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1d · 94
not hearing
Not hearing

The old Canadian poet of Jewish ancestry
tall and elegant, wore his hat in a jaunty slant
reminded me of Alfred, my imagined father
the poet had a winning personality.

Remember the comma, they told me and write
about love, beautiful women and wine.

I used to wear a six-pence; Alfred made fun of me
learn to play the harmonica, he said
and leave your depressing poems; that was long
time ago before the Canadian was famous.
2d · 25
the end
The ending

A **** heap collapsed with the speed of a Mercedes
with two batteries hurtling down a motorway in
an industrial landscape, grey as a Vera’s lonely life
amid crime and poverty.
On a night like this, how is it possible not to despair
battling a mass of sluggish dreams of endless harms
in a world bent on nuclear destruction.
3d · 32
Dick and his cat
**** and his cat
I was in the deep depth of youth
sitting in a library struggling through
**** Whittington and his cat.
Looked the fable up on Wikipedia
and was disappointed,
**** and his cat were different
from my recollection
I had the cat and **** walking
to London
In my fantasy world, the story was
much richer, so I will stick
to my version
4d · 34
A few thoughts

Morning mist
I Can’t see the bay

We are silent
You and I

Your brave silence
Calms my nerve

When the sun arises
We will be erased

You and I

The fog will reappear
Will we?
5d · 24
new home
A new home

Waiting to go home to my house in Algarve, 30 years after
the Berlin wall fell with the blessing of Russia, in case you forgot.
In the meantime, more walls were constructed mainly in Israel,
stopping Palestinians wanting to home, we dislike talking about
This is because of the political Holocaust.
The wall between the house and me, old to age, to live life deep
in the Paradis.
The Chinse wall is a tourist attraction, the ugly Israel walls will
one day is building material.
There are many unseen walls among classes the rich build walls
so, they can avoid seeing what is the result of their wealth?
The hope is to tear down all walls whiles we wait.
Jun 22 · 28
dropping bombs
Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.
Jun 22 · 43
dropping bombs
Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.
Jun 19 · 32
The Amazon

The Amazon rainforest cries and the mighty river senses the doom.
The inhabitants of the forest are beleaguered in fear of losing out
the logging, the clearing of land, estates for cattle, future
hamburger meat.
Those who try to help the people of amazon are murdered
not by the rich but by the deluded poor who fear for their livelihood.
A tragedy is enfolding the world watches helplessly, wring hands
and write learned articles about the plight of the Jungle people.
If the rainforest dies, the river will die as well
A new desert where nothing grows except scorpions and snakes
and the nature will suffer the people who lived there
will be extinct, in the name of democracy where everything
is legal if you are mighty; in the end, the globe will die.
Jun 18 · 21
the evil
Personified evil

I feel repulsed when he is near; I ought to have compassion
for this *******, his twisted foot and arm
a beggar with scabby skin and eyes as black as looking into
the dark side of the moon.
This is not a person you can be nice to the more you give
the more he hates you and wishes you an early death.
His diversion is to follow funeral processions but no into
the cemetery, no one wants him there.
Why do I hate this person must be a background for me?
Childhood, when I lived in fear of the undead.
After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land
but I noticed at the gymnasium the children
of the middle classes, who went to be the new suits
a concrete box for trash, unopened parcels of food.
I had to be quick in case the rats took it.
A rat jumped up and tried to catch the food eyes shone
of hatred hated me for being human.
Like the ******* who dislikes humanity, who he blames
for his perpetual hardship.
This ***** little person was hated by his mother denying
she gave birth to this satanic being
I hate and fear him too, four black horses, where he is
the only mourner.
Jun 16 · 30
the boy on the bridge
The boy on the bridge.

At the hospital, I woke up in the night
got up, walked into a hall I didn’t recognize
A nurse came and told me to go back to bed
“My father told me to stay here,” I said
I knew it was in a dream, a poem I had read
many years ago, when I could remember
with clarity what I read.
In the morning, waiting for breakfast,
coffee and a scone, a nurse was busy
sticking needles into me.
I tried to remember the title of the poem
“The boy on the burning bridge?.”
Jun 14 · 35
shit is real
**** is real

I have an intimate connection with effluence
or **** of the animal kind.
I could, by aroma alone, which animal
had passed the track.
Most animal dung smell sweet, except for dogs
they have lived so long among us
they crap like us,
Dogs love their excrement and eat it.
A horse evacuation is like rare wine you promise
yourself to buy a horse when you have a garden
Vines that have been fertilized by a foals
morning *** is divine.
If your hands have been in the muck
nothing in the world can offend you.
Jun 13 · 33
the boy
The boy on the bridge.

