The song contests

I came across an apple tree it looked like
a child’s idea of this type of tree, big red
apples and a blue sky; when I realized I do not like
big red apples have farinaceous and taste
like they were dreaming of becoming potatoes
and not picked at by bird.
I joined my wife she was watching the final
Of a song contest, the finalist were two women.
One was buxom and belted out a song with full voice
the other one sang sweetly like opening the window
and letting a songbird and sunlight in.
The ample woman won, but we loved the sweet one.

A morning moment

The owner of a black cat
Sits on a chair by the open door, on the shady side of the road
Reading yesterday’s paper.
The moggy opens its eyes they are like a creamy zabaglione
When I walk past.
The feline sees me then closes its eyes again.
The owner of the cat gets up with tail *****
Marches into the house
The door closes
The man starts up his scooter drive off in a haze of sunlight.

Unsentimental

Overcast this Saturday the clouds are light grey
letting in light on the dark water.
Only one ship anchored in a bay this morning
It is high in the water, waiting for a birth to fill
the cargo holds with stuff from one port to another.
The ship has a black funnel with two red rings
she is elderly and needs a lick of paint, probably
from my time in the merchant navy.
I was not a good sailor, was impatient to reach a port
any port would do, as long as I got ashore
away from the floating gossiping village, freedom!
Settled in my old age, I see the futility of sea life.

Memorials

They have gone, not a trace left, but memories
leaves are getting yellow. No denying fall is here
Me, a sole survivor, standing on a plateau
of nothingness where the dust of years blows.
It was those years who supported you here,
I shall not climb the outside pf the Eifel tower
honours the army of welders; forgotten now
Eifel tower lives, but the man lost his glory crown
when trying to build the Panama Canal.
This long way so, many doors to open and close
he sees shadows the welders are here
perhaps Eifel also lurks behind a locked door.

Dawn of man

Out of the night came the dawn a mild breeze
blow petal off a rhododendron, a magic carpet
on a whitewashed wall sunlight and shadow dance.
The dogs were still asleep, the **** had not crewed  
Quietness, except for an old man fearing his death
his solace is in the day.
A plane across the sky leaves behind tired dreams
of next year’s vacation.
Alfredo is up starting up his little tractor harvesting
carob beans before it get too hot; he used to have
a mule took a long time back then; the mules made
the landscape looks prettier.
I have been here a long time a tranquil bay far from the sea
leave to me soak up the peace before setting sail
for the timeless ocean.

The smallest life

In front of me on the narrow track leading into the bushes,
I picked up a tiny field mouse held in the palm of my hand
where it fell asleep.
The tiny life was white and brown had eyes, heart and lungs like me.
What what’s next? I could not stay here all day with outstretched arm
waiting for the mouse to awake
I put it in my pocket when hearing the sheep coming down the track.
When dusty wool had walked past, I put the hand in my pocket
the mouse was not there; one thing to hold a mouse in my hand,
another thing is to have to crawl around my body.
I took my trousers off; I took my shirt off, I stood there naked
as Adam in Paradise, no mouse.
I slowly dressed as butterflies flitted about the woods were enchanting
and I enjoyed my ****** it gave me a sense of freedom.

Big rats in Copenhagen

The biggest supermarket in the world tons of wasted food
rats grew so big they couldn’t live in sewers but nestled
in the tall grass or built tunnels.
Something had to be done, rats didn’t hesitate to attack
toddlers in a pram; cats stayed at home sleeping
on the sofa, knowing they were no match against this enemy.
In this world of spoilt consumers, a banana had to be bright yellow
not a speck of marks on the fruit, lettuces had to look harvested
an hour ago, and the onion had to look new.
What to do with this new plague?
A bright person suggested giving excess food to the poor
and to the old on low pension.
After some economic indecision, the poor also to buy food
the supermarket relented and gave the wasted food away.
It was successful rats shrunk in size went back to the sewers cats came out.
People didn’t realize poverty were the poor as usual
was not seen.

