mortality There is death and there is big deaths Mr Bloom. An industrialist died and there were shockwaves in Europe, he had a white moustache and we are Told he was flamboyant and there will be a sea of flowers, The president will kiss his wife’s hand and there will be tears....some of them real. Meanwhile at a place where children day on daily basis one of them died before he got to suckle his mothers meagre breast. No there will be no president there no kisses to the mother for her lamentable loss, only silence. Some humans are more valuable than others but in the end Both have in common they will never speak again.

childhood

Childhood. I read, in a newspaper, with following black white & photo of children used as slave labourers many years ago, I was one of them, but I didn’t share the misery described. I was sat with my little suitcase on a bus that trundled through a flat landscape, told to sit there until a man called my name. It was a small farm and the farmer’s wife gave me a thick slice of bread with strawberry jam on. Then I was shown my room a tiny loft span with a straw mattress and it was bitterly cold. I started work at six next morning, with a glass of milk and a slice of bread, my job was to muck out the cows shed shuffle the residue down a hole in the wall, the manure was later used fertilise the land. School was every other day and a bit bothersome till I hit one of my torments with a brick over his head and poise of fear was restored. I quickly got the hang on the farm work, got on well with the farmer and was spared the dirtiest work. Years I spent on the farm, but then my mother came home from sanatorium I wanted to be near her; apparently it was not legal to just leave like that but I left anyway. One day many years later, feeling nostalgic I went back to the farm, it wasn’t there anymore, had been turned into a housing estate. Poverty, struggle, need and were all forgotten incidental as life itself, but I owe it to them, after me there will be no one left to tell the story

texas

Texas An explosion in the engine room and the ship needed urgent repair in Houston ; I rented a car...a Buick I think a big box like monster that skidded on slightest wet surface. Mind I could only drive the car on my afternoon break. Sundays was my day I started early took the whole off as a chief steward I could do that leaving the cook to sort and he was free to drink beer without me scolding him. I stopped at a stud farm rented a horse, pretended I was a cowboy, till got saddle sore, which I never got back at the farm Norway when I rode bare back. A tee bone steak with backed potatoes life was perfect but I left early feared to get lost, Texas is a very dark place after sundown. Back on the ship the captain told me to stay on board on Sundays that he was the captain and not me. I should have invited him on the trip too, but I preferred to be alone.

Debris There was a time when I was a seaman travelled with a cardboard suitcase and my best shoes wrapped in newspaper. I always wore khaki mainly because people would think I was an American, back then I thought it a great country; still great but But her leaders look like nine to five clerks. I have read many books but mostly cheep pot boilers. Due to my shyness spent most time in my cabin and left my ship when there was no more to read. I did developed a fondness for Hemingway he never overwrote is books. But for me reading had its hidden hazard as I tended to become the person I read about. I once read a report about me it said I was grumpy drank too much - I must have been reading Hemingway at the time and had no social skills and never mixed with others. I was a lousy seaman and only enjoyed going ashore places I had read about and had an historical meaning I could connect with. Well all this is in the past I was not to know I was ill and introversion is a burden.

dictators and the disagreeable

Dictators and the disagreeable We sit in the bar, we the insecure here we are masters of our own dreams...tomorrow, always next day and never in the morning. People who have to stop drinking often develop peculiar fads, like defending Hitler. Mind it is easy to blame on and excuse the rest. Once Hitler was a child, his mother dried his tears. It is much easier to get an obsession concerning the pope or Obama, the first black President, to defend his record or lack of it is easy and one will have many followers on twitter or facebook. And on can also bask in the warm glow of popularity and admire his close circle of advisers. I have taken I have taken a shine to Saddam Hussein lately his brutality was saner than the so called democracy few people in the Middle East want, but we are not listening to the majority, but only to western educated stooges. I have never met a nice dictator, but some of them have turned out to be quite wise.

the loss

The Loss Dream time, lazy and long, is over It lasted a generation But real life Came and stole the colours Home baked bread no more everything is easy shop bought and taste of the average. I now of a woman who stole Flowers for her son’s coffin It stood there in the snow Grave diggers on strike. But a bouquet of flowers don’t Mind what they were intended for Rootless and decaying anyway So let the mother be she didn’t Do anything wrong, just rearranged Flowers bought in a shop from a grave The had too many to her son’s Whose no flora in the world could hide Hide a mother’s grief

equines

Equines One really ought to start with the beginning only it goes so long back That it is impossible to remember. I remember being born but that was just an interlude, cold and Unpleasant and being kiss by strangers. I like horses though but that has nothing to do with my inception . But then was anyone ever born, we are just a part of a bigger Broader picture where we but an unconscious number But I do like horses and would have loved galloping across some Grassland and jumping over brooks. And now we have emboli fever which is either over hyped, Ten thousand dead by September or it is the new plague coming To reduce our number ...and yet, and yet I would like to be a horse. As I wonder if USA will ever be able to live for a whole year Without starting a war somewhere

the stallion

Stone Stallion A big rock in the field he dedicated twenty years of his life to make it look like a horse When he gave up The rock looked as beautiful As the first day he saw it.

the precious | Write Out Loud

the precious | Write Out Loud

The Precious

I picked up a stone it was green but not jade

Even I could see that.