At the hospital, I woke up in the night
got up, walked into a hall I didn’t recognize
A nurse came and told me to go back to bed
“My father told me to stay here,” I said
I knew it was in a dream, a poem I had read
many years ago, when I could remember
with clarity what I read.
In the morning, waiting for breakfast,
coffee and a scone, a nurse was busy
sticking needles into me.
I tried to remember the title of the poem
“The boy on the burning bridge?.”
Jun 12 · 28
ship of ages
The ship of ages
It was a hot afternoon when the big bulk carrier left a harbour
at the coast of Bengal bound for Sidney (Australia)
with a cargo of scrap iron from ships that once had ploughed
the many seas, alas too slow in our modern time.
Somewhere in the Indian ocean, the sea separated and
the bulk carrier fell into a timeless zone where life repeated
itself endlessly; the cook is making soup, the captain is
reading a map of the oceans’ great currents.
150 years passed convulsion in the time zone. and the ship
was back on the sea’s surface.
The cook served his soup, and the captain called the harbour
authorities in Sidney, he needed a birth for a ship no one
had heard of, but the manifest stated Sidney.
They let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city
to the disappointment of the crew.
When the pilot left, he was pale and shaken as he
had navigated the ship through a layer of time.
The customs officials found cigarettes and whisky,
products that had been banned for over sixty years
only marijuana was legal if smoked in moderation.
The crew, the captain and the cook were arrested and sent to
an open camp for interrogation, it was there a nurse noticed
the tribulation was getting old by the day, and the crew could
no longer walk, many were incontinently suffered from senility
and chronic heart failure.
One day they had gone, what was left dust blowing in the wind.
The song of resignation

Memories are not crystal clear, a broken mirror on which the sun shines
The residue of the imagined, what ensued or will happen of equal interest
as time doesn’t, a time within does.
Past and future are the same pains me; I shall not see my savannah again.
No pictures, as a proof it existed, in the tall grass, see no wildebeest
my motorbike is sold, I can no longer pretend to be an adventurer.
What I do remember, through a haze, is my enduring remote happiness
perhaps that was an illusion too.
A vision of human disappointment, to try but never succeed.
Jun 10 · 35
The division

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled trees
the grotesque peace of daylight ghosts, grey boughs
stretching upward appealing to a soundless god.
“Give us today a new life.” There is only one deity
the almighty one goes under the name of Silvanus.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to
a life of empty pursuit of pleasures.
Crowded nightclubs and casinos, people trying
not to be alone in the night and face the truth
we are mortals and infrequently remembered.
Faces in a black frame, seeing you seeing through
you and into an ever-expanding void.
Jun 8 · 28
when life was a trial
When the time was a trial

Woke up, the bedroom was cold under the duvet snugness
I burrowed deeper enjoying the freedom of sleeping late.
Life was hard, getting up at five and preparing breakfasts for
grumpy seafarers smoking, the first cigarette of the day.
The breaking of the fast was endlessly tedious, something
with eggs and fatty meat.
Sometimes when there was a gap between feeding times,
say, dinner at twelve, I tried to write; my hands stank of chip fat.
On hundreds of pages, “I’m a life I’m a life”.
I pretended I was a robot, what the body was going through
the motion was not my concern; free to dream.
When peeling potatoes one morning, I was suddenly awake
Between fake brown gravy and spuds; there were no robots
me all along
the bed is warm, nothing can touch me now,
touch me now!!!!
Jun 7 · 34
rainbow alliance
Rainbow alliance

On a barbed wire fence between Chile and Argentine
hangs thousands of plastic bags, some of the bags from top shops
London, New York, Paris and Bonn.
Here are Japanese, Swedish bags, Arabic bags, and occasionally
bags from North Korea.
The fence between the two countries is an international garbage
collector, it is also an eerily beautiful place like a sad rainbow
overshadowed by neon light.
There used to be skeletons here that also had broken bones
as dropped from planes; the corpses have been removed, but if
you are lucky you might find a skull or a thigh bone cleaned
By the wind; the plastic rattle drowns the call of the condor
Jun 6 · 50
the best of years
The best of years

in a side room where things are put to be used later but never will
there is an old “brother” typewriter gathering dust, bought a day
I felt like Mike Spillane, drinking whisky and smoking cigarettes
while writing rapidly about the hidden crime world of Liverpool.
I went into pubs where the gangsters are supposed to hang out
And were met by people buying me pints of beer and telling jokes.
Then, the word processor came along, spelling was not a burden.
Yes, I know, I sold out for a better life; I miss the tapping sound
Pure nostalgia I wrote a poem of love, the one who disappeared
In wider and wider circles, I walked till she was smoke and mirror.
One day I will take the “brother” out and try to locate her.
Jun 5 · 38
inert tarn
An inert tarn