Tanka

Marilyn Monroe
I loved her greatly
I wedded a blond
She spoke with a scouser accent
When her roots turned russet.

Arm dealers look out
When walking on your green lawn
Watch out for landmines
The mad horde of the limbless
Are seeking a ****** revenge

The no ending story

  I have tried to tell a story of a rat that fell from the ceiling
  it landed among drinkers in a café I ran,
  never had I seen a café emptying of people in two seconds
  flat; the rat escaped too.  
  I also want to talk about the woman who had been sober
for ten years, a safe hand in soothing drunken men.
I also wanted to talk about the eccentric drinking law
allowing me to sell beer between five and ten o’clock
but the customers had to eat first. usually, a sandwich
after that, they could drink as much as they wanted.
I will tell you about the rat plague when they pull down
The old abattoir, but I will leave it for now since I can’t
get the beginning right, I dislike, rats they are vermin
and I can hear one eating ink in the wastebasket.

Bitter Love

In the night, I whispered no one love like us
entwined we’re one body a mass of sated lust.
Her room above an ice-cream parlour was
an angle’s boudoir.
I left for work in a cloud of pink infatuation
and felt benevolent to all creatures in the world.
Nothing could touch me now the coast
was clear of underwater reefs.
Suddenly it changed a boyfriend, a fisherman
came back from the sea, it was him she loved
in our throes of ******, her thought was of him.
A fall from grace, total humiliation, the beauty
fragmented into thousand pieces of the utterly
repugnant memories.
She and her lover boarded a ferry to Denmark
and that was the end of our love affair.

How far is far?

To travel on horse and cart from Algarve
To Lisbon took days, but there were Inns
For a traveller to rest and stable the horses.
Not that many trekked from Algarve
seen as a throwback
From the days of the Muslims and poverty.
It was the British ex. Colonials, in the dwindling
Empire, who settled here; the Algarve is now
famous as a tourist destination.
I drove around, before motorways, with my dog
Portugal is a beautiful country.
On the motorway, there is nothing to see
Except for the rush of destination,
And Portugal is smaller than it used to be.

Unwritten page

A blank page on the word processor I ought to leave it this way
just look at it and dream what I could have written.
If I delete the words written, it will be a blank page again.
No history on a crumpled-up sheet of paper in a wastebasket.
For now, it is too late, but I might erase the page written
if I so choose.
All poems are if written with passion, great poems
if not by the readers but by the poet, who boarded the wrong bus
as my wife did in Johannesburg many years ago
great was her consternation when stopping an available bus
to find it was for black people.
Being born in Congo by a black mother and a Dutch father
she identified herself as black.
Not so, said the authority she was Portuguese.
Racism and ignorance, now it is the Moslems turn to feel
the surge of hatred.
We want the Moslems to behave like us, but they
insist this is not possible in the name of their religion.
What do I do now? Erase the story?

Lemon tree very pretty

I lived in a village where the neighbour had a lemon tree
it was on rich soil in the small garden where chicken roamed
In January, it was full of perfectly formed fruit, beautiful shining bright
with an effervescent hint of green.
I wished someone would take the tree to an art gallery
as an example of perfection.
At an art exhibition, I saw a painting of a lemon by Gunther Grass,
it was beautiful looked real in its yellow lushness; he won a Nobel prize,
not for the lemon but for his marvellous authorship.
Near Ramallah, there was a similar lemon tree greatly admired
by the locals, but the settlers came burned down the tree.
This is what happens when the brutes rule.

Ascension

I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time
had blown away, the sand exposed millions of skeletons
and the memory of man ***** the brain was walnut-sized.
The brain is larger now, filled with images of *******
and wars on many fronts.
I came to an oasis I must drink or explode into atoms
but the water was full of coagulated blood.
I walked on crushing rib cages gleaming in the moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way, sparkled like a diamond
decorated with religious promises of salvation.
I had to climb up and over the hindrance if I wanted to know
what was on the iceberg’s other side?
Emptiness or the final axiom?
I reluctantly began my ascent, the hands cold as my heart.