Took it home rinsed it in the sink it was still

Green and did not pretend to be jade

Put the stone in the windowsill where sunlight

And winter shade gave it ordinariness.

Threw the stone away knew it was not jade

But it could have been fucking something   

America the beautiful

America the Beautiful The heartland of America of peace and old farmhouses, the country I read about as a young man it is still there although news we are served is of riots and mass shooting. Sturdy farmers in blue overall at the bottom of the road have collections of old stuff from recent past things collected for the love of it, but you can buy some if they feel like selling; canny know the value of scrap metal. Nice roads in a green landscape and tall three, and no police sirens scream around winding corners and bullets do not fly through the air hitting a child. This is America the beautiful, I will go there someday, perhaps buy a rusty old Dodge that has been standing under a tree for twenty five years-who cares- and talk to the old farmer about this and the sorry life of city dwellers.

posh avenue

Posh Avenue Beautiful avenue big trees on both sides lend dignity to palatial homes, tall walls with broken glass on top and silence. Yet it is the wrong kind of hush like a solid melancholy that April days are unable moderate. This wide avenue has little traffic except for patrol cars driving up and down protecting the values of houses that are empty and gloomy. These dwellings are bought as an investment for rich foreigner, who can use them as a bolt hole if the situation in their own countries wears towards revolt by the people tired of odious kleptomaniac affluence. Homeless people sometimes try to break in to one of the houses the dream is to sleep under silky duvet hot shower and scented soap. Alas, there is no hot water, all is turned off and the mattress is bare. the night in the splendour of immense room is a cold and lonely as the intruder waits for the rain to stop so he can flee to freedom of relative poverty, food banks and supermarkets´ out of date yogurt.

Web Store

Web Store

verse

verse

What is my verse ?

Often so angry

Of being cheated of life

Soiling the beauty that is all around us

The lovely line in

An old woman’s face

Those who only see dancing girls

Do not see beauty

Only lusting after effervescent

That is no more than a bubble

In a glass of cheap champagne.

My verse get mad when seeing poverty

Yet the most beautiful sight I ever saw

Was outside a shack

An empty paint can full of flowers

Picked a dawn

In the mythical forest

Injustice is the chainsaw that cuts down

Christmas trees that are made into vulgarity

Of artificial snow, blond angels

And toy bells that lacks the tone of truth

I find my verse in the simple life

In the unspoken and unknown

Where everything is real, clean and blameless. 

borders

bordersBorders

All borders

In the Middle East

Are being redrawn

In blood

Israel’s border too

Will be redrawn

Into none existence

Lest she becomes

A part of Palestine 

borders

bordersBorders

All borders

In the Middle East

Are being redrawn

In blood

Israel’s border too

Will be redrawn

Into none existence

Lest she becomes

A part of Palestine 

bridge

bridgehttp://benafimpoetry.webs.com/apps/blog/show/42663472-bridge

babies and dogs

Babies and Dogs. There was in England a fire in a dogs home most of the mutes were rescued, but money was needed for a new kennel home. So far 5 million pounds have been collected. I like animals had a dog she lived till she was fourteen, my best friend and it knew my moods before I did. Yet I can’t help thinking there are so many destitute children in the world, in some places they starve to death, as we have seen on TV. But it appears we will not think of that. To be sorry for a homeless puppy is less taxing, easier to cope with and less demanding. All we have to do is to let a dog never grow out of puppyhood and needing us forever. A sweet baby, on the other hand, has the irritating tendency to grow up and become a sullen adolescence.

doomed

doomedDoomed

After the bombing dead children everywhere

like a doll factory had exploded, strewn limbs 

warm spaghetti on the parade of inhumanity.

From Joan Rivers to Kissinger a chorus as old as

humanity sought heaven “We don´t care you

 brought it on
yourself by defying us.”

 Down a sand dune a
decapitated head rolled

the bloodied head of innocence and a chorus of

young men in black with scarf hiding their faces;

“It is your fault you brought it on yourself, and we

do not care and we will never die.”

White cumulous clouds on a blue sky see it all and

will when asked do humanity deserve to exist?

 Shivering we wait for
the answer we know will be

what we deserve to hear.   

