the kiss

the kiss

The Kiss

I had not seen her for many years just

bumped into her on a Christmas busy street.

We kissed hungrily, after all, forty years had

passed and her allure was as before.

The kiss reminded me of Rodin`s sculpture.

She lived in the Canal road number fifty five

we’re going there to make love, but I could not

find my car and she evaporated like mist over

woodland. Next day I looked up the town`s map,

the canal street was a parking lot now and houses

that stood here before torn down when the elders

with a female mayor, was cleaning up the sin that

so disturb the new moral we must live by now,

 My car was parked there looking demure beside

a new Mercedes class A.

Forty years, a long time, but I remember the kiss

haiku | Write Out Loud

haiku | Write Out Loud

Haiku

Christmas again

Seventy -seven bloody times

Spring is far away

Haiku

I wish for April

Intoxicating apple flowers

And rain softening soil 

no longer silent | Write Out Loud

no longer silent | Write Out Loud

No Longer, Silent

Could it not be

that youth of Muslim origin

go and fight in Syria and elsewhere

Because they see western nation

bombing one country

but sparing their oil allies?

Do we think so little of them that we

think they have been groomed

to see the obvious?

And being young want to fight back

to defend their Arabic heritage

and cultural values.

We only have to look at Palestine and

their plight and not be angry.

The young men and women who fight

for ISIS do so because it gives them a structure

in life, the West has denied them.

the caliphate | Write Out Loud

the caliphate | Write Out Loud

The Caliphate

 Let us think the unthinkable

Let ISIS have their caliphate and be a state

The Zionists took Palestine and called it Israel

Europeans settlers killed of the Indians

And now it is called USA.

The brutalities and horror   from ISIS is terrible

But from an historic perspective

Worst things have happened and will again it is

The human burden to kill for its own sake and

Greed for land

In time it will be a state with institutions they

Practise their Sharia law and behave like the Saudis

We will buy their oil and they will leave us alone

To practice our odd democracy

the escape

The Escape

When Rudolph the red nosed reindeer wanted to

Be normal and join the flock on earth, Santa got depressed

Sat by many of Finland’s lakes contemplating his life

He too was tired of flying through the air and gets a cold

He wanted sunlight and a sandy beach.

He got hold of a tame water buffalo and an unemployed

Drunk from Helsinki and for a while they got away with it

Till an elf with a grudge told a newspaper about it and children too

Had long wondered why Rudolph had two horn, not antler and why

Santa was late, swore and kept falling off his sledge.

Santa had to come back from Thailand and sort out this corruption

He told twitter he was sorry, but fired blabber mouthed elf.

He had to look for sober man to act as Santa and train a new reindeer,

Because Rudolph and had got the taste of the high life.

epigram | Write Out Loud

epigram | Write Out LouEpigram

I don`t want to wait long patience is not my virtue

But when it does happens it will happen too fast

Just as I want time to slow down.

Christmas and ex. drinker | Write Out Loud

Christmas and ex. drinker | Write Out LoudChristmas and ex-drinker

Christmas day at a green rural hotel and

for the first time in my life I was the only

non-drinker and this made me feel superior

since no other feelings were not available

 such as envy I had
goat chops with salad

about the only thing on the menu not sugary

or fattening the sense of superiority grew

to odium I spoke aloud to show how happy

I was and when they had liqueur and went on

the terrace fora smoke I preferred to sit inside

feeling superior and crying into my napkin  

a question

a questionA Question

Is Santa Claus

A paedophile

Surrounded by elves

No women

Work in Santa`s

Factory

I find

His interests in children

Is suspect

Grooming them

To become gift giving

Adults

Keeping his business going

Yule tide

Yule tideYule Tide

The pig

In the pen

Is being slaughtered

To day

Christmas starts

With a killing

Some get

Pork roast

Others get trotters

 In the yard

My neighbour

Is hosing away

The blood

His sacrificial

Duty done

And I got a shoulder ham 

Geography and racism

Geography and Racism

I have only seen

Africa from the deck

Of a ship sailing by

What I know comes

From books

White men meeting

In darkest Africa

The merchants followed

Soldiers

And colonisation

Racism is contagious and

It settled in the mind

Of Europeans

The illness widened to

Include everyone not white

Now we live

With our trespasses

It truly is a burden 

mystery tour

mystery tourMystery Tour

I hired a car wanted to drive to the country side

where I spent part of my childhood.

By a farmhouse that looked familiar, I stopped

a dog came out of an up ended barrel greeted me,

Is Jason coming home?

The farmer and his wife came out, he patted me

on my head, and his wife gave me a hug and said:

“a little boy once lived here.”

In the kitchen, they gave me two slices of loaf with

blueberry jam on, my favourite food as a child.

The couple had not aged in fifty years and their

eyes I was that little boy

 I took my farewells
and promised to visit soon.

