misbegotten bishop

Misbegotten Bishop

And he was a thin bishop with gleaming fanatical specs

he was explaining about Jesus and resurrection but his

intensity his fervent belief was apprehensive to take in.

The young man promoted before his time was bubbling

over in his total scripture belief that brokered no dissent.

And I thought now that Moslem fundamentalists are on

the move there will be Christian ditto and it will end in

violence, and all because we wanted a gaiety in our own

image depending on our fairytales of innocent childhood.   

Yet as we fought with sword and scabbards we knew

there was a third voice, which had put us up to this, we´re

a victim of a plot by the people of inborn inequity by those

who always had been blamed for wrongdoing and was

unable to see or feel their inborn, frame of devilish mind. 

short haiku

Haiku

Spend mortal hours

Looking at a white washed wall

In wonder

long haiku

Haiku

Hours has past I only noticed when the shadow on the white wall

 on the house where the couple died within a week of each other.

He died in his sleep a restless ghost surprised that no one sees him.

he has yet to accept he is dead. She died in her chair overwhelmed

by the swiftness of death. I see her behind the curtains she too has

not understood she was the corpse in last week´s funeral.  

This was not why I had been sitting here for hours while thoughts

flew in a northerly direction, no, not at all, I had spent so much time

trying to write a haiku expressing the wonder of sunlight on a wal

the forgotten dream

The Forgotten Dream

It is early I sit and watch a blank screen trying to find

words of a dream I had, but I feel like a loser one of

those who tried but never got there; and the misery

gets deeper every year. The radio is on telling me

the a last pope – the Polish one- is being canonised he

had performed a miracle in San Juan. I find it odd

that a religion should have to rely on miracles to be

serious and believable.

Tired of looking at the blank screen I read an article

in Der Spiegel and make a polite comment and desist

using a strong language, and most of the time my

modest comment is published. The Guardian too is

kind that way and tolerate a forceful language.

Breakfast and I have not written a bloody word yet.      

the heat

The Heat

Summer heat and no rain a tourist threw a burnt match

Into straw it took fire and the blaze spread from this point

to all countries that neither was nor protected by a sea wall.

the people where the fire began ran to a lake only the lake

was so dry, it caught fire too. Black smoke and white smoke

mingled became grey smoke and it rained for days.

It was a time of austerity man in towns and beast in nature

suffered meanly the first year of no fire.

A world conference was held it was now against the law to

carry matches only the state could. I few countries were

allowed to keep lighters too, those who didn´t have them

were band from the ball room. Those who burnt in the lake

were given their own land, they have matches and lighters

and big wall so high, the land is almost deep as a lake.   

see Rome

See Rome and Someone Dies

Again there was a delay I packed my suitcase ready

for Rome taking the train, but something got in the way

another bloody postponement; i had just wanted to see

the statues I had written about they were based on

black & white photo taken by someone in 1961 or 1962.

A friend of mine a former sergeant in the British army

went and died suddenly I had to attend his funeral and

speak to his family, and just as i was to leave his wife

died too and I lost interest in Rome for now, but perhaps

later this year before cold wind and rain I should be able

to get to this great city and see the immortal statues.    

privatized nurssing

Privatized Nursing

 The nurse was young and slim, tight fitting white uniform

and she was cutting tiny hears out of my ear.

she was a trained nurse those i remember from my childhood

used to be heavy set and deeply religious.

To be a nurse now an independent trade one needs more than

changing bandage on a sore that never heels.

To be a nurse now one need to know about charm and not be

to strict about the question of moral.

 There is an obligation by the profession to not leave a patient

unsatisfied, yet not full enough to want some more.

Years ago nurses were not allowed to marry, they should be chaste

a sort of sexless women who looked another way when

an old man had an erection. These days of course such things are

taken care of as a part of the treatment.     

buffer states

Buffer States.

Transnistria I knew the country well lived in Tiraspol 

and swam in the river Dnieper. In the cold season we

had gas from Russia free of charge our houses were

like saunas and there were many indoor pools full

of gas heated water. What lovely time, we all wanted

to be Russian; without actually being one.

Although we speak Russian in Transnistria we tend to

be more olive skinned with Romantic dark eyes.