 

babies and dogs

babies and dogs

Babies and Dogs.

There was in England a fire in a dogs home most of the mutes

were rescued, but money was needed for a new kennel home.

So far 5 million pounds have been collected. I like animals had

 a dog she lived till
she was fourteen, my best friend and it knew

my moods before I did.  Yet I can’t help thinking there are so

many destitute children in the world, in some places they
starve

to death, as we have seen on TV.  But it appears we will not think

of that.  To be sorry
for a homeless puppy is less taxing, easier to

cope with and less demanding. All we have to do is to let a
dog  

never grow out of puppyhood and needing us forever.

A sweet baby, on the other hand, has the irritating tendency
to

grow up and become a sullen adolescence.

unmoving sadness

unmoving sadness

unmovinf sadness

Unmoving Sadness. The air is still around the houses today it could be because it is Saturday and it needs a rest. Still air has a musty smell like bedding not changed for six month, the apathy of those who live in filth. I put a lit candle on the window sill It is in airs nature, to try blowing it out window pane rattles The air is crisp and clear carries the aroma of a jute sack of carob beans.

iddylic road

The Idyllic Road There is on the plain that looks like an African Savannah in hazy summer morning, a road, where the hills begins, that is flanked by cork trees and appears like an avenue where royalty ought to drive through when receiving our adulation; also, not to forget, the sight splendid uniforms ladies hats and snapping flags in a fairytale breeze, I also wanted to see if the grapes on the vines had been harvested, and if not why the delay? Yes, the grapes had been picked which pleased me and leaves on the vines are turning sepia. A season is over. I took a few photos of the cork tree road and said my farewell I will not be back here before spring. I know of a place where a lake appears in winters I´ll go there sit on my bike and hope to see a fresh water mermaid.

the right gift

the right gift

bonds of love

bonds of love

lavender

lavender

San Clemente

San Clemente





http://benafimpoetry.webs.com/apps/blog/show/42103795-san-clemente

just about love

just about love

just about love

just about love

just about love

just about love

sartorial

Sartorial I started work in an office, wore a suit that was cheap and too small. They stuck me in a backroom that had mustard coloured walls and no sunlight. I sorted and filed bills that had been paid, and I never understood the point of it. Yet it was one up from my father, he worked for the council digging trenches by spade- yes it was long ago- when it was hot he wore no shirt muscular and tanned women sighed. My father was married five times and died doing push ups; or so mother said. After a year I understood i was not going to be promoted, became radicalized and joined the merchant navy. In New York I bought a splendid suit that had enormous shoulder padding, I went to the office in the hope of getting a proper job, a woman there gave me her phone number, like I should be for hire! The suit I have I wore seven years ago at a wedding in Brussels a man of sixty five was getting married to a woman too young for him. They were happy for six years then he couldn´t get it up and in despair topped himself. I will wear my suit if someone invites me to a party; it hasn´t happened yet, I suppose it will not, old men, unless they are rich, find themselves alone most of the time...

martini | Write Out Loud

martini | Write Out Loud

A Sophisticated Drink

It stood there on the table a litre bottle of martini stuff

made in a factory in Milan and has nothing to do with

proper wine. The workers are basely underpaid, when

they ask a rise the get served martini for breakfast-.

Or perhaps I´m wrong and it is in South Africa where

sober wine workers get fired because they are unionised

and do ask for a better wage. Martini is a cheap product

that has been given a great write up, a liquid of alcohol,

water and some good smelling herbs.  

 The mystery is not
solved who had put the bottle on my

table? In a book by Somerset Morgan an ill willed woman

 put a bottle of
whisky by a vase of flowers for a woman  

she didn´t like, to find. The disliked woman found and drank

the whisky- straight from the bottle. She now a tart in bars

sits on men´s lap for a drink, as the ambiguity continues,

like cigarette smoke inhaled and exhaled in a deep dream

of a smoker who has recently  quit.

Centenary

Centenary 100 years since that war and the mighty are dressed in their fine uniforms and holding hollow speeches. For some the strutting about is triumphalism, but we cannot say so, but the British and French feel smug. The rusty/ gold prince is there too and his underlings have tearful eyes, he is so elegant and has tons of self assurance. There are many other royals too but the TV dwell mostly on the British nobles, this mainly because they know how to wear a uniform with style. This glorifying of war showing of the latest weaponry buying and selling of deaths while we say things like: “We must not forget.” Forget what! This pornography of violence on our screen day and night, yet we must not mention the reasons, money lent and money borrowed. As for now a river of blood runs in Gaza.