A bus drove passed throwing up dust and when it settled the
couple,

 and the farm had
disappeared into the mist of time.   

cleaner air

cleaner airCleaner Air

New thinking of

The old ways

Use horse and carriage

In the city

Faster than

A white van can

And for post delivery

Pony Express

Will do wonders

And the bonus

Horse manure

Is good for the roses

Observational Poems : the futrure of Europe : DU Poetry

Observational Poems : the futrure of Europe : DU PoetryFuture

Europe

Have many old people

We need

Young people

To replace the aged

If we are to, continue

As nation states

Europe is big and

Underpopulated

We deny entry

To the millions knocking

On our doors

We atrophies

Into senility

Fearful of changes

But Europe of yesteryears

Is not like it is today

And Europe of

Tomorrow

Will not be as it now.

misapprehension

Misapprehension

On my way to lunch

Drove the wrong way

Turned and followed the car`s

Silhouette

In front of me

Speeded up to join it

The car caught up with its

Illusion

And became whole again

Lunch at the café

As usual

the fest

the festThe Fest 

The Christmas Eve began with smiles and laughter,

where I come from Christmas day is a hanger over day

after excesses the night before.

Plenty of food and drink, aquavit and beer this was long

before wine came the in thing to drink and we sang and gave

presents and had a jolly good time for a while.

Someone made a sarcastic remark that was met with

a bad tempered answered, suddenly everyone remembered

a slight going back twenty years ago and more

A fight broke out the yule tree ended up in the snow

police were called to calm things down and mother

came out of the kitchen serving coffee.

Next morning my father went out and collected tree decorations,

 good for next year`s Christmas party he wearily said,

and for once no once no one was arrested.

the gone is a dream

the gone is a dreamThe gone is a Dream

I drove passed my Savannah this afternoon mist covered yet,

 the sun rays got
through and bathed my dream in

wondrous mystic. I haven`t been here since last summer

my piece of Africa with tall grass and lion pride.

Every summer for twenty years I rode my scooter here and

knew ever blade of grass, olive trees and vines and I was

never attacked by any animals, not even the crocodiles in

the ditches bothered to make a splash.

Only once when I had strayed too far where the mountain

range appears the gypsies had a camp hidden behind

cypresses, their dogs gave chase, and I had to drive for my
life.

Perhaps, it was not quite like that but the Savannah was
there  

a place to dream and be a boy again when summers lasted

forever and trees where for climbing to the top and laugh

at the funny looking adults.

in defence of the lesser

in defence of the lesserIn Defence of the Lesser

Then it was Sunday and the easterly wind

curled around the house rattling windows

the hooligan is in an intimidating mood

the rain came, big scary drops that held stones

and sand of hatred in its interior.

Towns drowned as rivers overflowed and

the old and babies died hyperthermia.

We have tampered with nature axed trees

and our intelligence of pure logic will soon

destroy us as expendable humans and then

when humanity is so stupid, they can`t even

make a proper sling; there will be lush forests

palm dates and peace, but only if we stay

dumb, and favour love above anything else.

fig tree very lovely

fig tree very lovelyFig Tree very lovely

The fig tree in winters Is an eight armed skeleton

beyond help and no doctor nice will help this

because the tree is ugly and shudders when touched.

In the spring, the fig tree has none eloquent leaves never
quite green and

never quite sepia. In the fall, it is the sweetest of all
fought over by man and birds.

When its fruit has is picked it is an unloved tree again

I know of an honourable man they said he had erred

and he lost his wife, villa and swimming pool where his

beloved seals swam and at social gathering he was meanly

ignored and there were sniggers about seals.

His poverty was caused by bad investments that made him poor

and the poverty struck deserves no sympathy.

He felt like a fig tree in the depth of winter, when fall
came he won his money back

and was loved by his friends again

but he kept the fruit of his labour by himself.

the walk

the walkThe Walk

Long hot desert

Empty of people

Not even a camel in sight

He clutched a euro coin

In his sweaty palm

He was left handed

 Wanted to buy

A glass of beer

Hatless he fainted

Belly up

 Awoke at sun-down

 A date palm

Clutching a coin 

it is warmer | Write Out Loud

it is warmer | Write Out Loud

It is warmer

In Paris

They talk about

The weather

Eat frugally

Hamburgers made of

Indian cows

Turnips from Sweden

Potatoes

From Holland

Gobbledegook

And sign on

The dotted line.

confusion

confusionHer old head

Upon a pillow lie

I held her hand

She withdrew her

Hand

Looked

Into a distant

Past

And said

I wish you were

Your brother

Dipterous

DipterousA Dipterous

Walks across

The screen

Older than

Methuselah

For an insect

I blow

A lungful of air

To hasten it

I pick it up

Carry the fly

Outside

Put it in a flower pot

Dandelion

And leave it

To die in peace 

Zen and more

Zen and moreZen

Melting snow

 After rain

Hope begins

Haiku

Yule time a worry

Time short and little money 

Poinsettia 

Haiku

Chrysanthemum

A flower for the restless

And the river flows 

the clinic

the clinic

The Clinic 

 A faint echo

Of a scream

He had been

Absorbed by

The routine

Of the hospital

White coated

Doctors

 Nurses in white

Uniforms

And cleaners in blue

Oceans sailed | Write Out Loud

Oceans sailed | Write Out LoudThe Oceans sailed

 I drove down to the coast today, could feel it pull

after all I was in the navy for 30 years and the oceans

treated me well not letting my ship sink, drowning me.