The brave soldier

Had an accident when parachuting
in Afghanistan,
ended up in a wheelchair he did.
He became a writer instead.
He was lucky to have a wife who helped him
when the going got tough.
Tragedy struck his wife got Alzheimer
sent to a nursing home, he could not cope
The poet struggled alone
he lives in a friendly country like Denmark.
Two nurses come, help him every day
to do the chores.
He is free to write. wonderful poems
but he pines for his wife, the night is long
as he waits for dawn.

Pre-Surgery

A green long-leaved plant on the table
she says doesn’t need water for the next fortnight.
Does the plant bear flower?
No, she says it is supposed to be green striped like this
It has a lovely colour and is not a bother
Not like the rose plant that craves a constant attention
If you leave it alone for a week, it wizens.
The Christmas tree is white this year to give the
illusion of snow
this tree doesn’t need looking after, I say
It is better to buy a Chinese tree and save the forest
she retorts.
Surgery tomorrow, only light food and water, I feel grumpy.

Oranges

Frost in Florida once, I planted an orange tree
among thousands of other orange trees in an orchard
when in Florida.
The coppice belongs to a friend of mine who invited
me to plant the tree a day of wine and songs
remembering the old day when we lived in the Algarve.
I can pick out my orange tree among the mass of trees
simply because it is the most beautiful one.
Like in a pack of dogs, it’s easier to pick out your mutt
it has friendly eyes; we can also call it love.
My friend in Florida died, so did my canine; for my tree
I hope it survived the frost.

The Farmland

The mid-west of the USA flat plain many farmers
tilling rich soil; red barns under a blue sky.
The community thrived, cows and horses in the fields
the Amis people lived nearby in peace with God.
There was harmony here and whispering grass.
Agricultural – business moved in, bought up land
the farmers could not compete and sold out.
Empty barns, fading colours, falling into disrepair
No cows in the field, no horses or dogs
Silent despair of ruined homesteads hangs
In the bitter wind telling of failure.
This is the way we live the strongest always wins.

Hinterland

It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism  
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects **** insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.

The Flash

When the is thunder and lightning fall to earth
let us call the lightning “Flash” when hitting the ocean
it does not die but sinks to the sea like a bubble
waiting in a cataleptic slumber.
When the call came, they rose from the shaking sea
upwards and behind the clouds.
The meteorological conditions had taken a turn for
the worse, clouds were running out of flashes.
The vain Thor, with his hammer, striking an anvil was
not effective only produced small glimmers that
didn’t reach the earth.
Thus, fortified clouds were ready for the winter.

Boby Fett’s adventures

I used to be a friend of Joseph when he was a bank robber
when he robbed a bank in Tbilisi, I helped him to get away
the money he said was to help his cause.
One can say he owed me a favour, which came in handy.
There was a revolution and Joseph became a president
that was ok, but he became brutal and one evening
when we sat drinking Georgian wine, we had a discussion
I called him a butcher.
I thought I was going to be shot, but since he owed me a favour
I was sent to Siberia with a bag of potatoes.
Luckily, I had a box of matches in my pocket a knife hidden
in my shoe, therefore able to survive to the last potato.
A wandering Sami people with their heard of reindeers on
the way to Scandinavia saved me.
For the Sami tribe, there is no border.
I took my old name back, Harry Finkelstein, a name I had kept
secret from Joseph, my friend from the bank robber days.
I got a job on the Manhattan project keeping tab of screws
needed to make a bomb, the rest is history.