suits

Suits I started work in an office, wore a suit that was cheap and too small. They stuck me in a backroom that had mustard coloured walls and no sunlight. I sorted and filed bills that had been paid, and I never understood the point of it. Yet it was one up from my father, he worked for the council digging trenches by spade- yes it was long ago- when it was hot he wore no shirt muscular and tanned women sighed. My father was married five times and died doing push ups; or so mother said. After a year I understood i was not going to be promoted, became radicalized and joined the merchant navy. In New York I bought a splendid suit that had enormous shoulder padding, I went to the office in the hope of getting a proper job, a woman there gave me her phone number, like I should be for hire! The suit I have I wore seven years ago at a wedding in Brussels a man of sixty five was getting married to a woman too young for him. They were happy for six years then he couldn´t get it up and in despair topped himself. I will wear my suit if someone invites me to a party; it hasn´t happened yet, I suppose it will not, old men, unless they are rich, find themselves alone most of the time...

collaborator

The collaborator He and his wife ran a high class grocery shop and I was often outside looking in absorbing rarefied air of middle class living, that was till his wife saw me and shushed me away. War came, the window display got a bit thinner by now there was also a sprinkling of officer of the occupying army. A grocer hear things and it can, if whispered in the right ear, be advantageous. The war ended and the grocer had money to paint his shop in bright colours, which was nice in a war weary, drab little town. Time is an enemy his wife died he displayed her picture amongst Portuguese sardines. And we all came to look. A supermarket opened and we lost interest in a little grocer shop.

a leonine moment

A Leonine Moment Yellow lion teeth like petals of love I picked in the green savannah grass, it had just stopped raining and pearls, as glass bead around a child´s neck, glinted in the sun that had been hiding behind rain pregnant clouds, thunder and lightening; far away I heard a lion roar, inconsolable was its loss.

August forenoon

August Forenoon There is a sale on in the dress shop bathing trunks reduced up to 40%. It has been a good summer and few local people have died but the price of coffins stays the same.... So beautiful a forenoon, I drove on my moped to visit a carob tree I used to sit under when lonely Its thick branched protected me from the world. Under it now two elderly women -on their knees- picking sweet, black beans. The small farmers around here have aged with me, the women looked up and smiled at this elderly, permanent tourist on his round; he is like a hasty brush stroke on the canvas of eternity. On green vines hung juicy grapes tasted one it was like an explosion of natural sweetness that filled my mouth with yesterdays pleasure, they are ready to be harvested and made into wine, not for the rich but for the local people to drink with their stew.

the murder

The Murder Bombs are falling hundreds are killed many of them children and we shake our heads in dismay, something has to be done to stop these atrocities. Yet there is communality about bombing, victims died trying to save themselves, they did have a chance. On a sand dune a man on his knees, hands chained behind his back waiting for his killer to cut his throat and the awfulness of being human hits me with as a grim knife of sorrow. And then I have to endure someone defending his murder by saying it was caused by revenge for our misdeed, I ask, I holler into the wind, have you no compassion? Can you not feel, just for a moment, the lonely agony of the man’s final moment? His end so meaningless - as a life is- and no fairytale can make this revulsion into the defence for psychopaths’ entertainment.

misfortune | Write Out Loud

misfortune | Write Out Loud

The misfortune.

The white sheet moved gently in the summer breeze,

under it a still body we could see his motorbike boots.

The police had done their measuring up stuff, waited

for the ambulance crew to take the body away.

It had been such a splendid summer forenoon, but now

cars drove slowly by the accident scene, like a funeral

procession, we are so fascinated by unexpected death.

And now someone had to knock on a door, these things

can´t be done by a mobile call, and tell his mother that

the light of her life had been extinguished.

Whispers... : Nocturnal Hum--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal

Whispers... : Nocturnal Hum--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal: Nocturnal Hum She sat in her nightdress on the steps up to the terrace looking up to the sky - Full moon and stars so near you only needed a...

From Petersburg | Write Out Loud

From Petersburg | Write Out Loud

From Petersburg

I had cramp in my legs, got off my bike sat on a stone

Beside the road massaging them, when a bus full of

Russian football supporters, stopped.

A  man got out gave me
a scarf and the team´s banner

I put the scarf on – made by his mother- those in bus

applauded. They continued their way to Lisbon where

their team was playing Sporting in a friendly, I didn’t

have the heart to tell them the road they followed led

to Madrid in Spain, coming from Russia with love they

would soon learn Western Europe was not to be trusted.

From Petersburg | Write Out Loud

From Petersburg | Write Out Loud

From Petersburg

I had cramp in my legs, got off my bike sat on a stone

Beside the road massaging them, when a bus full of

Russian football supporters, stopped.

A  man got out gave me
a scarf and the team´s banner

I put the scarf on – made by his mother- those in bus

applauded. They continued their way to Lisbon where

their team was playing Sporting in a friendly, I didn’t

have the heart to tell them the road they followed led

to Madrid in Spain, coming from Russia with love they

would soon learn Western Europe was not to be trusted.

