The actor

Tom Chance was an outstanding actor and friend
I saw him play a professor dying of cancer
The death scene was especially moving.
Tom had cancer too that killed him a few months later
I admired how he was able to separate
The role of real life.
Sometimes I wonder – I wasn’t there- when he died
For real he was able to see it as an act
He was going through.
Tom was not famous when “resting” he worked
As barman and mixed drinks with elegance.
I liked tom he was my friend but was I the fig leaf
Of his act, to give the impression, he wasn’t gay?

The skeleton
A hole was dug
In our street
The workers found a skeleton
Of a male.
Had he been religious
He would be an angel
Flying among stars
Had he been an atheist
He would
Continued to be a skeleton.

The tower of hope.

I think of the Vietnam war as the poorer classes war.
Soldiers were drafted, and they could not get lose,
in-growing, toenails or not. The war was lost before
it began on one side the US Soldiers who wanted
to go home, against those who wanted them to leave.
In the USA, war is fought, not for freedom
of the oppressed but for mineral and oil therefore
they end up on the wrong side of history.
The people of America have the freedom to argue
what is right but have no right to act upon their view.
It has not always been like this but the capitalist
the system got the power and smashed workers- unions,
the wages got lower and deep poverty was blamed
on the poor, the victims of the system were lazy.
The USA is a profoundly unhappy country who see
Washington as an enemy, hence the selling of arms
ready to act when the dream comes crashing down.

Death knocks
I’m stuck in the bog land of poetry
Trying to make a small manuscript of thirty pages.
I have reached 29 pages, but all seems so futile
Words I have written before keep cropping up
I can’t endlessly repeat myself.
A doctor visit at the hospital was not uplifting
I’m trying to shake off the depression hanging over me
Dark clouds are blocking the sun, and it is cold
The future is bleak nothing to look forward to
My wife is ill, so I’m stuck here when I want to go home
To my village, I Algarve.
The dream is to go home and die where I was reborn
Remembering my dog and the long walk we had.

What is culture

Watching “france24” one would think culture was invented in Paris.
Well, it wasn’t
The Parisians are rude and live on onion soup.
The reason Paris became famous as an art place
Were cheap rent and poor painters and writers flocked there
Well, it is not cheap anymore.
Culture is to show respect for other nations and language
Of which the French sadly lacks.
Anyone who has taken the underground in Paris in the morning
Can testify to this.

The weight
He had written two short books
Wanted to show her, his work,
Not now she said, I’m watching telly.
Around the beam that keeps the heaven’s roof from falling down,
He slung a rope fastened to a scrap iron drum using
Himself as a counterweight.
He hoisted the drum up, but he was too heavy
He carried too much weight of pride.
He cried in the night struggled to get rid of unwanted feelings
The drum becomes lighter, descended until
He was lifted to the top of the beam feeling free
Of false pride and ambition.
Why did you cry so much in the night? He was asked.
He smiled, was at ease with himself, but didn’t answer.

The whisper in red

I had been watching TV
And as often happen when I watch
A minute sleep only
A wisp of a young woman in a red ballerina dress.
Sat on the floor leaning her head at my leg.
When seeing I was awake, she got up
And disappeared silently as a falling leaf.
Later that evening I watch a French art program
And the lady in red was painted 120 years ago.
Was the one, the expert, spoke about
They knew it was Degas but none knew who she was.