The sea was grey/blue a monster asleep, yet not to

be trusted the marina was full of motor boats

 or shall we call them yachts?  They all looked alike made

of plastic shit used for summer weather only.

I was not a good seafarer didn`t like to sit in a mess hall playing cards,

 but I could sit for hours watching how the beast breathed in and out

and on stormy weather found a place on the deck just to see it rage.

Farewell my oceans I will not see you again nor shall I miss you a lover

 that holds no secrets in her embrace but death.

2015

20152015

The year of two thousand and fifteen,

has not been a good year for world peace.

and brotherhood of man. I despair of our

lack of empathy with children killed by

well- meaning bombs dropped by nations

 who look for peace through violence.

I recall from history books a king named

Croesus everything he touched turned into

gold and he died amidst plenty.

State sponsored violence spawn terror and

and newer versions of ISIS will not go away,

and we cannot understand that there will be

no peace before the whole world is a ruin if

do not come to our senses and stop feeding

terror`s voracious appetite.

our aggreesion

our aggreesion Our Aggression

We`re going out today for a drive, but it was cold and I was

thinking what had happened to a small town somewhere afar

and the nature around the town was flat sullen yet silky, but

 it was home for people of peace and young laughter.

Few people ventured out but sat in their yard in the evening

now that the town was in the grip of fanatical criminals.

A few places were open, though, two cafes where men could

drink coffee but not smoke, cigarettes and waterpipes had

 been outlawed, a sandy field where the young dreamed

 how to get away from this dangerous town drowning in fear

and paralyzing inertia

 No had heard a thing before bombs started falling killing everyone

 inside the cinema, low flying helicopters came and shot at

everything that moved, suddenly they left like shadows as

moonless night across a landscape not unlike the Dead Sea.

 Over 500 hundred people were killed mostly civilian and no

Paris sympathy for them. 

The western world had again conducted a mass murder in the name

of stopping terrorists. I sit by the fire and wonder why it that we in

the West thinks it has the right to start wars as we please and why

is it we so willingly follow demagogues and aggressors where they

go down the road of ruins, death and suffering, proudly we wear

 their medals, ribbons and we are oblivious to its ghastly irony.

We wrap us up in patriotic flags; dissent will not be tolerated we are

so perverted we do not see we are wrapped in a shroud.

population swing

population swingShifting population 

The foyer at the new hospital was full of women

It was a cold day, and they wore coats, brown /grey 

short and squat they looked like toys sprung live

 and had to see a doctor promptly.

Algarvian women tend to be short and after marriage 

grow sideways till they look as squares of flesh, but they

are beautiful   when young what they have in common

though is a tongue they never stop talking and that is why

men spend a lot of time in cafes drink wine and play cards.

Once upon a time this was an Arab province but the beauty

of the Semitic race didn`t stick, the Moslems brought their

 own women. The nearest I can compare them to are

 the Norwegian people of the north, who one day got, fed up

of cold winds and no oranges, populated this place we now

called the Algarve, and her people are fond of bacalao.

Indian elephant

Indian elephantIndian Elephant

I know of an Indian elephant that is small for it type, but very sharp.

 It worked in a circus one day it sat down and lectured the public

those who came here to laugh at animals and sad clowns.

It spoke of the injustice, why the rich pay no tax to help the poor.

The authorities didn't like this, and it was asked if it had a working permit,

the circus owner not wanting problems fired the little elephant that was

chased out of town by an angry mob that had read bad things about him in

the gutter press that in the name of democracy were allowed to print lies.

It took up living between two carob trees,

and since no one expects to see an elephant here, they didn`t see it.

I`m an exile cannot go home to my country up North because  there

I would live in penury.

My best friend was a communist leader has a small pension like mine,

we often sit on top of the elephant play cards and he always wins.

This I think it is because I`m a drawing room socialist and can easily be

swayed to lean right if they give me a bigger pension.

the climate summit

the climate summitThe Climate Summit

It was the tail end of a dream, two white feathers in my bed,

 which can mean two things either I`m coward, or an angel slept

by my side giving me the strength concerning the climate session

in Paris not to be cynical about it and all will be well in the end

there will only be red Indians left.

 Wonder what they get for dinner, top notch food the French like

to show off their culinary skills venison with truffles and the best

of wines and – but they do smoke some awful cigarettes and later

a Moulin Rouge nightclub the best of taste titillating red feathers

 and the street outside not lined by trees, but by ladies of the night

usually, ex-dancers now too old for the stage, and before the delegate

go home some with syphilis or HIV, they will agree that the meeting

was a jolly success and promises given in the climatic movement

 not kept by China and USA or for that matter India. 

Autodidact

Autodidact

Autodidact

The small forest or the woods by the white road made of

crushed sea-shells, was a place of enchantment squirrels

had no fear of solitary dreamers stumbling over oak roots.

