The Gazelle

I met a Gazelle in Marseille
she was chewing on my jacket
I took it off to keep her warm.
She was hungry, gave her my jumper
not enough.
In Marseille I was naked
She had eaten my wallet also

Buying a car

I have read and published some of my old poems
what I write these days is more about the everyday
Gone has the mermaid in the forest´s lake.
Sheep endlessly grazing and calling their shepherd
at the first darkening of the sky.
The sheep have lived in peace so long and fear
shadows dancing among olive trees.
The animals graze inside a fenced-in field for security
And for this, they have forsaken freedom.
I´m nonchalant, my dog too takes on the mien of indifference.
She has gone, but I keep her bones in a black bag
when driving around.
On roads covered by asphalt and decaying flowers on sidewalks.
Someday I will write a book of my deleted poems that are forever
circling in my mind.
Perhaps I gave away my best work to the cold stars.
Since you wonder about the title, yes, I bought the twenty-year-old car
It purrs like Walter´s cat.

Birthday Party

The day began to find a place for lunch which was difficult
most roads were closed due to a cycling tournament
We got out of this mess and ended up in the streets where the rich lived.
My wife was enthralled by the beautiful gardens in the district
I nodded but was not impressed, preferring real nature.
Finally, we stopped at a small inn, that was ever so posh,
just in time I was getting grumpy due to low blood sugar.
The meal was expensive but plentiful, and we took the rest home
for a feast when I would not need to drive and enjoy a glass of wine.
At home, I saw on Facebook, many had sent me gratulations which
is gratifying, and I love my absent friends.
Those who didn´t send, greeting especially the English,
I forgive
they do not like to show a display of affection.
The English are this way, is it was a good thing they left
the EU, are a people of great pride and still hankers
for the days when Great Britain was an Imperial power.
No, there was not a great party just my wife and me, that is ok
we are bound together by an emotional seal of loneliness.

When you have to

On a coach from Lisbon to Porto
the loo was locked, for safety reasons
the driver had the key.
It takes a modest soul much courage to walk up  
get the key and return it.
I walked the Conesa walk three times.
People began noticing me and appeared friendly.
The driver took pity told me to leave the key in the door
he would pick it up after the journey.
With the key in place, it was surprising
who many who felt the need for a ***.

A Country destroyed

And all nations
Want their fair share.
France
Britain
USA
Israel
Norway
Poland
Want their lucre.
That is why
Kaddafi
Was handed over
To the murderous thugs
Of Bengasi
Who killed him?
And now we have ISIS.
Could it be the oil?

The Escape

A man coming home from work saw a shadowy figure
leaning against an olive tree.
It was death sharpening his scythe polishing his hoof.
Them and said, no, not me, I´m too young to die
furthermore, I have to go to Madrid and work as a solicitor’s clerk.
In Madrid, he knocked on the relevant door, opened and the devil
sat there smiling.
The death said, from now on, you are my little helper,
go back home and **** your parents their time has come.
Greatly disturbed, he took the first plane home, and there
leaning against the same tree death stood like a shadow
in the autumnal evening.
In the house, his parents were crying they had buried
their only son, but they didn´t see or hear him and he was truly
the devil’s helper.
This story is based on a Syrian tale of a man riding to Damascus
across the desert to Baghdad to avoid death.
A drone pilot mistook him for a jeep and fired a rocket.
The man had to walk to Baghdad, but without water and dates,
he perished.

Loneliness

I have always been a bit of a loner
it is a part of me I cannot eradicate.
I have had few close friends as friendship is an itch
that is demanding in its clawness
My loneliness is a part of me I try to escape
but also embrace as it sets me free.
I became accustomed to living alone when I stayed on a farm
with only animals as imagined friends.
There were no other children to talk and play
Sometimes loneliness can be a burden walking alone
turnaround and say, look at this view!
When I write- I do not call myself a poet-
It is as I connect with unseen friends and the act of writing
feels like I belong to the world.