Nocturnal Hum | Write Out Loud

Nocturnal Hum | Write Out Loud

Nocturnal hum  

She sat in her nightdress on the steps up to

the terrace looking up to the sky- Full moon

and stars so near you only needed a curtain

ladder to pick stars as galactic fruit.

She had fallen asleep I carried her to bed and

her dream continued. Overcast and a cooling

wind, the good night was erased and I had been

warming my cold heart on a child´s dream

Nocturnal Hum | Write Out Loud

Nocturnal Hum | Write Out Loud

Nocturnal hum  

She sat in her nightdress on the steps up to

the terrace looking up to the sky- Full moon

and stars so near you only needed a curtain

ladder to pick stars as galactic fruit.

She had fallen asleep I carried her to bed and

her dream continued. Overcast and a cooling

wind, the good night was erased and I had been

warming my cold heart on a child´s dream

The Restless Heart | Write Out Loud

The Restless Heart | Write Out Loud

The Restless Heart

It was a year ago since he came out of hospital, he happened

to be there ill when they brought in a heart that had
belonged

to young woman who had been hit by a truck, and they gave
him

her heart. He was feeling fine now walked every day and ate
well,

but there was a sadness and in the night, he heard sobbing
and

could not go back to sleep again, but spent the night
watching old

you -tube film clips- and then one night he heard the voice
of

a woman who said “And then they put my heart in the cavity
of an

old man´s chest, it is not fair.” Yes, the old man thought
it isn’t fair

so he climbed up on his desk put a rope across a beam made a
noose

ready to do the right thing. Again the voice spoke; and now
he is going

 to kill me too. “He
removed the noose, no Saddam Hussein today,

instead he promised the young heart to go to hospital and
ask if they

could give him an older heart and put hers in a young body? the
voice

 said: “So I´m not
good enough for you, is that it?”

Entry | Write Out Loud

Entry | Write Out Loud



audio poem

the rape | Write Out Loud

the rape | Write Out Loud

The Rape

I met this girl she was tall and walked like a gladiator,

but she was not there when I needed her.

He - let stick to I- had been walking all night now it was
dawn

and I was very tired, young people too get tired. 

By the road a labourers’ cabin the door was not locked and

I went in sat by bench and fell asleep. When I awoke three
men

were leering at me, they were of the type that become guards

at prisoners´ camp and are the willing executioners of tyranny

and killers o innocence and beauty. I tried to get away,

but they pinned me, face down, on the table. Yes they raped
me

and to make the passage smooth they smeared my rectum with

yellow margarine.

Blindly I ran down hill came to a brook dived into it tried
to clean

myself, and on the surface came semen, blood, shit and
pearls of

margarine. Sat on a stone in the sun, knew I could not tell
anyone

about this shame that had happened to me; and worst of all
when

raped I had an involuntary erection. I had been a victim of
rape,

yet it took long before I could forgive myself  

sand, sun and nuclear insecurity | Write Out Loud

sand, sun and nuclear insecurity | Write Out Loud

Sun Sand and Nuclear Insecurity

Today I will not hear, see and listen to anything

that has to do with war I will watch sun rays on

the floor and dust particles that dance in stillness

of an absent breeze. Harmonious whirling, old

as life itself, as dust is the beginning and end of

everything. And I will dwell upon acceptance and

know of the demise of life, that is not failure but

the continuation of life in another form.

Eventually I will read about a strange people who

have never felt at ease and secure unless they can

dominate others and enslave them, yet this will not

be enough, their collective insanity will  obliterate

them too in a cloud of dust and void; this to trash

the perceived enemy out to eradicate them.     

the cancer ward | Write Out Loud

the cancer ward | Write Out Loud

The Cancer Ward

I had an appointment with a doctor in Lisbon as the roads

are crowded and quite unsafe for elderly folks we took

the bus and that was ok as it was air-condition and a lady

pretending to be stewardess served coffee and overpriced

sandwiches. In the seats behind me two giggling young

women, one was dark voiced the other feminine, they spoke

about sex, of the kind that is unknown to me except what

I have read of in books.

At the hospital´s entrance, some staffs were smoking under

a sign telling it was not allowed; but then, there is a
streak

of anarchism in the Portuguese.  The waiting room at a cancer

hospital is a great leveller; I noticed an executive type, a
lower

level banker perhaps, in suit and tie, he soon took off his
jacket

and sat beside a woman who was covered in cancerous warts.

Finally my turn came yes it was malign, but not aggressive,

operation scheduled for October.