I used to walk here when cows were milked, fed and

the mucking out was done and fresh straw strewn in their

stalls and the barn had chewing contented animals.

I could do so many things in the forest be an Indian or take

out of my pocket pornographic pictures the farmhand in

the village gave me and masturbate.

I was especially drawn to pictures of cunnilingus the women

seem to enjoy this form of sex more, and I was horrified when

told it was not a manly act, yet the pleasured faces stayed on

my mind. Years later I drove the forest was a private estate high

walls and posh villas and no squirrels, I laughed out loud they

will never know my secrets here where I dedicated trained for

a hearty sex life to come.

a little fish

a little fish   A Little fish

I opened a tin of sardines in olive oil for my evening meal.

Headless and nicely packed they were except for one that

 had a head on and was alive . I filled water in a glass jar put

 the sardine in and fed it bread crumbs.

The headless sardines in the tin so still and dead I could

 not eat them put the tin back in the fridge.  

My little sardine grew too big for the jar cats were circling

the house looking for a way in, so I took it to the empty lake

that once had Bluegills fished to extinction,

set my sardine free to feed on rotten vegetation-

I don`t know how fish reproduce but a year later a school

of sardines were swimming around except for one that

swam the opposite way- Bonanza! Grilled sardines and

the people rejoiced thought it was going to last forever,

and then there were none except one my sardine in oil.                 

I went down to the lake when it saw me it was so glad

it jumped up in the air and was caught by a passing bird.

Empty lake a dead eye in the wilderness tells no story.    

thursday afternoon

thursday afternoon

Thursday Afternoon

I came to Portugal for its summer weather

now I`m here for her winters

when the sun shines in my back yard and

protected by old walls, warms my face.

till four o`clock when it gets too low not

reaching over the wall and it is time to go

inside and start doing some serious reading.

The dog that is not mine but likes to enter

lies in the sun away from the cold wind, has

gone too, chasing cats that view dogs with

imperial disdain, and I`m full of years need

no tea for my evening meal.

the master

the master

The Master

Once I had a dog

I was her god, and that was scary

So much power

I could put her down

Tie her up in a dank basement

I shudder to think about it

Instead, I choose to love her

And when she died

I cried

world war 3

World War 3

And now as the generation that remembers how bloody

a world war is, and how many millions suffered and died,

is forgotten a distant past and again the black winged

Bird of war is flapping its wings.

I will go to Papua New Guinea, buy a big piece of forest

and plant more trees when needed, I will keep pigs that

soon will be wild and invite people to kill them with a bow

and arrow. I pig head on the wall and a trophy wife in

the bed, idiots will pay a lot for that.

By preserving the forest, I will help save the world from

carbon emission, if it is not too late and the world cannot be

saved from the colossus NATO and those with no memory

who get excited by demagogues and are ready to make

the wrong decision and eradicate them.

I will also keep cassowary as pets, but not indoors as they

do crap a lot, and like to sleep in your bed.

I will sit here and wait till radio signals are silent and I know

 War is over, and the world far away is a smoking ruin

Incinerated bibliotheca, obliterated literature and we shall

not know about our short but illustrious time on earth.

leaves of fallen words | Write Out Loud

leaves of fallen words | Write Out Loud

The leaves of fallen words  

Leaves falling from trees a picture of autumn

auburn foliage without a goal blown about a bit

then it rains and the crumble into soil their duty

done now they can be forgotten

Poetry is like that drifting about mostly unread,

but if a poem touches a heart, makes someone laugh

or in Sam`s case cry, the job is done and the poet

who wrote it can be forgotten.

the last hospital stay

the last hospital stay

The last hospital stay

After the surgery, I was flat on my back and not

allowed to move an assistant - nurse came to feed me.

A stern looking woman older than the others

soup she fed me, open your mouth wide she said, I did

and her eyes softened her figure became motherly she

scolded me gently when spilling soup on the nib.

When I didn`t want any more soup, she said I had to

to eat it all. I felt drawn to here as a baby to her

mother it was a beautiful moment; she tucked me in and I
fell asleep.

Then it was morning, and I was allowed to sit up and

later stand up I looked out the window a football pitch

the players’ red and yellow shirts it looked like mating

ritual, the one who scored the most goals, get the sexiest

 girl, that`s ok, but
I got to be a baby and remember it.

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

 Two o`clock this
Wednesday afternoon protected by high walls

 the sun is too hot I
will have to wait till three before going back

out sit for half an hour getting a tan, my vanity knows no
limit.

I do not want to write today weaning myself of this feverish
drug

this internal conversation argumentative as an old Jew I
once knew

in Leeds.  I will
think of nothing but sadly fail to stop this stream of

 lava bubbling from
its crater the smell sulphur of rejected thoughts

that will one day prove me wrong and plants shall grow.

