the golden fleece

The Golden Fleece

Today my wife and I went to look at an old people’s home,

the entrance looked hotel like and had a reception and

the girl who manned it wore a starched, white uniform.

She showed us around told us that every room double or

single had a shower and a tea kitchen and fridge.

And that we came to the main room where the patients sat,

sorry they are called guests; it was nice only no one spoke

people with open mouths sat watching telly and the air had

a feeling of despondency and a faint smell of urine.

Sometimes I feel like Jason’s old dog, it remembers his master

In my case my youth, but who is to take care of me now?

moon beam

There was a moonbeam it was a little different from other

beams as it sought out sleeping girls.

He loved them mainly those aged 7 to 8 years old it was

innocence about them, he found rapt.

 Once a girl woke up and saw him sitting on the sill it was

a cold night and she invited him to bed, soon he fell asleep

and then it was morning the Moon was no longer there,

sunlight would zap him, no mercy calling him a paedophile,

like they should be so innocent when caressing young skin.

He hid under the bed until nightfall, after kissing the little girl’s

chaste lips flew back to the moon, but he was no longer free

to fly alone and visit little girls  

  

Haifa Oranges

Haifa Oranges

The sky is light blue or pallid

It is late afternoon

Clouds are burgundy and

The sun is a Haifa blood orange

Picked by a Palestinian’s

Gnarled hands.

Once this was his land, but a historical

Tremor came

He has resigned; this is Allah’s will.

But his sons think otherwise,

Blood orange, one day

Blood will overflow run down gutters

As we have another tremor that

Will rumble on, everlasting family feud.

Haiku

Haiku

By the impossibility

A chance of a life time

Birth of a child

Deep in slumber

The impossibility of dawn

End of a dream

The creative painter

The Creative Painter

The painter gets up early sometimes a bit late

Depending on his mood

Dark clouds when rain is in the air

And sometimes storm clouds that give

Impression of moving.

The painter likes nothing better than

Painting the sky blue

And make bands of white silk like clouds

The sun is easy to paint but if it gets too hot

He blocks the sunray some with cerulean

Filter to protect bathers’ delicate skin.

A saw him up a tall ladder once, a bit unsteady

No doubt after a few beers

He was painting the new moon a sliver of silver

Strewing paint around with his big brush

And it was a starlit night.

Porto

Porto

I have lived in Algarve for many years, yes plenty of sunshine

but its people have an African conception of time,

whether this is caused by arrogance or lack of knowledge

I will not speculate to know anything about.

Last year I went for a week, holiday in Porto and fund to

my surprise people who looked at their wrist watch

to be able keeping an appointment.

This is not a holiday town built to accommodate tourists,

like Vilamoura a place that has no past and little future

except a marina, where expensive boats are being anchored

to show someone’s wealth and I will speculate from where

the wealth originated.

Porto is you and me, going for a walk having a meal and a glass

of red; once I met a “guardian” reporter with his wife having

a good time.

The difference between a wife and a mistress is that the

man is kinder to his mistress

the old Jewish couple

The Old Jewish Couple I have written about this before but somehow didn’t get it right my perceived brusqueness made them think of Cracow they had fled and all the relatives lost in the turbulence of a war where they as civilians, but Jewish, had their life made into a nightmare. There was a small sweet shop near my cafe, selling my chocolate with nuts, so one day I walked in there to buy a bar, the man behind The counter bent down and changed hat. His wife reached out and tried to give me a sweet. Now the man had a Panama hat and no words were spoken. I spoke English to them which eased the situation, this tall Nazi looking person was not a ghost from the past, just a person with a sweet tooth. I bought the chocolate, handshakes told them was in business too had cafe near them, they didn’t know never left the house. The sweet shop didn’t have many visitors the chocolate I bought had been in the shop so long it was green. But when I left the shop I felt they didn’t want me to come back I reminded them too much of the horror of Cracow.