The fun at a house of ill repute

I sat down with the best intention to write about flowers
love and bees, this made me think the ***** house had plastic flowers
and that is apt as it is
not a place for romance, red roses and chrysanthemums.
I have had much fun at these places, not only the *** part
but also, the laughter and dancing.
The women liked a sailor and the possibility of further romance.
I know of ****** who married former prostitutes and
their marriages have normally been happy ones.
Time has changed, the women are victims of men’s ****** advances
and buying and selling of, flesh other than pork is outlawed.
Just as well, now girls in this trade are called *** workers
compared with the cleaning ladies and so forth.
Cold cash on the table, the price depending on the position
like asking the char to go out and **** the garden, well you
have to pay extra for that.

An ethical poem
A big crow and a sparrow which had painted itself
in the colour of a big bird to look masterful became friends
Both suffered from a bombastic belief they could
take on the elderly eagle and its brood.
A virtuoso war a million other birds killed who only happened
to be flying on peaceful errands.
The Sahara became rubicund from a distance looked like a carpet
for kings and potentates.  
From Eastern states, vultures came to feed and defend
to get the big crow and the preening sparrow off their territory.
The crow flew home, the sparrow took a bath to look common.
It did not help the sparrow it had done crow´s bidding
was shunned and had to fly from suburban gardens to another
and sleepless sit under a bush.

parable sonnets

I was flying high, yet it was hot my wings tired
spotted a well flew down and sat by its side.
By leaning forward, I could see my reflection
in the clear water.
A dark shadow pushed me, fell into the well.
I looked up but, the evil was not there
and the sun was westward bound, taking with it
the daylight.
I had sharp talons clawed my way up to the rim of the well.
Night, evil sat by the fireside reading a book of magic.
I tore its eyes out, the scream brought thunder and hailstone.
The evil ran outside to cool the eyes he no longer had.
It fell into the well and called for help.
What could I do a bird with silky feathers?
I flew up to the sky, the scream of anguish bore the suffering of humankind
echoed through the galaxy.

Clemency

A lifetime of experiences
the struggle is to be willing remembering them
as there are large holes calling certain events
are pushed aside.
What was said or done
in the cusp of youth, I forgive myself
with a shrug.
What was done in the middle years
is a matter that cannot be glossed over.
No, it is not about forgiveness
but the acceptance we are not perfect
and thus, be more lenient
when we are trespassed upon.
I will not choose bitterness for slights done.
The river near the houses is now a trickle
soon it will be an ugly scar
across the landscape.
Once we swam her and made love by the river´s bank.
Blessed is the cynical unhurt striding through life.

Suppress women
And you get a society
Of men shooting holes
In a dark cloud

Driving on the left side
Of the road
Makes a nation somewhat
Intransigent

The ex-drinker

He had stopped drinking looked remarkable well
his wife was proud of him, less so his friends who never saw him in the bar.
When one of his friends met him in the street his manners were formal.
Promoted at work he bought a new car, his was wife was gratified and so was his family.
They found him hanged in the shed his calm had been a deep depression,
Why did this man who had everything to live for top himself?
Not easy to say, because no one had asked him but taken him for granted
that he was a happy man.
The role he played as a middle-class man in a suit was painful,
he liked drinking wine making him dream, dreams he wrote down.
When he began a sober life, his wife threw his dreams into the fire.

A lizard Sonnet
If you travel to escape the small lizard on your back
you eventually are outside your parents´ home
to find they have long since gone.
Someone else lives there perhaps a child sleep in your bed
dreaming your dream.
You will walk down the street where you used to play
but no one knows and the sense of loss is overwhelming.
Swallow hard not to cry because your memory is untrue.
You left a small-minded town, poverty and screams in the night.
but it was worth returning to remind you what an awful place you left.
I have a small lizard in the kitchen I have tried to **** it
Because it is grey and without redeeming colours that I could use as a pet.
It is also quick and hides behind the fridge where I cannot reach it.
I will let it live for now.

Endurance

Sat on the terrace
Waited for stars.
It was overcast
Delayed a bit longer.
Then it was morning
And rain fell.
Big drops
In each one
I saw
An echo of stars
Too tiny
To see
by the naked eye.

