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.