For us buffer states we have to play guitar as well as

the mandolin and we learn appealing folk song which

makes the powerful... cry. No we are not cowards, just

realists bidding our time.   

Easter

Easter

It has been long Friday all day long it started early around five

in the morn and lasted til nine in the evening.

Not only was the day long streets were full of traffic

of drivers who wanted to go on holiday and

the air was foul of spent fuel and the anger of

those who had forgotten why they had been given this vacation.

mind the survivors on the blood road that leads

from Lisbon to Algarve

will not have the presence of mind to give thanks to providence.

Now that it is Easter it is interesting to notice that in Venezuela there

is a revolt by the elite against the poor which the Saviour gave his

life to defend….c´est la vie 

first thought

First Thought

it is evening somewhere people are on their barricade women

has brought them bread, red wine and goat cheese. and the women

although want their menfolk back in a whole piece, cannot help

admire the masculinity that hangs like an aphrodisiac amongst burning

tires and other useless material that can´t stop tanks but do

make a splendid display of heroism. A war has been averted,

politicians have made an agreement, the heroes can go home and get

their sweet diploma. and nine months later tiny tots are born

many of the get names like  Svetlana and Ivanov. But of course

the newborn will never know what passion, delight and also

the need of procreation  when there is a fear of inhalation,

the end of a tribe, the end o culture and language In more placid times

fewer children are born and the preoccupation is about equality

among the sexes, but then when the very survival beckons survival

of the existential lot, life becomes more basic, women give birth and

bring survival forward, men fight and die on the battlefield  

What to Believe (published in der spiegel

 What to Believe (published in “Der Spiegel)

And here we go again, a conflict that can end in war

and both sides blame the other and we believe in

lies according to out political convictions.

Everyone claims to know the truth which they are unable

to verify without calling the opponent names.

Could the cynical truth be that Europe needs a war

not a devastating one, but just a little bloodletting before

settling the matter in Berlin.  

War memorials and solemn handshakes.

Jansen

Jansen

Jansen and co,, my mother worked for him as a maid

in our little town he had the finest shop, with gold letter

name above the windows, he sold menswear of the highest

quality and had economic interest in other things too.

In our little town he was a man you took your cap of for even that

you knew he didn´t know you.

Mother adored the family; she worked for them two years and spent

most of the time reading, the Jansen´s had a big library

and mother, a woman from a foster home, got an education.

Then war came to our town and people who had enjoyed their

hospitality turned out to be informer.

The family was arrested for being Jansen sent to a death camp

somewhere on the continent. The name of the shop “Jansen´s

is still there in big bold golden lettering.

Pescadores

Pescadores

Peter the fisherman was poor his net yield little, but all fishermen

are supposed to be poor live in a shack for and have eleven children.

for some this is true and they live up to our romantic ideal for whom

good Christian women knit jumpers and warm gloves.

there are fishermen not so poor, they are trawlers empty

the seas and make money and bonus and a warm bunk to sleep in

at night. Of course their high living standard is only temporary when

the ocean is almost empty; trawlers do not go to sea but rust somewhere

in a bay of despair. And  again small fishing boats have to set sail and try

to catch a codfish or two. But Peter knew better he became a fisher of

souls and never got wet feet again.

  

no meat today

 No meat today

And it was Easter Sunday morning and few cars on the road

for the last few days I had been eating greens to be on t safe

side of religious tyranny…. in the garage I opened a tin of corn beef

made in Argentine, where the new pope hails from.

I have opened many corn beef boxes over the years

they are difficult to open my blood has often mingled with the meat.

and I ate the beef with my car key.

ballast tanks

 Ballast Tanks

The cargo ship in the bay is low in the water

she is waiting for the pilot to maneuver her into port,

but since there are swells her captain has

sensible filled the ballast tanks, the balance of a ship is

often forgotten especially on ferry boats as they tend

to be high in the water. it is a lovely spring day and in

few hours we will be able to stretch out legs on firm ground.

The captains though will not his ship is his home unlike us for

whom the ship is a place of work and when we leave we think not more

of this work place of iron, sailing upon restless seas, I wonder what will

happen to the captain when he finally has to leave, a strange world

where he is just a number and no one will show him the respect

a master deserves. And when he sits on a park bench overlooking the bay

he will curse his elderliness and the loss of his home. 

tanka

Tanka

Daring employments

When women do them, a job

Adventure gone.