Paris Sonnet
I visited Paris for a few days I have been here before
but this time I came alone.
Walked into a café selling delicious cakes had a piece
of cake, a big piece, and had a crust on top
for my untrained eyes it looked like petrified snot.
with tiny footsteps on done by a cook with a fork.
I put a napkin over the cake and drank coffee,
I could stir the coffee with tiny sticks that looked
like sugary rat tails.
The river Saine ran full that year.
Discerning rats prefer cake shops, and why not.
Who wants to live in that ***** river?
Perhaps blind lovers that only see one another.

The strange

If I knew you loved me, I would have killed you.
A sentence that makes no sense keep swirling around my head.
William Burrough could have said that perhaps he has.
I met a woman, not the first, and fell in love.
She was and could be my soulmate with her I felt at ease
not straining to be entertaining.
Dragged into a black vortex of love, it could only end in hurts.
I cut loose and had many sleepless nights.
I met another woman who was not a soulmate who needed
a place to stay near where she worked.
That was a long time ago, we are now two lost souls
comforting each other in the midnight hours.

Erratically you

It was by chance I came to Portugal.
I was a failure in Norway and a bigger loser in Britain.
I could not absorb a culture that makes the working-class
dumb workers and ignorant soldiers.
It was a day in May when I came here, didn´t want to live
by the coast, which was like living in Liverpool with sunlight.
I bought a ruin/stable got local workers to help me restoring the place.
One day I looked up and said: “I´m home.”

The idyllic painting

I remember it well
The dirt road
The neglected
Domestic landscape
Growing wild
Tall
Ongoing battle
Freedom
For the strongest
I walked
Into the painting
Wore clogs
Yellow dust
Behind me
Going north.

Painting of oblivion

The is uniformly white
A screen depicting nothingness
There is immobility.
Occasionally a red dot appears
When the mas of the void is moved.
Into the form of life
A beast or a human?
The mystery is no one knows
Why does randomness occur

is everything ****


The petrol prices in Portugal are now so high
the highest European for me to drive from Cascais to Algarve
makes me six hours, (before two) I save on petrol but waste time.
Behind me, angry drivers in BML´s waving their fists who want to overtake
only so they can turn sharp right for a coffee at the nearest café.
Too much coffee makes people nervous.
China has a housing problem, while in Britain, they have a supply problem
Britain has not enough petrol drivers to supply the forecourts
In San Francisco bay, 72 ships are waiting to unload the precious cargo
mainly full of Christmas banality, no capacity they say.
Is the USA becoming a third world country?
The north pole is melting the sea level rises, but never mind that
we want out Christmas and petrol.
In Las Palmas, volcanic eruption lava streams going into the sea
that is for future generations to figure out.
All I want is an electric scooter I bought in China.

The mystery

The mystery of life is enduring
what is its purpose?
A couple having *** on grandfather´s sofa
while he is out milking his two cows.
The consequences of this brief union
was far from the couple´s mind.
So, I ask again, what is life´s purpose?
Was there a plan behind it?
Winning the toughed race and be born?
Or was it only a happendash?
Something a spur of the moment encounter
Was the newborn destined to become great?
And leave behind the immensity of the human mind
So, the individual could understand its meaning
“what was it all for, Alfie?”
The devil had a good day bringing forth another loser
doomed to the lowest rung of the ladder
and bring the idiot´s genes further down the abyss.

Destiny
The majesty of the vast ocean
denied.
If you are lucky, you might see
choppy water
in a summer lake.

reborn
I have answered the most questions
and what I know is only the truth and love prevail.
When I set sail across the ocean of time
will you remember me with love in your heart?
Grieving is waste of time.
I like you to smile and laugh again.
I don’t know if the voyage will be long or short
since time is endless, I need your love
to sustain me through choppy water.
When the great spirit of the universe asks
what did you do in your lifetime?
I can only answer truly, I did my best and am flawed
but my honesty made me lose many friends.
The ruler said you are a good egg.
Did it mean I will be a duck?

