changing map

Changing Map

Europe is like a carpet made of left over textile and it is quite malleable

and can be changed shortened or made bigger. I used to know Crimea

as a part of the Soviet Union, but then, one day, it wasn´t; only it was

still there and had not changed shape only ownership.

And now to the contrived upset by UK, USA and EU – the use of mobile

phone speak is in- it is back in Russian hands. The change is here to stay,

but of course my holiday with Putin in Siberia is out  this year.

This re-occupation is nothing new, the Jews waited 2000 years before

occupying Palestine, they had once lived there as tribe. Mind it is not fair

to compare Crimea with Israel, in Crimea the people welcomed Russian rule,

In Palestine, the Jewish annexation was called a catastrophe.

the voice within

The Voice Within

Truth is a beautiful bird that seeks the light of knowledge

but it also has sharp talons to grab hold of and expose lies,

and falseness that dissipate in the sight of veracity.

But are all truths good for everyone isn´t there moments

in life when a small lie can safe life or stop the crying of

a distressed child or comfort the grieving?

The insistence of absolute truth can with time become

cold and tyrannical, shows no mercy holds no love, lacks

human understanding and passion.

Truth seeker can be sadists taking delight in suffering of

those who have been caught in the confusing of untrue,

of what professional liars call: “To misspeak”   

 Truth without empathy is therefore useless we need to

hear the inner voice and listen to its song; at dawn it sings

so softly you will be moved to make the right choice.

the great mother

The Great Mother

She was a famous mother of the church worked long hours

to help the poor die- with some dignity- on a straw mat.

 Total her dedication but bitter was her heart she prayed

to a god that did not deign to give her an replay just a long

enduring silence a telepathic phone call never answered

the hum of eternity, futility and nothingness.

The ungodly world recompensed her she was feted and

travelled first class meeting the high and influential and

movie stars were eager to have their photo taken with her.

She kissed the pope´s ring- few women get that accolade-

and the gallant pope with the world´s eye resting on him

kissed her hands. But her hart grew bitter in her old age she

lost faith and in her heart forswore his presence, pushed him

out like a suitor who only had empty promises in his sack.   

whstleblowers

Whistleblowers

I do not want to know a thing about whatever they tell me it is tainted

by self interest and veiled threats if you do not agree with the official

politics you must be a lover of the enemy. When a leader says: Those

who are not for me are against me.” You know free speech has lost,

in your own town, because the pressure to conform is a dragnet and

if you cannot accept this simple but lethal dictum, you are doomed yet

blessed by your moral compass it is clear as the summer sky in August.

But it is hard to not follow the stream to be different and you will ask

is it worth this misery I suffer for a little bit of truth when a sweet lie

could have made your life pleasant and with many important friends.

 But you know your life will not be good you betrayed yourself and

your conviction for a soft sofa and a picture in the paper.

 The worst thing a man can do is to betray his own believes what he

knows to be true and losing his soul. 

Annoying Russians

Annoying Russians

Bloody Russia, we thought the bear was tamed, we admired

Putin and smiled at his effort to look fit and young, just like us.

But we neglected to read about Russia´s turbulent history

while we slowly ensnared the country EU and NATO, and NGO´s

who spent much time talking behind the bear´s back.

 Ukraine, and our senseless acceptance of a coup against

a legal government, even though there soon will be an election,

was the last straw; and Crimea was its panicky reaction.

Not an occupation, the people voted to stay in the Russian federation,

and there was much rejoicing, vodka, wine and flag waving.

Election in Ukraine in May and it might surprise the west, who

With a new General Secretary- a Norwegian- who is as bland as

the Danish one, and equally without real power, because the true

might rests with USA.     

a day is a lifetime

A day, is a life time

I remember a track I used to walk it was uneven, exposed

olive tree roots were made smooth by sheep´s hooves.

I have taken pictures of places I used to walk look at them

now and feel regret that I shall not walk these paths again,

yet also-one has to say that or risk sounding bitter- thankful

that I was given the chance to walk there and see animals

those not yet domesticated like deer, wild boars, and rabbits

frolicking in the dandelion yellow glade of love.  