A tough cookie

A Tough Cookie On the surface of life, my mother was a tough cookie of three children she lost two when they were fairly young. Tearless she attended their funeral and people thought she should have cried more. I heard her tears the pain from her heart that could not be stopped, an ache so painful that no pills could stop it. One night I went into her bedroom in the hope of stilling her grief, she had a pillow over the face to stifle her yammer. told me to leave the grief was hers alone. My mother kept her sorrow for herself she was unable share her grief with anyone least of all me who for reason I shall not understand she kept me at a distance and I had to watch as she sunk into the mess of alcoholism, this was her answer to a world not of her creation. A contrarian few came to her funeral, those who did has been blessed with the good fortune of understanding that life has many expressions and you are free to have your own.

diabetes

Diabetes and its Problems In street traffic and dealing with idiotic drivers I have at times been so frustrated I have stopped my car gone out and shouted at everyone. Normally slow traffic doesn’t bother me It is only when the beast within me scream I behave irrationally. This I now learn has to do with low blood sugar and I have been struggling to keep it low to avoid stroke, but it appears I have overdone it. So how am I to know when doctors are confused? Perhaps many diabetes is not caused by sweets or too much food, but it can also be a mental illness that manifests itself in the form of diabetes, type two. I’m not medically trained and will not discuss this with a doctor principally because they are so patronising when a layman has a medical thought, yet fact is when I have written a poem the blood sugar is normal I have released something from my mind, a poison that stung from the snake of lack of learning, it often bites me and I’m doomed to write of the near things in life, what you take for granted but is a wonder to me, who rediscover a new world every day, often it is a world I dislike to be a member of; I can take a pill for this but prefer to be angry and not too commonsensical.

Stop them now

Stop them Now I have an itch it breaks out in a red rash, been to the doctor who says I’m suffering from an attack of Islam- phobia which manifest itself with a strong antipathy against people who drink sweet tea and not are willing to swill beer like us. They also dress strange when going to the mosque, that is ok, it only when they talk about Shari laws I feel as they are trying to convert us to their way of thinking. This is my country too I do not want it taken over by people who represent another culture. That is why I protest and march in the street, it is not about Anti- Semitic, Anti- whatever feelings I, like my friends, are not for bending to a way of life that is alien to us. We did not have a revolution to let a group of fundamentalist be given or handed over to a group of nutcases.

good, bad and ugly

The god, Bad and the Ugly Every war has good people and bad people and many of the bad are on our side. I remember the German occupation of Norway living on a farm with a German military camp. I met their soldiers and most of them only wanted to go home to their families. The peace came and when the said soldiers Who had been kind to me – a little boy- were marched out among the jeering of the people who suddenly felt heroic enough to throw stones at the soldiers. I have a tendency to feel for the losers they fought on the wrong side and lost their dignity. But there are times when one has to take a stand. When I aired my views I was told to shut up by a man who had supplied them with meat and potatoes, he was a bad person, and the biggest rock but in a democracy we have to live with his kind. I say this because the young men going to war In Syria or elsewhere, might be wrong, but many of them are good people who think they fight for delusory freedom of all Muslims

Borderline Drunk

Borderline Drunk It has been a bad day driving around having A coffee here and a diet coke there, The problem was I had been drinking the night Before and craving for more Was filling my heads with excuses, the thought I deserve a drink.... do I merit to suffer? It is evening now I’m watching Ellen this woman Who looks like Peter Pan, her audience is mostly Screaming females and I secretly adore her. I’m nursing a beer and reflects on the illness of Alcoholism the tragedy of those who cannot stop They have my sympathy, but I can’t tell them to Wait having a drink to after eight o’clock and Drink a couple of beer.

The sniper

The Sniper The man who in his delusion shot and killed Kyle the all American sniper who boasted of killing 167 Arabs. A film was made and USA applauded and no doubt it will receive an Oscar. A movie that totally lack empathy, what does one expect of a Clint Eastwood, only this sniper Kyle was for real and not a western invention. Is this a war movie? Deeply disturbing morality, killing for the sake of it. Our hero Kyle found his death on the shooting range and the man who killed him was an American soldier too who put an end to our false gods and war values, for him a lethal injection awaits the killer of the American dream .

Australia Vet

Australia vet. On a farm that has ten hundred sheep a lamb has a broken leg. our intrepid vet is on his way to save it. He succeeded and we all get misty eyed. We who think animals are our equal to us except we eat this could give a wrong impression. If all people are equal so are animals, but what we see is dogs with broken legs and a hurt pig in its sty We must learn to understand that some animals are our enemies, not that they have sought out to be, so and to avoid the abysmal pests we have to eradicate them. My old dog having been in Hellas and beyond I had to spare its agony and put it down – twelve years it waited- Its deep blue eyes held no rancour. And now alone I can’t help thinking, who is helping me through the transition from the conscious to the mystery.

after Ingmar Bergman

After Ingmar Bergman And now that it is dawn And the sun will soon come over the mountain My wife’s warmth keeps me warm My screams of fear is now a murmur She dries spittle from my beard and speaks softly Soon she will get up and make coffee I let the aroma envelope me The terror of the night and death subsides and I will try to be kind and Believe in a god that will lift me up to his heaven And let me live forever. But who will publish my poetry collections?