If you…

  If you see an old man with an unsure gait
Coming your way, do not pretend he is a bit of fluff.
If he looks at you it is because you are lovely
He admires the beautiful you looking like his granddaughter.
If he nods and smiles do not be offended
In his eyes, his wife is beautiful too.
If he says good morning, do not act as you do not hear
Say good morning also and it will gladden his heart.
if the old man has a glint in his eyes, it is because he remembers
all the women he had met in his life.

The colourblind scientist
He was from Pakistan, always wore a blue suit
we were walking away from a ship that sank.
So, I said, what are you doing for a living?
I´m a mathematician, he said currently I'm trying to make
brown into green by using a math formula, so far
I have got grey colours but lack funds to continue.
We came to a park and sat down, I pointed to the grass
said it was green.
That is the problem, he said, why is it green?
If I could find a mathematical formula, I could make
the whole world green, and there would be equality.
He was lost in thought for a while and spoke;
can´t you picture it as a green Himalaya?
A pigeon came flying and sat on his head I fed it breadcrumbs.
The scientist thanked me, got up and left.

The hummock

There is a hill behind the houses round and soft,
I call it a mother hill it welcomes you and murmur
How do you do?” and let you sit on a boulder
to enjoy the peace.
If you sit too long enjoying your sentimentality,
it wakes, the boulder gets cold and hard to sit on.
The wind suddenly blows, has a fragrance of Siberia and *****.
So, you walk around to keep warm and see wildflowers
hiding behind big stones.
You cannot pick them if you do? They will wizen and bring rain.
Walk gently now the aroma of spring is in the grass.
Behind the knoll, it is October grey and out of sight where no trees grow.
It is the mother´s hill burden concealed from the world.

Alexander Graham Bell

It was fine, quiet winter´s day I listened to distant noise,
dogs bark -you can´t avoid this in the Algarve-
smoke from chimneys straight up before disbursing and disappearing.
A few clouds drift about looking like wedding dresses of the unmarried,
The sun is a golden coin captain hook would **** to obtain.
I smell grilled sardine, and a cat on a fence is watching me.
I sternly tell myself to go for a walk before it gets too cold
But blithely ignore the inner voice.
As I drift on a slothful cumulus, my phone rings
I answer the voice says, sorry, the wrong number.

Horizons

I sit on the verandah look at the sea no ships in today
open view until the horizon after that, on the other side
there are new limits
I have seen many horizons, some of them are blue or green
but have in common stopping me from seeing what is beyond
What if I met a horizon that had no new horizons?
A blank nothingness that has no dreams.
I look behind me and see an island before the fog sets
obscuring its coastline.
It is getting cold on the verandah, suddenly it becomes
the loneliest place on earth, breaking my spirit.
The island I saw on my endless quest is called Saragossa
I steer my ship there to meet friends long since departed
they will tell me what I need to know, the unsaid.

Armaments
  

Now that the debacle of Afghanistan is behind us
we have to find something else to keep the war machine going
“Aucan,” an alliance of Anglophone countries are formed
A defence of the Chinese who dares to build
their navy.
Canada was not included too many French speakers live there
and they talk about peace with the enemy which everyone
Is too polite to answer.
I can´t see why Britain is here, but they do speak English
and has a long history of meddling in far-east countries.
Nuclear submarines, to counter any attack, after all the Chines
are fine trading partners,
we poor people buy our shoes and socks
in Chinse shops.
This; is about money and the stupid people who run our world
hopes a nuclear war will never happen

In afternoon glow

I ought to take an interest in death
but I don´t find it a stimulating subject
it has to do with acceptance.
This is comforting since I’m not religious
but has a strong spiritual streak.
I believe in the mystic.
What we fail to understand in normal life can be understood by
a second sight.
I can see the near future
based on experience.
I believe in the existence of ghost
they are people who have not accepted they are dead
and are, generally speaking, unhappy.
Since the devil does not occur, he doesn’t care
about sad ghosts.
I have seen my dead dog on several occasions she lives in my mind
and appears happy, especially when it rains and I can´t leave the house.
Here I manly laugh, look at my wristwatch
my god, it is nearly eight o´clock
time for a glass of red wine.