A message to earthlings

  Earthlings, we gave you a planet and you fouled it.
  We had high hope for you since you can reason and show empathy
  but you were overtaken by the sin of greed and arrogance.
  You have exploited the home we gave you
  you had no respect for animals, you let them down and eradicated
  the Tasmanian tigers to take an example, we find it hard to forgive.
  We have released a plague upon you, to teach you a lesson, we wish not
  to eliminate mankind as you will do that yourself.
  Some of you may go to Mars but your thwarted mind will follow and
Soon take the land will declare independence, wave flags about and fight
another state; and squabble over minerals and rocks.
Who knows you humans might find the Tasmanian tiger hiding in a cave?
And since you have blood on your hands, eradicate this animal again.
We will not wish you a happy NEW YEAR you do not deserve one

Serious now

A man
Knocked on my door
He was
Collecting
Laughter.
Mournful
He was when leaving
Without a smile
On his face.

Blessed Sunday

A sigh of relief Christmas is over
a few loose ends here and there
but the local shop is open
I need milk for my morning coffee.
Freedom at last released from
shackles of festivity.
We have house guests that are Ok
they have their quarter
and sleep late.
Raining, I have to drink black coffee
I don’t mind, what is great, is the peace.
Yesterday I printed a manuscript
“Equinox,” finally, I must say
one guest repaired the printer, gave him
wholly socks as presents.
So, let the day march on. I don’t care.

MY uncle

My uncle gave me a fire truck as a Christmas gift
it was made of wood and had wooden wheels
that fell off after one hour of play.
When I lived at a farm, he came and visited me
helped the farmer get in dray hay.
He stayed at the farm for a week, and when
he left I was sitting behind a stone on the outer field
feeling miserable, he could have stayed
A few weeks more.
He had to go, found a job in a town called
Porsgrunn to stoke the flames of industry.
Worst of all, he got married had several sons
Why did have to do this?
That is the problem with adults they always
let you down.

The brown bear


During Yeltsin years when he sold Russia down the river
People in the west loved the brown bear
we patronized the Russian as ***** swilling village idiots.
The cuddly bear died, and a steely-eyed fox to the helm
and the Russians was no longer cuddly.
The Russian federation was no longer willing to play
the game ascribed by the western press no longer willing
to be pushed around and laughed at.
Putin, the fox, turned Russia into a modern state that has
a modern army that is powerful if stirred by the west.
Russia wants peace but does not like the encroachment
by NATO/US, that is like Indians in western movies
encircling the wagons.
Putin, president of Russia, vilified by the western media
and the EU, ain’t forgiving
even the capitalists know this and stalk carefully.

Banana trees

Most of the jungles of Sumatra are uprooted
to plant banana trees the orangutans have been made homeless.
They try to sit in the banana trees, but it is too brittle for the animals
besides, they don´t care for this type of fruit, which gives them the runs.
It reminds me of Lisbon the Portuguese are proud of.
Moneyed people are coming from abroad to settle in the city,
a wonderful place to live.
The poor cannot afford the high rent when flats are modernized
to suit newcomers.
The unfortunates are pushed out to find a shack, if they are lucky
or failing that, live in tents;
many tents, in parks and sideroads while waiting to be housed.
There are many pretty banana trees in Lisbon, but they are expensive.
It has always been like this, the poor and the uncommunicative
must take the brunt when a town goes upmarket.

The myopic state

We live in a precarious world when opinions
other than the official ones are banned and ignored
I’m thinking of RT (Russian TV.
That brings news and analyses of current events
the commentators are usually scholars, intellectuals
that do not get a hearing in the usual media
I watch the channel and many others to get a perspective
of the world, we live in.
I Germany RT has been banned because of not having
the right silenced. this is not true and RT is taken
the relevant authority to court.
Probably RT will lose.
There is in Europe and the USA a myopic view
of what we can say or do and many of us who question more
Will and cannot be heard.
This brings us to those who refuse the covid vaccine
they are not criminals but people who fear the restrictions
will lead to more restriction and when a constraint is in place
the likelihood is will be permanent that will
curtailing of freedom.
Our liberty to have a view other than the one accepted
by the sensors who works for the state against the will of the people