But I stray from the subject thinking of nothing, what is it
like? since

it can`t have any shape, form, smell or colour. Get up from
my

chair in the sun too quickly collide with the door and fall
unconscious

 into a void, so know
I know that nothing looks like nothing.

some doomsday

some doomsday

Some Doomsday

The heaven is held up by eight boa constrictors, when they shift

positions cause thunderstorm and blizzard. They feed on stars and

sometimes when you see few of them it is because the snakes have

been eating too much, luckily big snakes can go for month without

food so new stars can breed and if the Christmas night is clears we

can go on the veranda and admire the stars and be filled by the bliss  

of sleeping to ten tomorrow. Every year the heaven descend a bit

the boas are getting tired, some are dead and rotten pieces of them

fall down to earth with an almighty splash usually in Siberia.

One day earth and heaven will be a pair has long desired one

another and in their deadly embrace all life will be extinct except for

polar bears and there will no one around to ask why them, but

I think they will be the new crab louse

Observational Poems : Paris by night : DU Poetry

Observational Poems : Paris by night : DU Poetry

 A Vision

Eifel tower the old whore is lit up again

her wide open legs still drip blood, and

her hips are white and slim and she   has

blue-rinsed hair. She is ready to welcome

the masses people without an ideology

 and those who think that having sex in

a hotel near the Seine where millions of

condoms that slowly find their way to

the sea is the heights of romantic living.

Young men came, they had a creed wanting

to destroy this Sodom and Gomorrah, but

the tart in the centre of Paris tells us we will

survive because we are Godless and place

lust for life first

the stiff and a naked imp | Write Out Loud

the stiff and a naked imp | Write Out Loud

The Stiff and a nude Imp

They lowered the dead body into frozen soil and

frost smoke arose or was a door opened into hell?

A nude imp stood by the door to welcome the dead.

Who giggled the imp walked so funnily on hooves.

The imp saw the snigger and took offence the dead

one apologized after all it had been a long day.

They sat in the ante- chamber and chatted about this

and that the imp asked what are you doing here

I thought you were destined for the place at the  pie

in the sky.  Can`t
bear bloody harp music and virgins

with damp hands. The imp went purple when blaming

the Chinese for taken the last reserve of coal and hell

 would freeze over they
had to go above ground to use

the solar power.  You
are coming to the right place

the four horsemen are riding again, the dead one said. 

what remains | Write Out Loud

what remains | Write Out Loud

What Remains

In a man`s life

There are two happy stages

Childhood

Not a teenager be

And old age

When you have nothing to lose

King or poor man

You can afford to treat with equality

Or contempt

Yet some fears remain

People who want to teach me their way

I fear the illiberal amongst us

Racists and warmongers

And those who have forgotten to laugh

14/11 Paris | Write Out Loud

14/11 Paris | Write Out Loud

 14/11. Paris

14/11 another fine day in Portugal to wake up for but the news

from Paris turned the sky grey and the sun a spent cartridge

cooling in the body of a man in a café, beer, wine and blood.

 Allah Akbar, god the great and merciful, what a horrible irony

in the streets of deaths.

I walked in the sunlight that unashamedly shone on a day of dread

and it warmed my cold face and somewhere in Paris a man sits

outside and plays “Imagine” on a piano it is heart -breaking and I`m

filled with conflicting feeling anger and trying to understand what

 is impossible to grasp.

 I fear the backlash and the fascist demagogues who can use the shock

 to their political goal and they will be believed by an incensed mob,

Arabs will be killed for belonging to Semitic tribe that have suffered

unbelievable bad luck that never seems to end.

Spiritual Poems : what remains : DU Poetry

Spiritual Poems : what remains : DU Poetry

What Remains

In a man`s life

There are two happy stages

Childhood

Not a teenager be

And old age

When you have nothing to lose

King or poor man

You can afford to treat with equality

Or contempt

Yet some fears remain

People who want to teach me their way

I fear the illiberal amongst us

Racists and warmongers

And those who have forgotten to laugh

Fictional Prose : a bus ride : DU Poetry

Fictional Prose : a bus ride : DU Poetry

A Bus Ride

 I had bought a
newspaper in town and was taking the bus home,

 a half an hours ride
up to my village.  I looked at the
headlines

and noticed the paper had no date, were I reading
yesterday’s

today`s news or tomorrow`s? 
The bus was empty this afternoon

and it struck how silent it ran could only hear the swishing
sound of

 rubber against the
asphalted road.

Then the bus stopped for the first time on this journey outside

my house, so many flowers now in November, my dog sat on

 the steps waiting
just for me. The bus door opened with a sigh,

but the dog didn`t run to me.  I hesitated something was wrong it

 was the same house, yet
not the same this one looked immaterial

the flowers were pale; this was a copy or a painting
forgotten at

 a rural art
exhibition arranged by a local culturally interested GP.

 Not my village, I
said to the driver and sat down

“Are you sure?” the driver asked I didn’t answer and the bus
rolled on.

 Opened the newspaper
it now had the right day and it was Monday.

the last viking

the last viking

The Last Viking

There had been a war in my part of the world, peace there is never one,

people fight wars in other parts of the world more brutal than ever before.