Feminism is a destroyer

Kill boys ´dreams of greatness.

 Tanka

Life in the Sea

I bought cod skin shoes

time was hard and the footwear fine

except when it rained

they swam back to the seas left be shoeless,

their home is the Dogger bank.

couples

Couples.

The couple who sometimes clean my house came today,

she has a new boyfriend now a nice looking man who work

hard and obey her. I don´t know what happened to her first

boyfriend he suddenly disappeared, rumours has it he was

a bit violent, and my cleaner is not a woman who tolerates

who tolerates that; I think she killed him if found out I will be

a character witness in her defence. “My lord, this woman is

harmless and have firm buttocks under her cleaning outfit.”

 It is astoundingly how little we know of people we meet on

our daily life. I met a woman who had been married six times

this was too much baggage for me to shoulder so I left.

George Simenon married his housekeeper who had worked for

him through his many marriages, knowing and just waiting,

and she, a modest femme de ménage, ended up with the loot.  

  

black humour

Black Humour

The day tragedy struck, a misfortune that also held in

It´s  grasp a tendency to giggle, a black sort of humour

when laughter threatens to replace sorrow.

 My little cabin is built on a slope therefore every room

has a different level, two steps up three steps down and

so on. I used take in dogs for owners who didn’t want

them in a kennel but leave them in cosy a family setting.

One day I got a blind dog, but after a couple of days it

quickly learned where the steps were. Two weeks later

the lady called she was picking up her bundle of joy, and

the dog barked into the phone; smile and happiness.

When the dog heard the car stop it was in the kitchen

it raced into the hall forgetting the steps- three of them-

it fell awkwardly broke its neck and died.

San clemente

San Clemente

San Clemente is a mini state in the north of Portugal, just at the border of Spain,

it was founded by a flatulent bishop whose idea of healthy living was to let trapped

air freely flow. The town Clemente, is very charming with narrow roads meandering

around tiny village houses, car driving is not legal but you can hire a nice scooter.

I walked into a bistro ordered breakfast. The girl who took my order broke wind  

I pretended not to hear, but I noticed similar noises came from tables where other

Clementinians sat; they also had perfumed hankies tucked in their sleeves which

they sometimes took out pressed to their noses, when not smoking strong

Turkish cigarettes. It was surprisingly cheap to rent or buy a flat there, thought of

renting, but the lady showing me round was so excited that I began smoking again.

But for me the freedom of releasing intestinal gasses at will was a liberty too far so

I drove across to border into Portugal and ate my dinner there in relative peace. 

Lavender

Lavender

 On a mile stone in a small town I sat trying to write

a poem, an old man sat on a wooden bench watching

me, he had a newspaper on his lap. A cat under a car

was watching him, perhaps he gave it something to eat

from time to time. With a sigh I put my notebook back

into the side pocket of my jacket. No poem today.

The man began reading his newspaper, the cat looked

away and began grooming itself. A bus stopped two

elderly ladies alighted, bags full of shopping, and all was

back to normal, but I remember the air of summer dust

diesel fumes and the aroma of lavender.  

the right gift

The Right Gift.

When he was fifteen, a man, he had packed his bag

ready to join the merchant navy. His mother had two

parcels in her hands asked him to choose one and

not open it before he got old.

 Since he liked to travel light he took the lightest packet

 not bigger and heavier than letter, the other was

heavier and might have hidden a fortune.

Well he lived and loved and before he knew it was old,

opened the parcel, on a piece of paper was written

enjoy your life and embrace your elderliness.

His sister rang they had found this parcel amongst her

things with his name on it. Open it, he said. She did and

laughed, it was a brick, an ordinary house brick... How did

His mother knows he would choose the right present?

strange encounter

Strange Encounter
It was a silent night if not holy, it was overcast
the electric gone, no streetlamps or moon.
A  knock on my door a bundle of night asked to come
in because he was afraid of the darkness,
He sat by the candlelight warming his hands
and became almost transparent you could see
he had lived long; the blessed sun had never warmed
his face never had he seen sunlight make rippling  
sea into gold. Towards dawn got his spirit up and
smiled... then he seeped out just as the light came back on.

from little eagle press

http://littleeaglereverse.blogspot.pt/

milk churns

Milk Churns

 Two milk churns standing on the ramp waiting to be picked up.