I feel sorry for household animals they are utterly in our power,

pat a goat´s head then slit its throat and think no more about it

all in a day´s work. Three couples of pensioners came here to

my village many years ago now they are dead victim of old age.

Just like goats we know nothing about the day, first a promising

sun, then the sudden stillness pale frost.  

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Liverpool

 Hunger In Liverpool

In the cafe at the railways station in Liverpool there was on a hot plate,

a dish of sausages with mash potatoes. It, the food, had been there

 a long time waiting for someone hungry enough to buy this disgusting,

dish, unprotected from cigarette smoke and sneezing people.

There was a time – not long ago- when people smoked silly cigarettes

 smoked all over the place, tables overflowing of dirty ashtrays and I was

glad when smokers had to go outside to lit up, even though I too was

a smoker at the time.

I was going to London for the week but lost my train I was too occupied

with the plate of sausage waiting for someone to buy the filthy food;

no one did so I got up and bought the lonely lunch this unspeakable last

 plate readymade food and threw it into the waste bin.

I got a late train to London and back then not many places to eat at night

And I could not help thinking of sausage and mash.    

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Gulls and Other Birds.

As we left harbour seagulls and their mewling followed

 us for a few hours, then they slowly disappeared and we

were in a world of floating iron with cargo in the ship´s

hold for some faraway destination.

We didn´t hear the sound of the engine, only when

it stopped in the middle of the ocean, we could hear

the sea slapping against the hull, an uneasy silence

till the engine came back to life.

Miles away when we neared the port of our destination

we were met by mewling seagulls, when they saw the man

or boy, with a dirty apron and a bucket of leftovers, their

 shrieks intensified... the masses angry demand.

At night tarns dressed up as tarts sat in bars and charmed,

but we only knew that when they laughed too hard.

topography lesson

Topography Lesson

Geography, I was good at it in school but somehow I missed San Marino.

I vaguely remember a movie with some lady star of yore making

a film about the place, maybe I have got it wrong and it was Monaco,

which  has a royal house with princesses and a prince or two?

San Marino is a republic one of the oldest around and that is why it is

unknown. What, no princesses, no romantic castles or a mad king?

Sorry no. Just dry republicans, banks and a vinery and wild boars which

is of no interest to popular ladies´ magazines like “Halloo”. 

In Serravalle, near the Apennine Alps; there is a butcher who specialises

in cured ham which has some claim to fame, and in San Marino,

the capitol city, there is a good restaurant. Humiliation, going through

life not knowing about this tiny republic its history and coinage; my shame

 is total. Should you go there do not drive too fast, because before you

know it you are back in Italy, spaghetti Bolognese and smelly toilettes .

gun play

Gun Play in the Meat Locker

At the bottom in the Mexican bay rests a 22 calibre pistol,

it is in a box and the box is in a plastic bag that moves

with the tide; the gun was mine I had bought it in Galveston.

 I had been obsessed with firearms lately, needed a shooter

but didn´t want to buy one bulky cannon difficult to hide,

it was easy to purchase came in a box six bullets included.

Back on board and with trembling hands I placed the gun

inside the frozen carcass of a sheep and tried to sleep.

Night in the bay of Mexico I took the pistol up on the deck

and said. ”bang, bang you are dead. Put the gun back in

Its box and the box in a plastic bag and threw it overboard.

It was a beautiful night and I was free of my obsession with

 firearms they make me nervous and I´m satisfied to know

I was not born to be a gunslinger called Morgan Kane. 

a love story too

A Love Story 2

Huelva and the Golf of Cadiz and it was August and in the town

there were laud music and rockets in the air. I had met a gypsy girl

 she wore a white blouse and a red long skirt she wore no shoes

her feet brown and dusty. Back then I smoked cigarettes- chesterfield-

they were supposed to be upmarket compared to Camel cigarettes;

even then I wanted to be different, a cook who could read

 She admired my Ronson lighter it was expensive and no one on

the ship had a lighter that classy.