The first winter of peace was the coldest anyone old could remember and

ducks feet froze on the ice they could not move and became prey to rats

and human scum who threw stones at the ducks satisfying a biblical instinct.

A tree in the park had fallen and a skeleton was discovered it was to be

excavated the next day, but it disappeared I think it had reassembled itself

broken into a dress shop and covered his bones with the skin of dead people.

A long very thin man had been observed outside a lady`s lingerie shop late

one evening, masturbating, what else to do after being dead under a tree for

five hundred years.

At a museum in the Isle of Man, I saw the thumb of a Viking in a glass cage

within a glass cage surrounded  by precious objects ladies wore at the time

It was pathetic there he was fighting and living not knowing his thumb would

live forever in a tiny glass cage

a cloud`s romance | Write Out Loud

a cloud`s romance | Write Out Loud

A cloud`s romance

 White butterflies
covered the glade like a film star`s living room

still unspoilt by drops of red wine, cake crumbs and vomits.
 

They suddenly flew up over tree tops became a white cloud
drifting

about looking for another green dell that was perfectly
happy being

green, yet pleased when the cloud landed and became a white carpet.

Mind, it had wanted to be occupied by many-  coloured butterflies

it had happened to the clearing before and the forest`s
animal came

to admire the beauty of a carpet that only appeared once
every

200 years.  The oldest
animal in the forest a boar that had survived

 when hunters come by
rolling itself into a lump pretending to be a rock

peed on by dogs, man`s best friend, what a joke cowardly
creatures

serving man and betraying their own, told of a day when the
glade was

golden one morning dazzling everyone but in the end it was
buttercups

a delicatessen for rabbits and feral cows also called elks.

Elk or caribou as some say are animals wolves like to kill
and eat, and

humans hunt and kill for fun.  Elks cannot be used domestically as

they have small udders dry meat and tend to be belligerent
and will not

sit up and beg like a dog that has lost all its dignity.   

Meanwhile, a white cloud is wandering on blue just being endearing.

the winning game

the winning game

The Winning Game

 From the town`s park and up to our houses was a steep hill

we ran up Ole-Jan and I and I lost, and hated it blamed

his long legs. When went to feed the birds in the park we ran

too and I lost except once when I ran into a car that

had luckily stopped, he had seen the car I had not, but after

tears and nose bled I insisted the race was mine.

He always won, when playing Monopoly he had all the hotels

and I ended up with a side street no one had heard of.

In later years I reflected on winning and losing and based

by my experience it was better to be no3, you get a medal

for that too and no one makes a fuzz.

I won a bronze medal for running 60meters showed it my

mother who pointed out that Ole- Jan had won gold,

Life is like this whatever you do there is one who does it better 

Adjourned

  Adjourned

I was up early had a shower and was smelling

like newly opened jar of honey.

Underwear and clean socks a must and I combed

my five strands of delicate hair.

The pacemaker did not work properly, not that

I had noticed as I`m not a marathon runner.

At the hospital, they told me the surgery was

postponed till the end of the month and to

think I had been awake all night worrying about it.

I didn`t throw a tantrum, not a good idea amongst

cardiac patients, my wife did the smiling.

There was shaking of hands with the personal   

we had breakfast I glowed over my lack of grumpiness

but I didn`t tell anyone I was secretly glad I do not

like surgeons, they are secret mass murderers whose  

kismet stopped them from using an axe.  

Adjourned

Adjourned

 Adjourned

I was up early had a shower and was smelling

like newly opened jar of honey.

Underwear and clean socks a must and I combed

my five strands of delicate hair.

The pacemaker did not work properly, not that

I had noticed as I`m not a marathon runner.

At the hospital, they told me the surgery was

postponed till the end of the month and to

think I had been awake all night worrying about it.

I didn`t throw a tantrum, not a good idea amongst

cardiac patients, my wife did the smiling.

There was shaking of hands with the personal   

we had breakfast I glowed over my lack of grumpiness

but I didn`t tell anyone I was secretly glad I do not  

like surgeons, they are secret mass murderers whose  

kismet stopped them from using an axe.  

bagatelle

bagatelle

Bagatelle

You see a thing like the old olive tree

At the entrance of the village and take it for granted

Until you suddenly see the tree is dying

Yet, it has about it a none communitive dignity

An acceptance that life`s unplanned cosmic shortness.

Dying slowly, the medical profession are trying

To get more mileage, but in the end the car mechanics

Of the body see the case as hopeless, but are bound by

The Hippocratic Oath and let us live passed our sell by date.    

To be dead is to be unborn there is no second coming

Not even for a 300 years old tree.

Yet, the morning wakes us up with a dance on the duvet

And small thoughts take over buying, a pair of shoes

All those little bagatelles are the sum of our existence. 

End of poetry

EndThe End of Poetry

I refuse, refuse to write anymore my head

 is a winter turnip you can slice fry and pretend

it is snitzel served with spinach and mashed

potatoes, all  of them are veggies that refuse to

be eaten but have little choice but to surrender

at the motto of “Let us try this once more.”