In the pond of pleasant memories, a duckling paddled
like an unwanted thought a spring wedding in Brussel.
Flat stones skipped on the pond in the night, quacked
refused to spit out half chewed toothpicks forgotten.
Expel the duck send it abroad to the Saragossa Sea
to a shadowy barren island in the stream
where the monster Amnesia lives; you must be warned
keep away if the ogre gets hold of you, it will not eat
the unwanted, but also the memory of those you loved.
Jun 3 · 43
finding words
Looking for words.

Pink and blue billows on the poetic sky drip of eager words
Alas, towards dawn, a westerly wind blew cleared the sky
In the morning blank screen lit up when the sun shone.
But the sun passes as it must, the screen greys while waiting
To be written; to be dreamless is a curse, slow death.
Listless looking at the sky, finding blandness but also words
Like other poets, I cannot steal but wish I could.
I end this poem so I can say; that what is written here is mine.
Jun 3 · 42
the compulsive
The compulsive

Autism in the like of Julian Assange
And Greta Thunberg is a force for the good
Their passion can for them be tragic
they go to any length to follow the truth.

I had a tailless female dog, circled to find
the tail, till she got dizzy.

Obsessive people can be tiresome, have
great courage and suffer for their beliefs.
Heroes are for the quest for honesty.
We should be grateful.
May 27 · 33
peculiar things
Peculiar things

It has been raining so much that the lemon tree
is taller than a building of flats where we live.
A neighbour who was hit by one of its fruits
is still uncommunicative.

A flat battery in a jaguar is a sight to behold
when sitting in a bough of a tree.

The aroma of lemon juice wafts through the building
the restaurant in the basement sells fried fish
Quite fitting since it is Friday,
I like eating pork chops while driving a porch.
May 26 · 50
the dawn
The Dawn

I have voyaged far, crossed many oceans
I have seen the unseen, the grotesque.
We are cable of, but I have also met kind
people, I never sank into the abyss of cynicism.

I have seen flowers no botanist has, but I keep
it, a secret the nameless will be hidden.

I rejoice, for I have found my modest me
obliquely I was not here nor there confused.
as semi-transparent waiters passing my table
erased me from their memories.
May 25 · 51
I was in Trieste
I was in Trieste

It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?
May 24 · 35
mild obscurity
Mild obscurity

At the local supermarket, a woman not a day over seventy-five
asked me where she could find unsalted butter spoke
with an American accent.
What do I know, perhaps, she was related to the Kennedys?
By the butter- shelf we stood, there was a spark between us
like the Ronson-lighter I once bought in Liverpool, a heavy
lighter, I always knew in which pocket it was; now that smoking
is a sin the lighter ended up in the garage, only to be used
in extreme perseverance,
I had seen her before, in Trieste in 1962 she was a spy for the CIA
Smoked posh Monte Carlo cigarettes through a long holder
while drinking creme de menthe.
My wife stirred; leg cramps, switched on the bedside lamp
and I was brought back to reality.
May 20 · 35
The legs

Sitting in shorts. on the terrace, I bought ten years ago
I try to get a tan hiding them from the devastation of time.
Several vessels in the bay, I wonder what kept me sailing
long after the romance had gone.
I liked going ashore to meet people from life, not mine
it was fascinating to see what was an important ritual  
for them and why.
The in-between time, called the deep sea, was often long, not
being talkative, I spent my time reading in my cabin.
Hundreds of books were read over time, some the good
others were a waste of time…almost.
Books were my escape from tedium; I made notes
of words to use later but somehow lost them when leaving.
At the time, I relied on my memory of the unwritten.
May 19 · 36
looking at things
Looking at things