I sit trying to remember a summer of dust, milk and the smell

of the wood ramp, the aroma of fresh milk the gritted road and

The grazing cattle we had robbed of milk. The smell of the land

that was fertilized by the residue of man and beast.

Now, so many years later, they are rediscovering this type of soil

enrichment again. In my childhood it was a common occurrence.

I wonder if the green middle class party is willing to take up this

practise I saw the milk truck coming down the road throwing up

dust, it seemed to take forever and in the shimmering it floated on

top of the road´s pale surface. Gruff voices, they gave me a piece

of paper and I was left with two churns to take back to the farm

 only I didn´t I fell asleep dreaming on a life in the future only awoke

when the famer´s rough voice asked what I was doing sleeping

a summer´s day away. 

nails

Nails

If a cardinal, the day before the pope is cleaning his feet,

washes them himself day before and clip his toenails short

 will he be cheating. Or do all cardinals do the same before

letting the pope clean their feet?

When I go and see my doctor I always clean my feet well.

because I know he is going to see them –diabetes- I also soak

my socks in aftershave lotion  and smell like a barber shop;

last I saw him he sneezed, guess I have to buy a dearer brand. 

I looked under the cat´s nails they were spotless not a splat

of blood although I knew he just had killed a mouse.  

I have problems with my fingernails, always tinkering with

an engine until it is all a mess and I have to call out a mechanic.

When a mess boy, years ago the chief steward inspected out

 hands in the morning, but luckily not our feet. 

Scandinavian culture

Scandinavian Culture

In Sweden they have culture

in Norway too they have or tries to have culture

they built expensive buildings

to house third rate art.

This is only possible with oil money.

so leave Edward Munch in his old building even

If the guards are cold and wear big overcoat

In January.

Modern art can be profound and fun, but it is not

automatically great because a critic says so.

Art like poetry need a long time to before the readers

or seer approves.

To see good art and listen to poetry in Norway you have to

go to the provinces where the oil has not

made art suave, pompous and smothered in money.

In Sweden art is everywhere just listen to its

Language.   

frances 6 Fidel

Frances & Fidel

It was long ago when Batista was in power in Cuba

and Havana was a whorehouse for American tourists

Then Fidel came down from the mountain, chased

shady dealers out off his island and there was peace.

But the gangsters their molls and other hangers on

got their Revenge and Cuba faced hard, lasting time.

 Yet Cuba today has educational system better than

any one and a star quality health system.

Alas, since Cuba has an intelligent population, they

are getting restless to possess what the west has.

 It is not freedom as you think, but the possibility

to buy hardware, games and modern cars. 

They will get there Cuba is changing one hopes new

Leaders will keep the ideal of sharing fairly alive.

   

The world has two popes one is catholic the other 

an atheist, but both want the best for mankind. 

land of dust

The Land of Dust

All the hills and mountains are ochre so are people too

which mad them blend in with the landscape when

they on uneven days stand in for a Taliban who could not

make it that day. The teacher cannot appear today, but another

teacher will take his plays and teach you how to handle

a machine gun and throw a grenade. Girls have to go outside

and play mothers. The old teacher will not come back

he was shot in Kabul, a hero, a suicide bomber his left leg

flew in the air and landed on the roof of the school house

and the crows came. The bullies rule the world, how to get rid

of them is a mystery.

The attempt to make them nice has failed miserably.

There is no more money to be made here so I´m

going home and write a book about Afghanistan and showing

the world what a stupid berk I´m not that anyone will

notice the audience knows nothing but wait for you

to say something about

our brave soldiers- they were just doing a job- And those

who know the truth is too cynical to care.

countries that end in “stan” deserve the leaders they get.

And the hills and mountains will continue to be khaki coloured

with green spot of plants here and there. 

all the gods

All Those Gods

Frost rim on the lawn and it is April in Portugal

which quickly disappeared. 

When the sun, that

In  Portugal, is African came over the rim of the mountain range

That makes the difference between two languages

zapped the frost. But dark cloud came obscured the sun

made it feel lesser than it was and

rain came a deluge of water that lasted until nightfall

and when it didn´t matter anymore. And I had stood by the window

Waiting for a signal it was now safe t go out.

