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.

flower pots | Write Out Loud

flower pots | Write Out Loud

Flower Pots

After all my alcoholic

truths I sit alone

on the porch.

they have taken my cattle,

wife and children gone;

only my old dog stays.

It knows I hate myself and

my anger over

their stupid faces

reminds me of my total

failure, yet I can

 water my flowers when

 it suits me  

an echo from the sea | Write Out Loud

an echo from the sea | Write Out Loud

An Echo from the Sea

 This old ship rode
the Atlantic swells like

a swan in a pond and her crew where dead,

perhaps not at the time, but they are now,

generations of sailors boarding her, using

her as a place of sanctuary on their way to

a destination unknown to them.

And one by one, overcome by life they died

and drifted on the sea of broken life- belts to

the Saragossa where mist of sorrow covers

the bleak shore line of ruin and the ship

that rust on a reef; and the seamen were dead

perhaps not at the time, but they are now,

in my mind they are a sepia damaged photo

of forgotten moments.