Walking on cobblestones is an ordeal
and more is the traffic, I look out of the window
when I walk on my treadmill count how many
cars going around the roundabout.
When I have counted 500, I stop this treadmill
15 minutes have gone by.
When I lived at the border of Alentejo I walked
on the soft grass and counted flowers
saw grass grow into fodder for sheep.
A Moldavian family bought my house, people
tell me how lucky I was selling the house
I had many offers but told no one, hence “lucky.”
My lyrical mine is all but dried up, now reduced
to write about furniture, a sad fall from grace.
May 17 · 32
war games
The war games
Yesterday afternoon in Finland, as happy people walked about
content in their world of social welfare and full employment
a train loaded with armoured tanks was seen heading for
the Russian border as spring light danced on the lakes.
What do I know, that might be the military's yearly outing?
As the wolves howl lustily to the stars and the trout wakes
in the streams of spring.
Is it, God forbid, a strategic baiting to divert the Russian army?
From Ukraine. If so, this is a dangerous war game.
Finland has a long border with Russia, 1400 kilometres, therefore
2-to 300 tanks a drop in the forest, but enough to make a point.
I prefer to think it is a manoeuvre performed in days of light.
May 16 · 37
of plants and men
Of men and plants

The endless growing of new leaves
of my indoor plants, shedding the excess
all over the floor, as disregarded dreams
getting in the way of the day.

Female hyenas are good mothers teaching
their litter is how to scare off lions.

Restless minds are not sound as leaders
who overthink everything and have nervous breakdowns?
Sit shaking in the corner on the bridge of warships
excellent, dancers in the ballroom of peace.
May 15 · 34
song contest
The song contest.
There has been a song contest in Europe
Russian singers and musicians were banned
Which makes the contesting political?
Needless to say, Ukraine won.
One notice Israel appeared but not
Palestine, who was mourning a dead reporter
Killed by an Israeli ******, but we will not hold
this against he musicians and singers
May 15 · 53
Abortion, an opinion.

  I sat on the terrace sun was flooding obliterating whiteness
 escaped into the living room, observing four ships anchored in the bay.
Through the binoculars, vessels with long lines made to carry bulk loads  
like grain, rice or coal; I spent many years on crafts like these.
This reminded me if abortion had been informal, I might not be born
in the time before World War 2 when abortion was hard to obtain  
not, relaxed, with a quick visit to the hospital and a cup of coffee.
My mother (before women’s rights, was all for women’s rights) such as
equal pay and respect, but she thought abortion was morally wrong.
Since we lived in poverty, her sister showed up with a skipping rope
that might help induce a spontaneous abortion mother was not
into sport and preferred to read lengthy novels.
I cannot condone abortion on demand; I know the arguments
about a woman’s body is her own can do as she pleases.
A better reason must be given before the purge of the unborn.
May 14 · 25
at the hospital
At the hospital (nurses and doctors)

Been to see the diabetes doctor
first, we had to see the nurse who did the physical aspect.
The nurse said I had lost 2 kilos
which was pleasing to hear; the last time I met her, she looked
worse for wear coming up to the surface of a night depravity
and her uniform looked crumbled.
Doctors, nowadays, consult their computers to see
how you feel tapping away, like a secretary.
My doctor, a small, slim woman, had been to the beach
she had lovely fingers; she wore pumps I didn’t think much of
but her ankles were elegant as her fingers.
Finally, she gave me some new tablets I will probably not use
I noticed she had a copy pen on the desk, given to her
by a medical supplier, not that I mind… My God, those pumps!
May 13 · 37
the racial question
The racial question

There is a black female politician
says Portugal is not black enough her liking
I find this preposterous.
The Portuguese who settled in Africa to make
their wealth mixed freely with the local black
population, as a result, blackness seeped in
and blended with Muslim blood.
Algarve was once a Muslim province
to the extent, the Iberians have a laid back
attitude to time.
The female politician may get her to wish fulfilled
with a shrinking white population
and black people from former colonies arriving
I think the day will come in the near future
the Africanization of Portugal.
May 12 · 54

On this calm day
the reflection of a ship in the bay
a mirror of tranquillity.
Meanwhile, not far from here
A lost war continues
the order is to hold on.
Wrecked cars litter streets
of battle
like broken dreams.
So, many things flying through the air
the heaven weeps.
Is the calmness deceptive?
May 11 · 50

