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.