A trip to Wales

I was driving among hillocks; the landscape was green
it was spring and sheep-dipped in coal dust, grazed
with their offspring
Parked near a pub in a hamlet, it had a name
I could not get my tongue around it and enter
into a dark interior.
The few customers ignored me yet eyed me
perhaps they thought I was English looking to buy a cottage.
I drank powder coffee in a sea of Welshness
my foreignness disturbed me
and the locals.
I left.

The amber moon

Super moon last night saw it from my terrace
18% brighter and 20% nearer, said the meteorologist
How unromantic can you get?
Hugh yellow and beautiful, so close I could reach
The moon with my broom, I felt the pull levitated
And dared to dream big.
Beauty should be shared till it becomes
A memory pooled by lovers, but you were not there.
This was a night of the vague nearness of the one you love.
I walked on a sandy lane thinking of your absence.

The armless

Once I had a snack bar selling soft drinks and unhealthy food
long hours of total boredom and fattening.
I tried to get a drinking license, but a Christian party was
in power at that time, said no.
One Sunday morning, a young man without arms came in
he was drunk, his fly was open, wanted a beer but settled
for a coke with a straw; then he fell asleep.
He awoke and needed a ***. I helped him with this.
Later he told me he was going to Oslo to have artificial arms
fitted, I was glad for him.
I closed the snack bar for the rest of the day took the dog
for a walk, my problems were trifling compared with his.

Home invasion

IKEA, the Swedish furniture giant
Is invading your home
Wherever you go homes look the same
all in pine and is a blend of office
and living room
A mother has put her daughter to bed
she sits by a computer and works
(No men in the IKEA world)
No books clutter the space, bookshelves
are for ornamental use a place for toys.
on the wall some friendly print
purposely abstract and tedious
There is no individual taste in a picture
of hygge, a unipolar world, will we drive
a Tesla next?

SATURDAY MORNING

The alarm bell has a modified
Saturday tone
And I murmur
give me 5 minutes more.
A good night’s sleep
A peaceful morning
I doze off.
Give me 5 minutes more.
I get up, make a coffee
The good feeling continues
The world is wonderful
Until the phone rings!

The long life

The knowledge of living forever is already here
all one has to do is renew the old cells for new ones
once a year starting when forty or thereabout when
a person is self-sufficient.
It is also possible to renew cells so often on regress
to infancy and looked after by your son who is unable
to grasp he is changing his father’s *****.
Longevity has its own risk of how to live you can alight
from the Garston, bus nr 9 and be knocked down
by a car, the autopsy will show the person was not forty
But 110.
The best way to get old is to **** someone in Oklahoma
get 200 years in a padded cell be fed by a slot in the wall
and when the conviction comes to an end
refuse to leave the prison, your home on earth.

Meeting Van Gogh

The wheat field is blond as a German milkmaid.
Intense heat, in the shade of an olive tree
I saw a grumpy Van Gogh is glaring at me for
appearing in his painting.
My scooter is electric blue and doesn’t fit in.
Easy now, my painter, pretend it is a mule.
The vine, deep green or dark cerulean
soon bottles of liquid pleasure.
The road in your landscape is like a mamba
sneaking its way, killing rabbits blue.
The afternoon sun is fierce, sweat in my eyes
I fall among thistles, and Van Gogh smiles.