The visit

My mother and went to visit her uncle and his family
they lived in the outskirt of the town what we thought of as posh
we took the bus.
Mother’s uncle was a foreman at an abattoir, therefore middle-class
in his wife’s eye.
When he came home from work his family, had two children
They had dinner in the kitchen, we sat in the living room
mother was given a cup of coffee I got a glass of milk.
When dinner was over her uncle came into the living room
I thought his hands were dripping with blood,
I think he gave her some money when his wife did the dishes.
We left, I was feeling angry without knowing why in the hall,
I said, have you got cats, no, his wife said? Odd I can smell cat ****.
Outside mother, scolded me for being so rude, but she smiled.
I never saw her uncle again nor his snobbish wife.
They never visited us, we lived on the wrong side of the town.

Homeward Thoughts

When I see the white jet stream of an air carrier
high up on the blue sky that wholly cloud,
like a grazing flock of sheep
I think of the country up North, I left so many years ago
was I right leaving?
A question that remains unanswered.
A chasm of time has gone like the mist of Saragossa Sea,
mysterious and frightening.
A land that only exists in my mind,
should I go there, I would be in dreams I was young
and life had many promises.
That was before death ravaged us and took those I loved.
No, I think I will be in Portugal a little longer.

The cry

A warm August day
A child
Drawn to the ornamental pool
A surface of lilies
A mother calls
Her child
A face
Whiter than the lilies
Floats in the light
A scream
Pierces a hole in the sky
A fraction of a second
Nature is silent.
Then it gears up again
Ad nauseous

New Dawn

Darkness at the edges of my vision
Blurred as time erases contours of the past

The evoked is as sharp as a lone tree on a hill
The dark shadows at the foot of the mountain.

The loneliness of walking on a road where no one lives
Knowing you are the last one of your tribe

The memory has shed the execs burden of triviality
Distorted remains float out of reach to make sense.

A new morning is a mere comma in the vastness
In the end, life is a dream of no consequence.

People and horses

The Newmarket was the oldest market in town
farmers came here selling potatoes and other greenery
Their women-folk sold thick, long underwear
winter can be cold when the North-west blows.
Horse manure was quickly scooped up the town’s housewives
good for the rosebushes.
Horse **** gave off a fragrance of time gone by.
Time changed, first slowly farmers had trucks
sold orange, tomatoes and exotic fruits never heard of before
and one day the horses to had gone.
Everybody was busy not time for a wee dram and a chat.
It was the horses that made the market pretty
oddly enough the iron ring on the railing is still here
Waiting for the warm breath of the workhorses.

Another summer
Summer is over the night arrives hastily
it was a delicious season spent indoors
his cancer didn´t like to sun.
To sit there and dream of summer wine and dance
reading brochure of adventures in Thailand.
Once he travelled to Paris, walked the street
trying to get a whiff when Paris was Hemingway´s
Ezra Pound’s Gertrude Stein’s and James Joyce’s.
Instead, it was another overpriced city
but he went to the house where Edith Piaf lived
her name was on the building and the street
where she had lived had a lived-in patina.
He was not invited, to a literary salon but
Shakespeare’s bookshop took in two of his
modest book

The Ring

When I asked my girlfriend to marry me, she was thrilled
and said, now I can quit my boring job and be a housewife.
She called her parents they were coming into town
the next day, meet us at eight o’clock sharp.
I had bought my fiancé a ring of old gold with green gem,
it looked expensive but wasn´t
I put the ring in my camelhair overcoat, the coat was ****
more expensive than the ring.
Going to meet the new family, I was a bit nervous stopped
at a bar had a Rom and coke, as I was about to order
one more drink my friends, came in; laughter and talk.
When I looked at the time it was about 9, I rushed out
And forgot my overcoat
to find a cab, there wasn’t any, so, I had to walk to the house
and arrived about ten 0’clock.
Rang the doorbell, she cried and refused to let me in,
I knocked on the door, when it opened it was her father
Who angrily shouted that his daughter wasn´t marrying a common drunk?
It was the prefix “common” that hurt me most.
Back at the bar, my dear overcoat was stolen but my friends
Consoled me, we drank some more.
Two years later, I saw she was getting married in a small white church
in the neighbourhood.
I went to her wedding but sat in the back didn´t want her to see me.
I have good eyesight and noticed she wore the same ring
I never got around to giving her
That made me wonder if the bridegroom was a thief.