Alright then

It was peace in the valley, a deep harmony of those
who had fled the air of a town´s inequity?
Then there was an avalanche of thoughts which caused confusion
when it settled, a gramophone voice from 1930 sweetly sang
“I love you, yes I do, my darling.”
Back then, singers appeared in suits or long skirts.
Now it is about tight trousers and ****, never mind the song.
female singer elicit sympathy telling of an abused childhood
The men, do tell, of poverty before they made it to fame.
Tomorrow the peace will be broken by shooting, hunters
will fill the valley and bath it with blood lust.
The avalanche has blocked the road where we used to bath
I accept that and find a puddle to wade in.
should I get tired can find a folding chair
and play my turntable and hum along with the old tunes.

Minimum wage

The olive trees in the landscape
near the village,
Have working-class trunks
and no illusion
Of becoming middle-class trees.
They refuse to grow
in a plant- nursery and be tampered with
by botanists.
They do not envy tall palm trees.
Good luck to those who see the world
through an elevated height.
Good soil and water the plebian olive tree wants
it has deep roots and will not fall
in a storm.

My Serengeti

I have neglected to visit my “Africa”, the flatland between
two hills that appear like a young mother's *******.
I know the trees and bushes, used to drive there to say hello.
Time changes I have no motorbike.
On the road driving to the shop, I can see the valley, yellow digger
And blue tractors near the wadi where I once saw a brown crocodile
waiting for rain.
Once I saw a tiger leisurely walking across the lane.
A hyena laughed and said it was not here.
They are building a new Algarve type village with swimming pools
and an ambitious golf course.
But not for you and me.
No, I will not look at how work progress let my dream be intact.
But I do wish a tsunami would come and wash it all away.
Alas, nothing stays the same like the olive tree at the entrance of my driveway.
I have lost my kaleidoscope

Epiphany

1950, there had been a war, but things were going back to normal.
My mother had a new boyfriend who also had a small cabin on an island
and a rowing boat.
On a nice Sunday, we rowed out, mother had made sandwiches mostly filled with jam,
a thermos of coffee and a bottle of soft drink.
Her boyfriend gave me a line with a hook and a sinker and told me
to go to the shallow and catch something.
I did as he said, but must add I do not take kindly being “told.”
There were many tiny fishes that looked like swimming rainbows
I was enthralled by them; in the crystal-clear water, it was like looking into heaven.
I must have been in a dreamlike state of mind, took a step forward and fell into the water.
The boyfriend came running, mother too, she was worried about my health,
we returned back to town, so I could get dry clothing and cacao drink.
The boyfriend was grumpy, suggested I had fallen into the water
to attract attention.
I didn´t try to explain that for a moment I had seen the wonder and understood everything.
Mind, he could have been right, what does a boy know of life.

We must haste

They are so happy, the parents, grandmother’s uncle and aunts showing on Facebook the addition
to the family.
Do they not for a minute think what the child´s future will be?
The world is on the brink of total collapse, but no one takes this calamity that is coming our way, will **** them and the children.
The polar ice is melting so much sea, it is drowning smaller islands
who will become refugees seeking shelter somewhere safe?
Nowhere is safe with fire and endless tornados turning houses into driftwood.
Big cities will be unhabitable and sink under the greedy sea.
This is happening before our eyes, we build bigger airports
and larger aeroplanes; yes, and ships too.
Ah, I hear you say, we can be rid of fossil fuel and rely on electricity
to do that fields where cows grazed had to be converted into solar farms.
And we have windmills, but it will not be enough even if we built a million
of them filling the landscape with their ugly appearance.
The rest has to come from converting coal into electricity.
The hardest thing of all is to get rid of cars the clogging up motorways befouling, the air, we breaths.
We have to learn living closer to our place of work is a more compact smaller world we can't all use bicycles unless we're middle class
And use the bike for recreation.
If we do not repair what we have besmirched, there will be no future for the new generations.