Glad, we had lunch I ordered a glass of wine, then another
one

and I got very tired; we took a taxi to the bus terminal.

Old Lady in Black | Write Out Loud

Old Lady in Black | Write Out Loud

 Lady in Black

In my town winters in the fifties were darker than now,

there had been a war and austerity covered the town

in a fog of poverty. It had snowed during the day then it

rained, thawing snow, in the evening it froze over again

and roads became slippery for adults to walk on.

An old lady fell on the ice we ran over, helped her up, she

was small, as an old porcelain doll so frail she could break

into bits by the lightest touch. She had nosebleed took out

from her lacquered hand bag a monogrammed silk hankie.

 Droplets of blood on
white fascinated me.

Holding on to my arm I followed her to her gate, she offered

me a sweet, thinking of the blood, I refused.  I didn´t see her

again. Perhaps she sat behind laced curtain too afraid to
leave

her house. A memory of no value had opened up an everyday

occurrence in the life of a boy I once knew.

My Twin Brother David | Write Out Loud

My Twin Brother David | Write Out Loud

My Twin Brother David

I had a lump in my stomach it was just there

and being afraid of the knife I didn´t do anything

about it; but lately it had been growing and had

to be taken out. Inside the lump the surgeon found

an embryo, one of an old man with a paunch.

My twin brother who had followed me from childhood

to old age yet had not been giving life; an” it “to be put

in a jar, curiosity for medical students.

I took my brother home named him David put him in

a metal box, the one I had used when collecting rare coins,

coins I gave to a friend when he said they were worthless,

 buried him under my
almond tree. I can see David´s grave

from the window and wave, it is nice to have friend,

the one I gave my coinage to has disappeared.

 

the victorious

the victorious

we are responsible | Write Out Loud

we are responsible | Write Out Loud

We Are Responsible

Sandy Hook, so many children murdered,

I saw Obama cry. Gaza today hundred of

children murdered blown into the air like

ragdolls, broken limbs empty eyes; does 

Obama cry today? Brothers can you spare

a tear so easily spilt when watching a film

on TV, for the children of Gaza?  Or are you

sinking into apathy, blaming the victims?

This ghetto revolt, this time we cannot say

“We didn´t know,” wringing our damp hands

finding excuses, deflecting the cause of this

slaughter, but to no avail, we are responsible!

What happens in Gaza now will toll far into

the future and demand its exact retribution.

Her Ambition | Write Out Loud

Her Ambition | Write Out Loud

Her Ambition

I had wanted her to be a doctor or a lawyer

Something middle class that could give me

a reflecting glory. It was not to be, my secret

ambition was not hers.

After college she took evening classes learning

to be a hairdresser, got a diploma she was proud

of, I hung it on the wall in my study and packed

 my dreams in  golden regrets.

She has moved out now, my daughter who grew

up without a mother, she work in a market town

doing peoples hair; the distance between us has

widened and it makes me sad.

I never pushed my wishes on her never told her

what to be in life, although I bought law and medical

 books, the latter
made me a hypochondriac.

So we do not talk anymore about anything at all.

summer shower | Write Out Loud

summer shower | Write Out Loud

Summer Shower

Suddenly this afternoon the sun did not shine

on to the floor like limelight showing dancing dust

instead it got bland I looked out and it rained.

Took my shirt off walked out and stood enjoying

the cooling showers. 
What is good often turns and

 becomes painful; I
shivered gone was the sense of

joy I first had when remembering summers of so

long ago, now it felt as seeing a summer through

the obscurity of a hazy bathroom mirror.

Night, we swam in the pool as soft, warm rain fell

we made love on a sun-chair didn´t need no moon

or stars our love was hidden by a curtain of drizzle.

Sing for me memory but not loudly, it is not good

for an old man to recall too much of his love life,

by lying and forgetting how unfulfilled love can be,

summer shower | Write Out Loud

summer shower | Write Out Loud

Summer Shower

Suddenly this afternoon the sun did not shine

on to the floor like limelight showing dancing dust

instead it got bland I looked out and it rained.

Took my shirt off walked out and stood enjoying

the cooling showers. 
What is good often turns and

 becomes painful; I
shivered gone was the sense of

joy I first had when remembering summers of so

long ago, now it felt as seeing a summer through

the obscurity of a hazy bathroom mirror.

Night, we swam in the pool as soft, warm rain fell

we made love on a sun-chair didn´t need no moon

or stars our love was hidden by a curtain of drizzle.

Sing for me memory but not loudly, it is not good

for an old man to recall too much of his love life,

by lying and forgetting how unfulfilled love can be,

Grumpy morning

Grumpy morning | Write Out Loud

Grumpy Monday Morning

I sit by the bed can´t make up my mind lie down or get up.