In defence of the Palestine people

I have complained my car didn’t start, how middle-class
I have become complaining about unimportant banality
instead of writing about the plight of the Palestinians
who has endured having their land stolen and also?
Losing the little they have left of land and olive trees
to the unspeakable settlers.
Israel has demonized the Arab and demonized us who
write about the inequity into silence.
I have noticed when I write about this conflict on other sites
It is overlooked and not commented upon.
There was a time in Norway, when my uncles fought to help
the Jews and suffered for it, torture and long jail terms.
Today the situation is different Israel picked up the mantles
of ****** and ran with it.
I have no power but, I can defend the Palestinians in
the knowledge that history is on my side.
The truth is stifled but never killed.

The shop
at the corner of my childhood
has stopped selling Danish pastry
and coco macrons
milk and cheese.
The room is bare
The cheese cutter is no longer there
And the old-fashioned weight
Doesn’t pling.
There is no butter
And no one asks why?
The bell that rang when opening
The shop's door
Doesn’t ring anymore
The shop is overtaken by time.
Perhaps someone will buy the shop
Make a wine bar
Making us into middle-class alcoholics
I have sudden hunger for Danish pastry.

The race for life

Once I was a spore trying to reach the ovaries
I ran fast (must have been athletic) and won the race
to be a living breathing human.
Had the spore lost it would not make, any difference
for a spore.
As it is, I have seen the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean
mountains high and rabbits in the woods never loved
by a woman, nor the glorious hurt of rejection
The softness of her skin, the colour of her eyes
When I swam in the lake of enchantment and walked
near the waterfall where lovers cry.
All this because I was lucky, the victor of a race where
millions of spores

Hospital workers

It has been another busy day a lot of driving
the destination is yet another hospital that smells of despair.
Busy fat auxiliary nurse, you can hear the friction of sweaty thighs
and the smell of their vaginas.
I’m not surprised the canteen sell mostly sweet cakes and drinks
and low paid, they have no other chances.
The doctors are mostly good at their trade, but some of them
would be happier as car mechanics, if it hadn´t been
for pushy mothers wanting a son with a title.
They are jolly, the nurses on a sugar high, I think.
I sit in the waiting room, the endless waiting for more tests.
My doctor is female, she talks to me softly, but there is steel
in her voice, telling me what to do and eat.
After a shouting match I lost, I gave her one of my books.
Mollified, she forgave my outburst. Yes, she is an angel.

Brussel

I dream of a river clear
As a nun’s tears
In a landscape of flowers.
Bees, don´t sting
Nestles is banned.
Honeysuckles
Is a dulcet word.
I think of a woman
who came to my village?
Years ago.
Her smile lingers
Her laughter
Alentejo wine
Not the supermarket type
With plastic top
And fake labelling.
The river of love
Runs to Brussel.
This is odd, Brussel  
Is a rain heavy place
And little else.
Except
For wonderful chocolate
And tasty beer.

The climate

Is an elephant on *****
Weaned off.
Going berserk
Throwing things around
Tearing the
Polaris into fragments.
Hurricanes
Storms
Flooding.
Scorching summers
Arctic winters
There is no end
To the elephants
Despair.
Slim the elephant
Normal food
It will soften
Its rampage
And trumpeting.

Nature wonders

The morning was ice blue
Cold
Wild animals
Freeze
Whish, they had
A human overcoat
The sun thawed
Raindrops
Big as balloons
Exploded on impact
Damaged cars
Drowned cats
The sun
Dried its tears
Dogs barked
Came out of barns
The day
Continued
As nothing had happened.