Surgery

After my morning shower, I noticed blood from my middle toe
(the one beside the big toe) I bent down the nail was loosened
I pulled it off and I thought of Socrates.
In a few days, I need a new battery in my pacemaker, a small surgery
when doctors say small, be aware.
I friend of mine, the late actor Clive Dunn, went into hospital for a small
surgery that became so serious he died of it.
I also have to see a doctor about my diabetes
she would see my missing nail I have a ready excuse bumping into a threshold.
Now I got morbid if they cut my right ankle off how could I drive
My car is fully automatic, so I sat on the sofa trying how it was possible
Only the right foot got in the way, but I proved it was feasible.
I put my shoes on and walked about the flat, no pain, perhaps the aching
was caused by the loose nail, which I cured with betadine.
I know I’m playing for time minimizing my illnesses trying to make light
of the oncoming.

Scepticism

When I grew up
I stopped believing in God
Toys belonged to the young
And Santa fanatics.
However,
I leave a small light
On the bedside table
The fear of the dark
Never left me.
However,
I knew Christianity had taken hold of me
The dark hue of the sinner
Is always present.
However,
I believe in the day
Truth must not be hide
In churches recesses.
However,
Blood splash on walls and tinsel
On the ground
New Year in Istanbul
The fear never left me.
However,
I saw a happy child play in the puddle

Trapped

My life is in three parts
30, years as a ****** until it became unbearable.
30 good years in the deep hinterland
a place of contemplations and trying to write,
walking with my dog in the woods, there was so much to see.
I feel imprisoned.
My house is sold, I have nowhere to go.
Living in a building of snobs who rather wait for an elevator
when the transport lift is free.
Surrounded by nice middle-class housing and planted trees.
My years at sea is no longer obtainable, my life in the upland was a dream
And here I live inside a nightmare of all I dislike.
The worst thing that can happen to any man has happened to me
The loss of the future.

Writing and movies

In my mind exist, people, I have not met
they are a friendly lot not giving to dispense advice
points to me to write that floats into my mind
even if it is not deeply intellectual.
Trash is the **** of writing, without it how else
can a movie be made?
Look what happened to Hemingway´s book of a poor fisher
who caught a big fish only to have it eaten by a shark?
They made a movie out of the book
an overweight actor got the job.
Trash, seen and admired by millions.
Take Dan Brown, he is the trashiest writer I know
the movie industry does him a favour making
his books into movies seen by millions of adoring fans.
The people in my head only point the anomaly out
not for them to be critical.

A lesson learnt
    
The ship I saw in the bay and thought a princess of the seas
came back this afternoon when the sky was murky, she was sad
the cook was fired, and the crew was sorrowful.
Nothing wrong with the new cook, but as good as the old one
The cook had read too much Hemingway and wanted to be like him.
He took to calling the ship “el Pilar” and drinking whisky in the morning.
Forgetting to put yeast in the dough when baking bread.
It was all too much the cook had to go or stop reading Hemingway.
He did neither.
When he sobered up trying to find a new job, he regretted
his fondness of the famous writer.
His predicament is a solitary lesson for every reader, do not believe
what the author writes he is just telling a story.

Bedtime
  
The beginning of the night was hot
I went to bed naked (daredevil.)
On the other side of the bedroom, I saw a naked man who had a big stomach, large ***** and a small *****.
Since he wasn’t me, I did not bid him good night
I switched off the light.
During the night it got cold a foretaste of winter
hastily put my pyjamas on.
I had noticed the man in the other room had a long *******
at least he was not Jewish.
I made a mental note to ask her who he, was as we sleep
in separate bedrooms on account of my snoring.
I was thinking of Carl Jung, was he a Christian or not
some of what he said was right, our western society is steeped in Christianity
as is our everyday speech.
Woke up at eight o´clock walked into the kitchen made coffee
thinking, if the man who was not there was still sleeping.
(Tennyson.)

Enticement

The girl in the bar that had floors made of stranded schooners
came and sat by us
Many sailors had drowned in her eyes.
On the way to the Saragossa Sea, their blood
ran down cracks on the floor,
Dripped into the sea below the colour of crimson.
Looked into her eyes an evil goddess with green eyes
I followed her to a room in the back
She laughed when she caught me.

A dirge

He was not for me
He was not for you.
Stillness.
We miss his absence.