The sign never came and I lost my belief in Greek gods.

And if it rains tomorrow even Zeus can get lost and I will go back

to Nordic religion, Odin and that motley lot. And come to think about

is there something working class, smithy,

about Odin and his son Thor.    

friendly animals

Friendly Animals

A flock of human like penguin stood on the icy shore, in the water

sharks waited, but the birds had to catch food for their families.

One at the edge jumped into the water - actually it was pushed-

and it survived mainly because the sharks knew by letting the first

one live, more birds would jump and they did.

Penguin in water are not some clownish humanlike creature but

a smart fast swimming bird the problem is going into the water

and getting back up on land that causes difficulties for the bird.

 We love animals that resemble us but take little interest in those

that don´t even though rats and humans have much in common.

Dogs and cats have made it into an art-form to appeal to humans

sentimental weakness and how to exploit this failing, but lately

other animals to have caught on like lemurs sitting on threes and

hoping to be adopted and never again struggle to find food; as for

the penguin the sight of a female explorer is a godsend.   

http://en.calameo.com/read/003328612604284f9abb6balcont

a misfit in Liverpool

A misfit in Liverpool

I think of oranges saw a painting by Constable of a morning sun

that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some

fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface in the bay.

There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.

When I lived in England I met several police constables, most

of them, nice blokes, alas, during the miner´s strike they became

radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and

were also promised plenty of overtime.

John, the constable, - fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-

 a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,

he continued his lonely beat but at the station he was ostracised,

a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after

hours and we drank vodka with orange juice lamenting the time we

lived in. John got an early retirement and I sold my cafe. 

traitor or hero

Traitor/Hero

It was half dark in the yard where a group of men with heavy overcoats stood, this was a Nordic country and cold.

We´re freedom fighters, but out enemy the occupier of our country, called us terrorists. A bald man showed us how he could subdue a dog by violence and he broke the dog till it licked his hand. We were going to blow up a train, I was given a packet of sandwiches to eat when on the run.

I walked out and saw the building surrounded  by soldiers, the dog too was there I bent down to give it something to eat when the shooting started and there were much screaming, blood and noise my disguise flew

 off- hat and wig- and I was bald also.

When I got up the shooting had stopped and I walked away followed by the dog, apparently they thought I was the person who had helped them.

A high ranking officer thanked me for saving so many lives.... he offered me a safe haven. Praise from the enemy of my country, knew I was doomed, history would call me a traitor, and there is no safe haven for that.

Meanwhile, the man who was cruel to the dog would never be caught.

christopher Hitchens

Christopher Hitchens

This day is long and it is only five o´clock and I have watched

two movies on TV. This is the third day of endless rain that

falls softly but unstoppable like water torture when they tie

you to a chair and water drip on your head till you confess,

“Yes, it was my mother who wrote that book, not me.”

 And my torturers would suddenly smile serve me hot cocoa

strawberry cream cakes and American cigarettes; with me at

ease they would shot me, eat the cakes and smoke the siggies.  

I have been watching Christopher Hitchens on You- Tube.

he was a great debater and learned scholar, but not a deep

thinker and his book about god had nothing in it I had not heard

before or thought of. A clever man who wasted his talent

with too much booze, late nights and clever remarks; pugilist of      

 words, but will he be remembered for anything more?

the wait

The Wait

The wave of sleep washed my up on the bleak shore of the awake

half remembered dreams vanished and left behind a blank canvas.

I was alone with the grey mass of viscosity framed by boredom.

and I had no whisky or cigarettes to hide behind in my elderliness

pleasures long gone….The futures didn´t reveal itself saw I´, not

a seer, the past was an endless series of failure and I could not

recall anything in my life that had given me pleasure of lasting

kind it had all been so erratic, laughter mingled with contempt

of a circus clown with red nose.

looked out of the window and the sleeping town I noticed some

windows had light, and the 24 hour petrol station was open

they sold cigarette and booze too, put were out of happiness

and peace of mind packed in healthy disposable green bags.

Switched on the TV, Russia had occupied itself and people there

were jubilant;  and they were looking for a plane that fell from

the sky a week ago, the world changes but slowly.