Full House. The little house in the poor part of the town walls looking ready to burst . when the newlyweds long time ago it was small for them and they spoke of getting another one. Time was hard and one child after another was born, eight in all. The long ago newlywed, joked they had to wait to get the house back when the children became adult and could find their own place to live; it took time and finally they were alone, but not at peace, the whole quarter of rickety houses was being erased like removing memories of hard times, and the bulldozers came. The couple got a small flat in a high rise building and with their children moving in or out according to their bad luck in life, the small flat was soon full of bickering adult children.

consumerism

Consumerism We are getting old my wife and I we do not consume much. The washing machine is old and our car is going on fifteen, yet it starts but of course we no longer use it as often as before. This makes us poor consumers the ads on TV are not aimed at us. Today we bought a new TV, this pleased my wife it made her feel important and the shop staff called her madam. Assist death, the ultimate triumph of capitalism as those who cannot consume are redundant. The last expense is the casket, even here capitalism is pressuring relatives to buy an expensive one, no one will see unless attend the funeral. But as for now we are safe the new TV will keep us safe.

handcart and a ring

A Handcart and a Ring A man I knew had a handcart and became self- employed I often saw him in the town having a load of parcels and sometimes pieces of furniture, he was a contented man. One day on his way to the railways station one wheel of his cart came off and four suitcases fell into the street. So what to do? Traced his steps and soon found the missing pieces that keep the wheel on the axle, but he also found an expensive diamond ring which he put in his pocket as he was occupied with fixing the wheel and get his load of suitcases to the railway station In the paper, he read about a lady who had lost a dear ring, he contacted her via the paper and she was very happy, but didn’t give him anything because as she said honesty is a natural thing and should not be rewarded. The people at the paper thought this too mean for words made a collection and handed the kind man the money. A Picture of him and his cart the paper and a nice story for the paper to sell. And when too old to push his cart around he became a poet of the small things in life and not the life of aristocrats

The Perennial problem

The Perennial problem Red squirrels evicted Gray squirrels stole their nuts say the woods are theirs. The red squirrel is cute and many are ready to help eradicate the gray squirrel, but that is not easy as the gray get help from the continent they came from where red squirrel is reduced to sentimental songs and romantic twaddle. The problem is survival the red fell behind time, but scholars think they should be brought back to the woods again. What are we going to do with the gray? Poisoning them has been tried It didn’t work So the red and the gray will have to find a way to coexist without us. What the hell do we know about nuts?

various poem

http://poetrychambers.blogspot.pt/

small minds small places

small minds small places

A small place produces small minds

I grew up on a farm near a village where the grocer

had a horse stable in the back.

No bars or restaurants but the farmer disappeared

for hours and when he came back I had to take

the horse out hitch it to the wagon and drive home.

He farted loudly and fell asleep but woke up before

we reached the farm, took over the reins and tried

to look sober only he tended to fall off the when

getting down. His wife said nothing but helped me

unloading, I have lived many places in many countries

Somehow on farmland and villages this despite

I like to live in a town and go to libraries meet people

and have deep talks about books and so on.

In the end it is about shortage of money and we have

to live within its confine-

I like to travel to England meet Alan and Sam who are

the good guys in the world of poetry.

The cigarette

The cigarette

The cigarette

When I lived in Britain that place where refugees in Calais

try to hide in a lorry for the crossing to the promised
land.

And haven where pubs are full and pints of lager is a dream

a longing for the unobtainable.

I liked to visits pubs more often than my wife liked not so

much for the ale, one can buy beer and drink it in the park,

(I remember Birkenhead Park before I got a job and a room)

 it was the cosiness
of drinking and smoking.

Then we were invaded by the health brigade and that was ok,

and we had to go outside for a fag.

This was no good for my health leaving a warm pub to go to

the winter outside I got a cold so bad I left the country.

Since smoking was no longer sociable I stopped. No doubt
some

scientist will tell us a bit of nicotine is good for you.

For me it will be too late, I like nothing more than having
a meal

at a restaurant free of stale tobacco smoke.