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as the intruder waits for the rain to stop so he can flee to freedom of relative poverty, food banks and supermarkets´ out of date yogurt.

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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.