'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography: poetry and social comments

Was it Arizona?

Endless road, in flat landscape of shrubs and sand, no
elevations

no distant ridge of a mountain, no coast and sunlight
gleaming on

a calm ocean.

Trapped, I drove slower and slower, doomed to drive on this
road forever;

the thought of getting out and start running, when I saw a
few trees at

 the distance, soon
some houses too and a petrol station,

I needed to fill up the tank; the attendant wasn’t there
walked over to a café,

where an old man sat reading his paper,

didn’t look up when the swing door slammed shut behind him

A fat black woman, behind the counter, was watching daytime
soap on

 an ancient TV  set

she turned and looked at me; I said: “coffee please.”

She gave me a cup and said “fifty cents,” turned her massive
back on me,

continued watching TV. I looked and out saw the attendant,
hurried out,

wanted to be sure he didn’t take off again; I never drank my
coffee,

not that anyone took any notice.

The man looked foreign, and I said: “must be lonely living
out here?”

“Yeah, but it sure beats living in Baghdad, the he
murmured.”   

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography: poetry and social comments

The God Thing

I often think of God but Morgan Freeman`s face get in the way

So know we know god is a handsome actor looking godlike and
that is

Ok if he had looked Chinese I might have objected

Death is a conundrum we accept the physical death, but the
problem

Is what is happening to our thought from experience?

After a long life we like to pass knowledge it on but
selectively as we

Cannot talk about our blunders and our sexual misconduct

I have lived a totally egocentric life and it is the only
way I write

but if I have written something to anyone for whom the big
sleep

means nothing I`m glad.

saving the world

saving the world

Saving the world

I drifted out too far, turquoise water, tried to swim on my back,

water in my mouth, agonizing panic.

That’s how they torture prisoners in Guantanamo, only it isn’t called

it tortures but enhanced interrogation and was  coffee served

The Nazis did the same, those found guilty were hanged.

 So tired, pain in chest and throat I’m giving up, a boat comes, mariners

 help me onboard. “You shouldn’t swim out that far, you’re too old.

” Yes, quite, but I was dreaming. The tortured have little to confess, say

to whatever you like them too, I admitted it was me who painted

the moon blued and swam with the dolphins grooming them for warfare

From a drug to keep him quite an alcoholic awoke, shocked to see what

had been done in his name and set about to correct it, alas a lame duck

they won’t let him out of the office, the world will not know that once

he gave ten dollars to an obscure charity that helps orphaned children of

the catastrophe that befell Palestine people.

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography: poetry and social comments



Television



My sister, a seamstress was the first in our street to buy TV, an ugly,

shiny mahogany box in the corner, and since it was early afternoon and

no program on, stood there blinking as having dust in its eye.

Monday, film night on TV, the whole neighbourhood came and brought

things to be sewn; curtains drawn even though it was summer and still

daylight, we sat in darkness, in silence caused by our awe.

Back then the TV was run by people who wanted to educate us and we

resisted all the Bergman movies, yet we watched enthralled by

having a cinema at home that brought news and weather forecasts  

Glistening cars in the rain, where her house once stood there is now

a parking lot; I’m the only one alive, but every face, the evenings are

 etched on my mind, glass clear in black & white

the heat

the heat

The blue bird that flew over the houses had wings cast shadows
in

the olive grove, the docile mule bolted kicked over the
bucket of water,

I had carried from the well it jumped over a stone fence
didn’t make it

 fell broke a leg. I
called my neighbour he likes to kill things, something

unresolved from his childhood I think

All that blood a small river trickled and sank into parched
ground, where

autumnal flowers sprung up and hid the dead body in an orgy
of colours,

that got brighter and brighter when feasting on decay till
they exploded

into a shower of rainbows which attracted dark clouds, and
it rained;

huge drops- bigger than crocodile tears after laying eggs in
the sand and

digging them up when time is right, taking them down to the
water

hoping they would survive in their cruel habitat we call nature.

Next day the mule grazed as before, docile as nothing had
happened,

but under an olive tree, I found a knife with dry blood, my
neighbour

was yonder trimming almond trees that now have brown leaves
and

full of nuts. 
“Hollered didn`t you shot my mule last night?” 

“He shouted back it was a mistake I shot my mule your mule
is OK,

It just had a wounded knee.

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography: poetry and social comments

 Fresh water mermaids

Under a big crowned tree near the lake three land mermaids

sat knitting swimsuits, the saw me and sat still as rabbits,
I pretended

not to see them but did use the corner of my left eye,

I notice many things that way

Thought of taking a picture but would not like to scare them
back into

the lake again, inland mermaids have scaly leg and webbed
feet,

not an edifying sight, but they can dress in trousers like
Yoko Ono

and having the bearing of exotic artists.

Curiosity got the best of me I sneaked back to take a photo
but

a bird whistled a tune they saw me and called me something
bad in

a language I never had heard before, it sounded like frogs`

under a rainbow coloured waterfall made of a child`s tears,

besides they could run much fast than me so, I made a rapid
retreat

while rabbits gleefully danced in the glade and crows
strafed me

 with the precision, a
Luftwaffe pilot would be proud of.

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography

'Cracks in the Mirror' Poetry & photography: poetry and social comments

The Valley and Hunters

It was by chance I stumbled into this valley protected as it
was

by thorny bushes poisonous snakes and scorpions  a sting from them

and you had five minutes to scan the sky looking  or an answer

Intrepid is my name and my dog`s name fearless.

tired and battle scared we came down to the well and drank
till

we needed water no more.

We met a 60 years old camel a survivor of a circus I put my
dog

between the camels humps to scan the landscape.

I swam in the pond among amorous crocodiles till the dog
barked

and morally reminded me I was a human.

How happy we were back then thought we had found blessedness

until a shot was fired and the came collapsed blood coming
out of

its nostril running into the lake and forever it was
polluted

This the last explored place for hunters had been breach by
a tractor

the Portuguese hunters hated us, I picked up the dog and us

found our way back to the main roads finding another valley
was

not easy but we had to try… perhaps Spain it is not like
Portugal

with inbred people who love killing things.

But my dog was not well I carried it home gave it water and
it

did not want to eat, in the morning it was dead in my arms I
think

looking for bliss became too much for her tender heart-