I used to have a dog it woke me up early I had to take it
out

first thing and when it came back it checked every room.

My house has eight rooms each floor is on different level,

 in the old days when
I held parties friends, full of wine, used

to break legs, the ambulance crew knew my address.

Don´t know what happened to my friends some joined AA and

sent me leaflets about the danger of booze; others simply
got

decrepit lost their marbles and went back to their old
country.

What to do today, I can read a book, I don´t read much now get

 annoyed with writers,
who fill pages after pages with verbosity,

I have to skip pages of excellence to get back to the
plot.        

It is early and I to see a mechanic today about my car, but
he is

always late, think I will sleep a bit longer, say, to ten?

Numbers | Write Out Loud

Numbers | Write Out Loud

Numbers

In Oslo there was

a woman who could not

say seven.

At the butcher´s she asked

for six pork chops

and two more.

But that is eight.

Right!

She did want to give

the impression

she couldn´t say seven. 

wonder drug | Write Out Loud

wonder drug | Write Out Loud

Wonder Drug

Sirtuins, an enzyme I think, has the ability to rejuvenate

human cells; but it is very expensive to produce. Hence

only the elite can use it and thus live to be 500 years.

 People shrink after
two hundred years the fortunate

will be as tall as five years old and demand door bells

and light switched placed on the skirting board.

 We, the mortal, will
have to bend down as we always

have done to the powerful who are related to divinity.

Lottery in the future will not be about money but win

the right to be injected with Sirtuins. But the winners will

not join the elite, but alone face the horror of watching

family and friends get old and die out while they continue

to live in a world that is and echo of yesterdays anguish

devoid of laughter, love and newness. 

Yearning | Write Out Loud

Yearning | Write Out Loud

Yearning

Sometimes when alone

 I have the sense that

someone is trying to find me,

seeking me out,

it is usually a bottle of beer

in the fridge  

Morning has Broken | Write Out Loud

Morning has Broken | Write Out Loud

Morning Has Broken

The sea is flat and motionless shiny grey as a cannon

at a military museum Saturday afternoon, sun, storm

rain or storm will never bring life back to its surface.

The shoreline too is grey and there are tanks around

from a big battle that raged when a plane was shot

out of the sky; a world war began destroying dreams

of thousand years of peace. The strand of life is filled

with heaps of ashen bones and untold horrors.

On Morpheus´s wings I land softly outside a small

lemon hued house, enter and make a cup of coffee.

As I sip golden brew the colours are slowly returning,

 the sky is summer
blue with a few streaks of white,

remnants of night´s grief. Sun is yellow, so is straw,

but the olive tree is as green as the ocean used to be.     

                                

Treasure Hunter | Write Out Loud

Treasure Hunter | Write Out Loud

Treasure Hunter

I was following a narrow road that led to a dry like,

the road was flanked by uneven trees, looking like rejected

kids for the school´s football team, short, thin too tall,
and

the fat boy with round glasses. They shared a secret though,

glad not being selected as they hated organized sport.

At the dry lake I walked to its deepest point and pretended

I was diving looking for treasures. I found an empty tin of

sardines; I hate sardines we had only sardines in my
childhood

even sardine burgers, how pathetic is that?

The trees flanking the road where losers, that is only in
the eyes

of those who thought success was looking like everyone else.

a slight breeze and a frazzle of laughter;

seeing a dry rubber eraser, one that had been looked up in

an office drawer for five years, driving a scooter.  

Treasure Hunter | Write Out Loud

Treasure Hunter | Write Out Loud

Treasure Hunter

I was following a narrow road that led to a dry like,

the road was flanked by uneven trees, looking like rejected

kids for the school´s football team, short, thin too tall,
and

the fat boy with round glasses. They shared a secret though,

glad not being selected as they hated organized sport.

At the dry lake I walked to its deepest point and pretended

I was diving looking for treasures. I found an empty tin of

sardines; I hate sardines we had only sardines in my
childhood

even sardine burgers, how pathetic is that?

The trees flanking the road where losers, that is only in
the eyes

of those who thought success was looking like everyone else.

a slight breeze and a frazzle of laughter;

seeing a dry rubber eraser, one that had been looked up in

an office drawer for five years, driving a scooter.  

children of war | Write Out Loud

children of war | Write Out Loud

Children of War.

For all the time you have killed my children

I know when the grow up they will come and

Kill yours; mine has lost the ability to feel

Empathy, blinded as they are by hatred,

And you will cry, as I did, tie yellow ribbons

On trees, swear vengeance and kiss your flag.