A dirge

He was not for me
He was not for you.
Stillness.
We miss his absence.

Bosporus


Bosporus 1956, the old tanker where I was a galley boy
had anchored waited for orders to proceed into the black sea.
A rowing boat came alongside they were selling fez
the latest fad among us ******.
They also sold sweet liqueurs which I drank, got drunk and sick
for the first time in my life; I was 15teen.
In the old days, you had to grow up fast and learn to howl with the dogs.
The winter weather was sunny I was awed by the Byzantine mystic
like a fairytale story. I bought the fez.
The last time I was in Istanbul -30 years later- on a ship where I was a cook.
my fall from officer grade had been painful and political.
in Istanbul going back to the ship I was followed by a back of dogs begging for food raided the galley
they knew I was a generous cook

The lucky ship

I sat on the terrace at the enchanting hour when the sun has gone westward
but it is not dark yet and saw a long sleek cargo ship in the bay.
A well-kept ship manned by professional seafarers who have s contract
and get to go home on vacation every three months.
The cook is often referred to as a catering officer, sits in his spacious cabin
reading a book by Hemingway.
He stops reading and rest the open book on page 48 and think of all those
who have never read the great writer and are only interested in his private life?
It is a pity he would be remembered for the wrong reasons.
The cook gets up takes a shower, since he has been up by six o´clock there
is no time to shower.
In the morning he has to set the dough to bake bread and there is breakfast
to be seen to, and the preparation for dinner at twelve.
It is dark now, the ship is well lit she looks like a princess of the sea,
but the crew have no fear she will bring them safely home.

Resistance

When the German occupation of Norway ended
in April 1945, those who had willingly worked for
the occupation power was arrested.
Most of them were middle-class people and they
were sent to farms to do menial work.
(One has to add the farmers too was willing to sell
Their products to the enemy.)
Only a handful of Nazis were shot among them
Was Quisling and a few others.
There was no mass- shooting of the enemy and
the traitors, on the whole, it was rather a mild affair.
For the workers the new peace meant redundancy
as all construction works the occupants had undertaken
came to an abrupt halt.
I write this because there is in the national psyche
of the Norwegian to be a bit right-wing and haters
of foreigners especially those of Arabic heritage
Furthermore, Norway has never faced up to the past of a war
where only a few resisted.
The people with a fascistic mindset are in power today
It is sad but what can a sailor do?
The only exception is the merchant ******
every ten of them died during the conflict, and when
they came home were told how lucky they had been
avoiding the war.

Resistance

When the German occupation of Norway ended
in April 1945, those who had willingly worked for
the occupation power was arrested.
Most of them were middle-class people and they
were sent to farms to do menial work.
(One has to add the farmers too was willing to sell
Their products to the enemy.)
Only a handful of Nazis were shot among them
Was Quisling and a few others.
There was no mass- shooting of the enemy and
the traitors, on the whole, it was rather a mild affair.
For the workers the new peace meant redundancy
as all construction works the occupants had undertaken
came to an abrupt halt.
I write this because there is in the national psyche
of the Norwegian to be a bit right-wing and haters
of foreigners especially those of Arabic heritage
Furthermore, Norway has never faced up to the past of a war
where only a few resisted.
The people with a fascistic mindset are in power today
It is sad but what can a sailor do?
The only exception is the merchant ******
every ten of them died during the conflict, and when
they came home were told how lucky they had been
avoiding the war.

An August evening

This afternoon I was writing a poem but it kept disappearing
a blank screen had words on but they faded away
erased by an inner logic of self-critic.
I like red roses but when I write about them it sounds banal
and a thousand songs about roses make me feel lethargic
wasting my time; Gertrude Stein said. A rose is a rose…
I have tried to write about Tulips and think of Amsterdam
I was there often when a ******.
I prefer *** plants now; they need watering but are safe
like dinner at five.
Lily is a flower in much demand in Copenhagen, don´t why?
All I know about Denmark is “Hygge” and “frikadeller.”
I look out of the window and see a tree-lined avenue and
notice the leaves are slowly yellowing it makes me feel sad.