Discovery

If you find a rusty nail you are halfway there
all you need is cabbage, carrots and a bit of meat
Soup is ready.
Genuinely made from a rusty nail.
This is also a way to write poetry look for an idea in the darkness
and not falling over tables and chairs,
This is an unfortunate mishap that occurs when writing
my eyes are old.
I have between my thumb and index finger a cork from a bottle of wine
from this humble start, I can conjure up a cool bottle of wine.
Jesus did it once when feeding the five thousand
when all he had in his hand was a slice of a day-old loaf.
Imaginary friends, I have many, can be helpful when remembering
their antics, and I can be absolved of sin.
Stick to a rusty nail or a horseshoe, friends are hard to find

the dance of the dead

Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
On green meadows, he walks.
Held up by skeletons
On land fit for horses.
White cottontails
Burrows underground
To the bones of the dead
But they bring
Nothing up
It is not food.
Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
The stream has clean water
Filtered through
Human bones.
Endless wars
In Europa has not ceased.
Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
The victims
An inferior race.
Today it is
Palestine that pays
Red is the sand.
Peace is a world
The void of humans.
Forever and ever
you will be my love.
Eternity

In Kashagan
The silk road begins
I bought
An apricot
From a woman
wearing
A red shawl
Over her black hair.
A yellow dress
She was stunning.
Kashagan
Has the biggest
Outdoor market
In the world
Europe is puny
And far away.
A new silk road
Is being
Constructed
Pipelines and trains
Expanding trade.
that is ok
as long
as they sell apricots

For a few lovers more.

I was driving along on the car radio Rod Stewart
Sang” have I told you lately that I love you.”
Perhaps it wasn’t Rod but someone else what
Do I know about popular music?
Why do I find it hard to say those simple words?
I have practised in front of the mirror, like an actor
who knows his line but lacks imagination
I bought her a car instead.
That made her happy, she meet her lover
come back and kiss my bald head and say, “love you.”
thinking of him.
I met her lover at a party, walked up to him
and said “I love you for making my wife happy.
He was stunned into silence.
She stays home, I think the lover broke it up
because when they made love, he was thinking of me.
the spell, of having a hidden affair was broken.

A writers’ problem

The thing is this when you die; you can’t go back
and write about it.
Those, there are a few, who say they can are charlatans.
We can speculate about death or write a thesis about it
or we can write about near-death experiences
like if a bright light a choir singing soft songs to harp music.
The river of no return.
When driving on the long bridge on my way to Algarve
I think of the bridge falling, but it is always about survival
a story to tell, the one who got away.
Death is the ending of a book you read,
was the book a good read, or was it boring?

This is my Recollection

A salutation to mules, donkeys and horses.
They have disappeared from city life
but without them, no city could be built.
Without the beasts no them, no field to plough
we owe then our way of life.
The beasts were sacrificed in our senseless wars.
We remember them not that saddens me.
There is a hole in the ground, a dot beside an oak
where the mare of many foals stood.
I miss the sturdy beauty of donkeys and mules.
The aroma of their work is gone, and we are poorer
of the vision, we shall not see again

Tanka as Poem

I have been outside
Nature is beautiful they say
It was rather cold
The sun a polished one euro
Clouds are the sun’s flunkies

Inside looking out
Nature looks fantasyland
You can’t lure me out
The wilderness is insecure
And sometimes the wind blows hard.

I’m civilized man
Outdoor is discovery channel
Sharks and dark water
Nature needs a glass divider
Enjoying our inimitableness