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Sand in your eyes

Full moon tonight, a supernova to sound educated
last time was in 1948 when the catastrophe hit the Palestine people.
I was twenty at the time and believed what the papers wrote.
Even the killing of Folke Bernadotte by a fanatical Jew was overlooked hadn´t they suffered enough,
the Hebrew people it was a relief the bothersome people left Europe, the whisperers said.
Where are your hands, Pontius Pilatus?
Now we have killings in Paris and minarets, Europe has a Muslim
problem and no one dance in the street anymore.
Winter 1945

Shote in the night.
White faces
Snow fell
On cold bodies
Killing field.
I knew and didn´t want to know
Someone
Took me by the hand
Carried me home
Innocence confronted
By death.
In the night, I vomited
Must be something
I ate last evening.
The Good-Bye

We walked
To the railway station
Mother
Dressed in an old coat
Fastened with safety pins
waved.
She looked so small wanted to leave the train
Embrace her.
The train moved
I waved
As long as I could see her.
Mother was untidy
Hair
On the sandwiches
She gave me.
At the next stop
I bought a bar of chocolate.
It was love

I sat under a bridge
That crossed the stream
Small fishes
Nibbled at my feet.
Agnes came
My girlfriend
She often annoyed me
But let me
Kiss her.
She threw pebbles at the fish
I bit her arm
She ran home crying
Telling her mum
I didn´t love her anymore.
I said I was sorry
She showed me
The bite mark
Asked her to marry me
She said yes.
It didn´t work out
The age differences
Agnes was six years old
I was four.
Unseen danger

He was fifty- five living alone in a cottage
but how is it possible to explain how he came to fall in love
with a woman of forty and lose his dignity.
We must take a break trying to understand the human heart
or the circumstances of wished for the repellent.
He was a ship navigating without a gyro-compass
in the sea of deceit, this foolish dance of a human borboleta.
When he kissed her, his whole soul was absorbed by her like falling into a cave of endless pleasure.
His anchor got lost in the outer seas.
Suddenly it was over like a dream that ends at frostbitten dawn
a locked door, there was some else in her embrace.
Rejected, he pleaded with the unseemly nativity, had she relented
enrolment would never be the same.
He took his dog and drove up north had wanted to see
the autumn colours.
After a week, he drove home and began his life like starting
all over again, walks in the woods of sanity.
Agricultural words

I was writing words strung together
trying to stack them together and make a little story
not a poem that I don´t care to write
when the electricity took a break.
Not that I minded living inland this happens.
I had a killer ending and wouldn´t let the flame of inspiration die out.
Five hours later, the light came on; I sat too long
in the darkness, the killer ending forgotten.
As I said, I´m not a poet, a worker in the field of words
sowing and weeding, hoping for a good crop.
A farm-hand of words, I do my job and even unpaid
but proud of my cabbage and potatoes.
No, I have no orchids and roses.
Roll a cigarette, lit it and dreamily think of tomorrow
sitting on a stone fence built by heroes.
Falls flowers

On the road to Bolequeime on the way to a German supermarket
that sells proper Teutonic sausages as autumnal flowers blossom,
some of the blooms sit on white plastic chairs wearing shorts.
Sometimes a car stops, no, not a man in a white van, a big car a businessman
on the way from his office stops getting quick blow-jobs.
Best this way no need to undress an act that causes people to stare.
The human blooms have water bottles the gargle; no one here smells like rosebuds.
They used to, in the summer gone throng nightclubs and the beach
but only slow walking men fill the bars and beach.
Like a beautiful ****, they trek inland, sit by the roadside and wait.
The flowers look nice in fading light, but not if you know what love is.
the **** of autumn sits by the verge, sells despondency
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