She clicked the lighter a few times how she coveted it, but I was

surprised when she suddenly ran away. I thought she ran for fun,

 she would come back: she didn´t. Later I saw her she was with two

gypsy boys and I dared not say anything. I walked back on board,

borrowed a box of matches sat in my cabin smoking and dreaming

of her beautiful eyes.  

a statue,,,man with umbrella

A Statue... Man with umbrella

It was May in Lisbon had been walking long sat down on a bench

near a statue of a great Portuguese navigator, resting sore feet.

I had earlier that day bought an umbrella, it broke in high wind

so I put it beside on the bench. A child came sat on my lap and his

mother took a photo, apparently they thought I was a statue too.

A man who was showing tourists around said I was a figure made

by the famous Gabriel Bard. I said nothing since I had lost ability

to speak. In the morning cleaners came hosed me and the other

statue down so we looked spotless and presentable for tourists.

After a month I took the night train home in the knowledge that

 my picture was taken a thousand times. In the news, next day

 a story of a disappeared statue, the police was on the case.

Gabriel Bard was interviewed, poor man he was almost in tears

and demanded to be generously reimbursed for his great work.

Was the sculptor is a charlatan cashing in on my fame?  

slums of this world

Slums of the World

In Bombay I got lost in a slum so vast, a maze of poverty its inhabitants

survive in a mysterious way living as they do off the waste produced by

the prosperous. This anthill, this myriad of struggling humanity, if they

are not too busy surviving every moment of the day, look up and see

the formidable sight of the rich. A skyscraper built for a family of four,

yet vast with so many floors and rooms it has a place for slum dwellers too.

 so why do they not take it over. A revolution of short duration, defecate

in every room, elevators and swimming pools; let the rich smell the stench

of your life till the police – servants of the powerful- come, throw you out.

Shoulder to shoulder they exist the sinner and the saint, a son suckling

a breast that has no milk, death and filth clouds the day, blinded stumbling

fumbling in despair, a jute sack of destitution, how to be free?  

But there is one pleasant thought, this obscene edifice, a one finger salute to

the poor, will never be glorious again.

spirit of surrender

Spirit of Surrender

Be quiet now rest your heart and soul,

your dream will never be fulfilled, let it  go now,

walk in the garden of elderliness

your journey was the quest and there was

No goal to reach, neither laurel nor applause,

just you plow through the ocean of life.

and that is enough for any man.

Rest now old man wake up early, see the sunrise

while walking barefoot on summer grass.

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the good faith

 The Good Faith

!t was a big ship fully automated, the engineers wore

White overalls and the deck officers, splendid uniforms,

While the ship´s captain sat in his cabin and wrote

Leaned thing about navigation. the cook was an exception

He still had to prepare food and worked long hours,

But it must be said he had shiny pots and pans the never burned,

So modernity benefitted him too.

The sip had no anchor it had been lost in a storm and now

They had to do with virtual one few had much faith in,

Circling the oceans endless not being able to find a tranquil bay

Cast anchor and rest. So it happened then the hip had a black out

Had no anchor and drifted on to a reef, and there was no life boats

The captain said the sip wasn´t sinking his faith in automatic was

Like a religion for him, but the ship sank under the greedy ship,

The crew had more faith in life-jacket and the shore line that looked

Beautiful in the afternoon. 

before dawn

Before Dawn

Woke up the bedroom darker than the night outside which

had the benefit of streetlights and light from windows of

the sleepless. when I closed my eyes, I saw a myriad of stars

a galaxy of colours which circled around for no apparent

but since everything has a reason, even insanity, I took it

the colours had a goal, a lofty purpose, if only to keeping me

entertained  a four in the morning. and spare me the thought

of death – a thought that stalks- all old people everywhere.

 it is also a banal, like a cigarette addiction, for in their heart

there is a tiny spark that tells them they are the exception

the people that will live forever and thus blessed with man´s

ancient illusion we can sleep a little bit longer. 

truth speaker

The Truth Speaker.

The voice that speaks in the silence of my unheated room,

frost smoke in morning light and ice crystals of judgment

that lacks passion, and logic too has the seed of insanity,

the lunatic is so clear that his view infects his psychiatrist.

the voice within is not always reliable  subjected as it is

on the mood of the day. Sunman, rainman even snowman

want a word in the interior drama of talent and failure.