Dreams are the last to go, she was sleeping and

dying woke up and said she had a funny dream

she told me about it delightful memories she

didn`t have of a happy childhood and a pony,

touched my deeply. Two hours later she died in

the middle of another dream and stark reality

sat in a corner crying. Pallid faces took her away

as I repeated to myself, I refuse to believe what

have occurred, reality had lost its rudder.

I accepted the avoidable opened a door and was hit

 by a storm full of spate and hateful thoughts,

but I refuse to write about that. of poetry

Mystery ship

Mystery ship

The Disappearance

It was a hot afternoon when a big bulk carrier left a harbour

 on the coast of Bengali bound for Sydney, Australia, with a cargo

of scrap iron of ships that once had ploughed the seas that had

 a retreat for some and work for others.

Then the sea parted the ship fell into timeless zone where life

repeats itself the cook is making soup and the captain studies

a map of ocean currents and lived in the now.

150 years passed, a convulsion through the zone and the ship

was back on the sea surface again and the cook served his soup.

The captain called up the harbour authorities needed a birth for

a ship no one had heard of, but its manifest stated, Sydney,

they let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city to

 the disappointment of the crew who had wanted to go ashore.

 When the pilot left he was pale and shaken he felt as he had

been talking to the ghosts through layers of yesterdays.

The official from shore found quantities of cigarettes and whisky

products that had been illegal for the last sixty years in the chief

 stewards store, only marijuana was legal, good for the health if 

smoked in moderation.       

 The crew was arrested send them to a camp for interrogation, but

it was clear they were brainwashed not even water torture helped.

Then it was noticed the crew of the ship were getting older first slowly

then rapidly, nurses were called for, to look after men who could no

longer walk and many were incontinent suffering advanced Alzheimer

disease and chronic heart failure.

One morning nurses found skeletons, dark in colour and very old,

like waterlogged wood that had been thrown ashore by an irate

Storm and onto the strand of time by. This was the same time

as the ship they came in sank and broke into pieces of rusty iron.

There were rumours in Sydney about aliens, those who knew were

forbidden to speak, and experts could continue to talk about how

a ship sank so suddenly and disappeared in the sea of Bay of Bengal

 on a hot afternoon 150 years ago.  

    

shades of green

shades of green

Shades of Green

I have a green windbreaker, but it looks like

a uniform jacket I impulsively I put it on looked

in the mirror, an old general on an alpine  walk

hoping to find a shrine of his hero. I was unwell

in my jacket and it was a struggle to get it off

clung to me like a shower curtain, an unwanted

friend, I don`t like to be rude to, yet find bores

me to distraction.

There was a military camp near the farm

I had been sent to, the food as not up to much

but the soldiers fed me well, and that is why

I grew to be much bigger than my siblings.

Alas, the war ended the enemy took the train

home, an epoch was over.

I rolled the green jacket into a plastic bag

and put it in a collection box, that happened

to be green too, and since you ask no I never

 met the grand Mufti of Jerusalem

Ratcatcher

Ratcatcher

 I feel repulsed when he is near I ought to have

 compassion for this cripple a twisted foot and

 an arm that does not function right a beggar with

scabby skin eyes as black as looking into the dark

side of a wishing star. This is not a man you

can be nice to the more you give him the more he

hates you and wishes you an early death.

 His diversion is to follow funeral processions but

not into the cemetery no one wants him there 

I have wondered why I hate this man so much

it must have had a background of my childhood

and I found it. After the war in Norway there was

 some hunger in the land but I had noticed at

the gymnasium where the children of the middle

classes went to become our future suits, a concrete

box for trash and unopened parcels of lunch food.

But I had to be quick rats knew it too had a parcel

 in my hand when a rat jumped up tried to grab it

 and its eyes shone of loathing it hated me for being

human just like the cripple who dislike humanity he

blames for his perpetual hardship. In the knowledge

he will hate me more I now give him a shilling or two,

this dirty little man who never takes a bath has a mother

denying she gave birth to this satanic being, but I fear

 him too, four black horses and he, the only mourner.

Self Poems : Birthday : DU Poetry

Self Poems : Birthday : DU Poetry

 Birthday

A day of sadness and wasted years a poet who

has to pay to be published how pathetic  is that?

We, my companion and I found a restaurant and

for lunch she ate something  African.

I had  a schnitzel  that looked as the white meat of

a rat that had taken the pledge lost my appetite.

Instead I had a double portion of fresh cut salad

followed by a tomato salad with a bit of mozzarella.

I lifted my glass of water saw the eatery  through

tears not shed, the few friends I had in Algarve

have all gone they could not stop in time.

The conversations, wit and bottles of red wine  

 kept flowing, it had to stop so I took the bus home.

Now it is only my beloved and I left and every year

I love her more. At night with a heart full of dread

I snuggle up to her, she strokes my somnolent head

until I fall asleep again and sadness drifts away.

the queer

The Queer   

My best friend was gay when we first met

he said: I`m gay better tell you before

the lunatics around here tell you.” We became

the best of friends in a way quite unlikely

he spoke English and made the language sounds

like verses of Shakespeare.

