Mare Nostrum
On the coast of Augusta, in Cecilia this wonderful sea,
the bluest of turquoise, transparent and I saw fish play.
Blood and bloated corpses have made the sea less pretty
and fish nibbles on cadavers of those who tried to cross
the sea to escape the lunacy we created in Libya.

A president short of stature but with inflated ego plus
philosopher idiot, two men were responsible this disaster
of a war just to get rid of a dictator one of them had lent
money of the other who should not be left out of his confine
of academia, he should have in hidden in a university writing
books only historians take a passing interest in.

As it is the impossible vain man get feted, all because he is
an intellectual and wears a velvet jacket and clean collars.
My old Mafia friend Thomas the knife, has invited me to
Augusta, I will go there but not swim the hazy sea, but we
will eat langouste, drink child wine and talk about the days
when philosophers and presidents left us alone to **** only
when needed and never the innocent.

War & Peace

After the war in Norway and the German army left, income
and employment they had brought such as building
roads and airports disappeared.
It was a time when my brother and I stole coal from the train
depot’s supply, potatoes and other root vegetable were    
and the fish in an unpolluted water was plentiful.

We were caught by the police they let me go because I looked
small and innocent. My brother was sent to a youth correction
centre for two years- it still makes me angry thinking of it-
peace had done us no favours.

My mother was doing two newspaper rounds my sister and I
helped her, the morning round was the worst, Norway is a
cold country it was me who found the dead man he had frozen
to death, drunk and falling asleep in a snow drift.

I’m sitting here as an elderly man remembering the old days
and “not good old days” we had each other and family love.
I sit here ancient man with house, car and a modest success,
oh, my why wouldn’t I give to feel the love again, but they
have gone now- all of them- and I’m the only link to our past.

Useless Money

I often get petitioning letters so many people trying
to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal
and see their children die of thirst and hunger.
I wish to help them, but no money in the world is
enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven
flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do
nothing but look another way.

Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but
the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her
tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists
are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become
refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless.
She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general
Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply,
But I ask why she is staying silent now.