The Imitators

He has worked in the garden of poetry
Forty years gone.
The soil is meagre and the plants are eaten
By boars, they applaud him with grunts.

To find the roots and transplant them on a page
Or in the garden of literature, is not easy.
The gardener is famed for his genius or a charlatan
Of rose bushes.

Truth rears its ugly head, there are doubters
Who will not be silent, he knows when his plant’s
Has been purloined.
Better than not be read at all.

Writing on the Internet

Before the internet
Killed off
The small press
He often sent poetry around
And was thrilled
To see his work
Printed on paper.
A book to collect.
Poetry/short stories
Are not the same
Published on a computer.
The work disappears
In the vast maze
Never to be seen again.
When he switches off
The computer
It is gone
Like it never existed
What is left
Is a blank screen
that needs dusting.

Virtue

I wish
I could write
A love song
From the heart
About a mountain stream,
Were cynicism
Dare not enter
Not intrude
As sarcasm
Is banned
Sorry to say
Cannot have lived
That long
I know when hearts
Cries
For the loss
Of innocence

Maggots
  
If ******* *****
From millions of seafarers
Over a hundred years.
Think of this floating loneliness
had met up and formed
An Island.
And up from its depth
Sprung the unborn
Like larvae
Whose only contact
With mothers
Depended
On what the ******
was dreaming at the time.
Not a new Atlantis emerging
But an island
Of tedium
And tired desire.
Not on a chart
To see its existence
So, be careful when dreaming.

The warming planet

In the heat of summers
it was nice to bathe in the river
ten minutes from the houses.
A great place to cool off
Not crowded by tourists.
Cigano boys bronzed
And physically perfect
Diving from the branches
Of the generous oak.
Of the warming of the planet
I know little, only this
The river is dry as early as May
been so, for five years.
But old people, tell me
It has happened before.
The river, near the houses
Were dry for years
In the fifties.

The killing of a nation



Women’s right is at a crossroad, the right to education

work for a corporation sitting at the table of decision making

that is useful for business but not unsafe for people.

They are conned we all have conned into

thinking this is the future.



The highest accolade a person can win is to give birth

to new life and bring them up to be sound

and kind member of the society, only a woman can do this

but many of them have forsaken what is important in life

New life.



Every woman in Europe should have five offspring

or the civilization we live in will die out.

Instead, we vilify single mothers for giving birth

we have to pay for we should put them on a pedestal 

for bringing life into the world.



Abortion is killing the nations of Europe, but we do not

understand the implications of this

We become a minority to a culture alien for us

Women who have done their heroic duty

are vigorous enough to run a nation.

The end of a friendship

I sat in the kitchen of the flat mother had left me,
trying to write a poem, when heard my former friend
coming up the stairs, I had locked the kitchen door
didn´t want them in or talk to them anymore.
They knocked on the door, let us in Joe, we know
you are in there, I didn´t answer.
When the knock stopped, they stood in the communal
hallway, cursing me, calling me **** and much more.
Once I had been one of them drifting through life
that has no purpose other than sitting in cafes drinking beer
wasting time with idle talk.
The kitchen was my den, my interest was writing.
I had lost my train of thoughts and switched on the TV,
It was in black and white, turned the sound off watched
people on a stage being funny and people laughing
with the sound off, it looked ridiculous.
I fell asleep but woke up early, in the Nord the night
is short in spring.
I made a cheese sandwich, drank coffee, grateful that  
I was not like my former friends.

The meaning of Christmas
In our multi-religious world and lack of Christian faith
I no longer call Christmas by its name but prefer
to call the festive season “The festivities.”
The meaning of “Christmas” was to celebrate the birth of Jesus
but commerce has highjacked the season
we are pressured into buying presents for family and friends.
The JUL is a good word that was celebrated long before Jesus was born
it is on the day the sun turns; spring will soon arrive.
The Jews have their day, so has the Muslims we
are not suggesting they should change this.
We in the west should not be ashamed of our cultural heritage
where our Christian faith places a big part.