My English was rather more basic, English picked

up in late night bars and by whores I met on my

hellish dive into the futility of debauched love.

We could speak to early morning about literature

and acting- my friend was a jobbing actor and

 as a young man had dreamed of becoming one.

Then cancer came and killed him

I wrote a necrology about him and sent it to

the local paper that didn`t publish it because  

the word “love” was inappropriately used.

Tom was my best friend and there will be no one

like him again  

clubbing it

clubbing it

 Clubbing

Once I went to a night- club in Albufeira a dreadful place with

garish colours and a man with a Hammond organ also played

many instruments with a total lack of talent, when he rested

 a jukebox took over played so loud the windows shook.

Around the dance floor – arena – skeletal women sat crows

that looked at men’s crotches and piercing eyes looked into his

wallet the  three ugly sisters had felt at home, their fairy-tale

opulence could have lent this place dignity and humour.

Driftwood from all over Europe t men swarmed around them

Like bees around a jar of honey, a few caught a bee in time

a dream come true golf lessons swimming pool and garden-

 Then they got old eating a lettuce a day, slept the afternoon

away  in the evening and hungry they had the ails and hair to

do and still dreaming of the right man to rescue them of this

ennui , prisoners of faded beauty and their former lovers

lived at the old folks home up the hill in the interior of Algarve

 Yet I could not help feeling sorry for them helpless old age

 stuck on a slowly liner and no life raft, as they  resignedly

waited to be engulfed by cold green sea and

Albufeira continued its dance around tourism a place for

the “hard working worker,” erasing what once had been

a peaceful fishing village along the coast of romance.    

Condoms in a pond

It was summer and I wore sandals and white socks

my feet looked English. A snob with sandals on

manicured toes murmured about shameless taste.

Offended took the white socks off through them

Into the pond where they floated forlorn as

spent condoms, like there had been ejaculations

by a thousand submariners  on shore-leave and

now sadness remained cast a shadow on still

water an omen of evil intent. Sober, I regretted

my hurriedness fished the socks up, wrung and put

them back on. My English feet which applauded,

why should we care what a man with manicured

toes thought.    

let us try this again

Now let us try this again writing a document

With one letter marching nicely in front of the other

Like adding instead of using numbers to give the written

words prettiness, even if the theme is about unnatural sex.

The fact is the diesel smell at the bus terminal

Six o`clock in the morning when the cleaning lady starts her

low paid work, has nothing to do with anything, had they

bothered going to university they could sit in fine offices

and gone to the hairdresser at nine a woman who can just

read and write luckily for the ladies she skipped school.

The driver of the bus enters he farts loudly and that is ok

But I could have showed some respect. It is odd to think

if all women had higher education looked up to the blue

sky who should make my dinner?

Magazines

Magazines

Magazines

I used to read Readers Digest

it was like the Fox channel

 before internet

and we believed yet thought

 something was wrong,

Israel was great in a sea of hatred

 and the magazine
never said

a thing about Palestine whose land

 was stolen.

Arabs want to kill Israeli

Bastards we thought forgetting about

holocaust   which
happened in our

back- yard. But then we grew and

read books

giving us a different view, yet we

sensed that being successful we should

keep our innocence of mind

we had when reading

“Readers Digests” and its odd sense

 of humour which we
were asked

to be serious about

A farming couple

A farming couple

 The Farming couple

The farmer and his wife

is harvesting almond

 a net around the tree and

a long stick

she picks up the nuts and puts

them in a bag.

She is not wearing gloves and

her hands is that of

an old salt.

they  go home for lunch

home- made bread and cheese

she does the washing up

while he snooze a little 

in the autumnal sun.

lemon tree

Lemon tree very pretty

it was a summer night many years ago

woke, thought I heard the whimpering

of a baby, thought it was a dream,

Woke up again my wife was not there

by my side but in the garden where she

had made a hole under a lemon tree

 She put what looked like a shoebox in

the hole filled it in and placed stones

on top of her buried secret. Next day she

didn`t get up stayed in bed for days and

I looked after her but said nothing.

When she got up she looked slimmer

and took up jogging to stay slim.

The lemon tree grew too I got a man to

chop it down but left its root, she got

upset loved this tree and when unseen

wept. I used to long for her to tell me her

secret, but not now with the tree gone

 I do not care to know.

a slum outside Paris

a slum outside Paris

A slum outside Paris

A cardboard city thrives a place where no one has

to pay the rent and electricity are purloined.

is it impossible for middle -class folk to understand

but the Roma thrive despite living by a city dump

where you dump your trash wash your hand and are

happy to live in a block of flats and house the rules.

Now they want to get rid of this illegal city that cost

nothing to run and need not tramlines. But they are

not like us do not share our values, no they are not

like us the do not deplete the world`s resources and

when the last car has stopped the Gypsies will as they

always have done crossing the landscape with their children

women and dogs carried pulled donkeys on ancient carts.

And the man with a wristwatch and finery will offer

them riches for a lift to better times.