What we will have in common is our mutual

Disgust, a bond of spilt blood that will last

Longer than mere love can.

tears of shame | Write Out Loud

tears of shame | Write Out Loud

Tears of Shame

Beware of over-romanticizing awkwardness

of a rich nation which cries over lost puppies

but takes no interest of starving children

in poorer countries, the foreign doesn´t

stir the heart into action.

Yes, the slushiness nation sees them,

the dead, bloodied children, yet sees them not.

Few life pictures are shown on TV

death tallies mentioned in a hasty manner.

Is there a conspiracy of silence?

A new medicine that keep old people active longer

catches the interest,

Not to forget the lovely story of a disappeared cat

that found its way back home after two years,

and its tearful old owner.  

the parrot | Write Out Loud

the parrot | Write Out Loud

This Parrot

this bird
in the cage its featherless wings folded to its naked

body like garden scissors and it
squawked;

I´m 89 years old today, let me out
of this bloody cage. but its

owner heard not she was a widow of
First World War veteran a

and told every one that this
particular war had seen the death

of 8 million horses 12 million
donkeys and no one took notice of

this mass slaughter but then
humanity only thought of its own

suffering and were impervious to
animals feeling. having been

dragged from a green field to a
soggy battlefield and not a word

of consideration only eyes by hungry
soldiers as a possible meal,

Goulash the known dish  was
originally made of horse meat,

camouflaged with paprika, hot pepper
and salt. 89 years in a cage

And had only been able to read
titles of books on the shelf, but

it had lively mind and by listening
to the radio for so many years

it was well educated and could
squawk with the best of them.

Behind mount sinai | Write Out Loud

Behind mount sinai | Write Out Loud

Behind Mount Sinai

On the asphalted road to a seaside town there is a hole in

the road, a nasty hole a car hitting it could have a bad
puncture.

 A rocket, albeit a
puny one, caused this.

Fired by people who will not take no for an answer they
refuse

to acknowledge   this
grand scale theft of their country.

Well, one has the right to defend oneself, so bombs, rockets
fall

 on a tiny piece of
land no bigger then fly dropping on a map.

 When Arab pride and
goliath are sated there will be peace but

the underlying causes of this ritual and one-sided bloodshed
will

 never go away till goliath
sees sense he is not David  with a sling

fighting the whole world in the odd belief he is both the
chosen and

 the persecuted
people. Jerusalem was promised to the Jews,

but not them alone; the pledge was made by Jewish soothsayers,

who knew when a lie is told often enough it becomes a truth.

corrosion | Write Out Loud

corrosion | Write Out Loud

Corrosion

I live in state of decay

all around me I see metal fatigue,

 my car will not start

and my heart is tired of beating

everyday

without a rest, or and app that can

take over for a few days.

A new battery for the car,

but it still breaks down things fall off.

A new heart?

Not for one who has diabetes

and is already old

Demanding too much, scramble up the mountain of life,

and short of breath.

At the garage a man dressed in oily overall,

and a listening device in his hand

shakes his head,

Rust on the bonnet, a ulcer that can´t be spray painted.

Give it to the scrap dealer, he says

Is he talking about me? 

Utopia | Write Out Loud

Utopia | Write Out Loud

Utopia

Morning, the night had been mysterious full of screams

where raped women hung in trees like soiled fruit

their begging for mercy had gone unheeded, angry laughter

of men crazed by drink and lust heard nothing but their

own voices egging each other on to commit heinous crimes.

Yet the morning had an aroma of newness a promise of

Utopia where humanity would live in peace with nature and

themselves and there would be harmony.

Premature fruit were lain out on the ground, so small like

children and I thought had they survived their ordeal they

would forever been outcasts by family and village, because

in the mind of the limited brained, the victims of this type

of crime, are the guilty ones. And so the sun goes on shining

on the ugly and beautiful in equal measures.  

contemplation | Write Out Loud

contemplation | Write Out Loud

Contemplation

It is a mild sunny day I drive past the cemetery

and know for a chance I should have been there.

It is a beautiful place, but its inhabitants have no

knowledge of this, beauty has ceased to mean

anything, a well kept grave place is for the living.

I live on borrowed time and know it, yet sleep

soundly as I can do nothing, living in dread

of death strikes me as a waste of precious time.

I struggled for years to be somebody only too late

seeing we all are nobodies, only beauty prevails

and it can only be found when the mind is silent.

 I regret harsh word
spoken to loved once, but not

enough to keep me awake because I have found

peace and have lost my tiresome ambition.  

 

culture | Write Out Loud

culture | Write Out Loud

Culture

Education is good, learning is great

One day everyone will have

A University degree but the academia

Will not be so happy

Street cleaners with letters after their name

Cooks with literary degrees,

And the status University gives will mean

Little, everyone is intellectually equal

Something must be done to stop this rot,

Perhaps wood carving will do,

And leave the education to the masses.