  A dissonance of voices around the conference table and

everyone is your copy…but you can´t listen to them all,

a choice has to be made, the art is to choose the right one.  

morning in the city

Morning in the city

Through the half open curtains, day came

the world was silent and deep down there

into city caverns cars stood still but since it

had rained during the night pools of water

and diesel oil had made perfect rainbows.  

A bus stopped, two women entered they

looked as low paid cleaners, yet modest

morning light made their unpainted faces

into works of art.  The city yawned drank

coffee and began the bustle of commerce 

longitude

The Longitude

Woke up by the stream

of kind nature

I had no recollection

of a past,

this was now, an expanding

presence,

as water rings made

by a stone thrown into a lake,

till it runs out of energy

sinks to the bottom

where other stones that,

used to be mountains rest,

and there is

for the exceptions of

a few commas

unpunctuated stillness

a Racial moment

A  Racial Moment

He was the family´s black sheep, which was awkward since his father was

the president of a racist party. No black people here the grim father said;

they come here with machetes and try to kill us, we have to protect our

belligerent Viking culture from these begging ruffians.  But his opponent

shouted your son is a black sheep he has chimney sot on his face and he

has suckled on the breast of a coloured woman, who are you to lead us?

 Show your mettle your passion to and preservation to white culture, but

do not mention the Nazi thing it was an apparition, but kill him now.

The father grabbed a machete from a black teenager, to slaughter his son,

but a Sheppard came gave the father a lamb to kill, and there was great

jubilation and beer was drunk. Later in bed, the wife asked: did you really

meant to kill your son? No the father said it was pre arranged, politics my 

little darling. This in his wife´s eyes, was betrayal, odium, felt a delirious

hatred running like lave through her, she got up and killed her husband

with a single blow of the machete. The moral of this absurd tale is: don´t

keep secrets from your wife. 

precipitation

Precipitation

The wall on the other side of the road used to be

full of translucent sunlight, and no shadow dared

to cast its evening spell before five o´clock.

It has been raining for weeks now, grey sky and

drizzle the wall looks unpainted like melancholy

seen in the eyes of the old.

See how the indoor light gives tear drops on

the window pane a tiny rainbow each, as to say

there will be a sunny wall someday.

  

the painting

The Painting

The sky is pale,

white clouds have eaten

all the blue,

then diminish into fading mist.

Pales sun brightens

as the sky gets deep azure

when the day darkens into

a mature afternoon.

No aisle to hold a canvas

no brushes or paint

Just what the artist wanted

and tries to emulate.

And he had succeeded

an expert on colour blue

and leafless trees, a pity

his name was Hitler.

the value of money

The Value of Money

Once I was a multi millionaire it was shortly after the war ended

in 1945, when I found a bundle of German marks from 1914.

Think I found them on a shelf in an abandoned house used by

German officers, there was so many things they left behind like

gas masks and bikes and I learned to cycle on a pilfered bike,

it was black and had a Nazi symbol painted on its frame, but my

uncle Harold painted it over. I was lucky who found money, some

of the lads found live hand grenades and blew themselves up.

The winter of 1945 was cold and we often used my millions

to get the fire going in the morning and mother said we were

so rich we could afford to burn money. In the village where I live

there is only one rich person, he is a miser and live behind tall

walls, his car has dark windows, and I have never seen smoke

coming out of his chimney; ash of notes white as snow.  

by the river

By The River.

At the estuary of the Amazons the water is muddy and shallow and

there are no undercover bosses, pretending to be one of the people

who live in houses on stilts on the small islands where the river

meets the sea, blends and loses its power; for those who have sailed

the oceans no river is big. On the delta, of the great river, live people

who get their income from fishing they are poor yet free from prying

bosses those who buy the river and the sea for exploitation and make

people into low paid worker; destitution without pride.  

Every group of houses on the islands have a shop that sells sweets,

cigarettes and Coca Cola, the fisherman smokes, children drink cola,

America´s cultural export reaches every corner of our cerulean orb,

Camel is a brand not an animal, Winston is a night riding cowboy.

 This means nothing for the people here, who try to catch the Boto,

(pink river dolphin) which is rich in protein and tastes good.