It is a beautiful morning in Cascais tourists are still asleep, as is my wife
A police car hastens through the Avenida and the young officers
who likes to drive fast through the empty streets?
Yesterday was a great day in Moscow, so many beautiful uniforms,
blue and gold
When young, I wanted to be a general but being petrified of things
like bullets flying through the air, I donned a white apron.
My days as a recruit in the royal navy were not a success: I do not
handle being given orders without protest.
So long time ago, now I sit on the terrace a seagull lands sit on
the railing and shrieks let it be nosy at it, wants, bravely I ignored
It demands of me not to sit where I sit.
May 10 · 56
TV in Norway 1960
The infancy of TV in Norway

He came home early to see the news
on TV. After the news weather forecast
Then a bit of entertainment
a lady played the guitar and sang badly
end of TV for that day.
He cycled down to the nearest pub
they closed at eleven, the town only had 3
Uphill was more difficult.
On Sunday. the Tv was more lively
mass, sport and the Flint Stones.
Monday evening, film night, often
a dreary Polish film. Good night!!!
May 8 · 44
a lady's dilemma
A lady’s dilemma  

Her mind and body are restless
she is in her late-middle-age
a difficult time for a woman.
Her long relationship with a well-off man
has made her economically safe
but she is bored
thinks there has to be some more
before she loses her looks
and disappears into elderliness.
She has grown up with children
they don´t need her as much as before.
A part of her also likes to be settled
married and have a home of her own
She is also worried about her legacy
be sure her children
have something to remember her by.
There is something hectic about her
like time is running out
She might seek solace from her turmoil
in another man’s arms.
She is in a dangerous time of life
I hope she chooses the right path.
May 7 · 49
a trip to Wales
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.
May 6 · 49
amber moon
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.
May 2 · 37
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.
May 1 · 32
home invasion
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?
Apr 30 · 38
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!
Apr 29 · 44
the longest life
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.
Apr 27 · 46
edited van Gogh
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.
Apr 26 · 44
body obsession
Body obsession

Naked, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror
and asked are you sure this is you?
I’m a fat man with ******* and a big stomach but legs
thin as twigs on the almond tree.
I have diabetes, but that is no excuse, somehow
I eat too much
90% of my food intake is vegetables, not potatoes
no rice or bread, no beer most of the time, so how
could it come to this when what I like is banned?
I like whisky mixed with cold water before bedtime
and now I wait for the health brigade to tell me
Whisky is fattening, bad for the liver and the heart
I will not believe you; too many lies have been told.
I’m body shaming myself. Pathetic!!!
Apr 25 · 46
a fine day in Cascais
A fine day in Cascais

A beautiful spring day in Cascais, the centre full of people
which I found a little disturbing.
We moved slowly on old legs like weather bitten barges
in a sea of jubilant racing boats.
It was warm, down by the sea, and we were overdressed.
My wife’s niece had the patience of an angle adjusted her
strides to our gaits, not easy I’m sure she is a picture of
healthy living.
We had lunch, theirs was fish, I settled for a Greek salad
no wine though knows from experience unless you by
a full bottle, the wine served individually in glasses tend
to be inferior to the residue of bottled wine of dubious taste.
We drank beer, and the healthy niece stuck to water.
Apr 25 · 38
doomed river
Doomed is the river

Twenty years ago, the river ran 2 meters deep
had trout we caught with a net and fried over
a small fire with delicious fresh food.
Every year I have seen the river getting smaller
even in the winter rain.
Years ago, three children were caught by a wall
of water, their father was arrested, they said
he had fed the children to his pigs but not
a single button was found in the pigs, enclosure
The broken father was set free, and every
summer I see walking along the river’s banks
hope to find his children’s bones, there is none.
Apr 23 · 38

On my blue-lined writing pad, a tiny ****** walk
It appears hesitant and lost before crossing a line
Lost in the vast wilderness. of the unwritten.
I try to blow it off the paper, but somehow glues
Itself and will not budge.
I cannot touch it, tiny as it is I will surely squash it.
Nothing I can do for now leave it to its own device
Go and watch TV.
When returned the insect was gone, a sheet of paper
With nothing written is a lonely place, no story to tell
But leaving behind a nagging question, the beginning
Of depression and the sense of futility.
Apr 20 · 165

In a green valley near a blue lake
where pink salmon swam lived a Huldra.
She was beautiful as seen by human eyes
trolls found her ugly and rejected her.
I heard her desolate song
Saw her shimmering blond as Iberian
sea straw is made golden by the sun.
I saw her tail too.
Before spelling me, I sprinted away.
Folklore has made it clear.
Humans and trolls must not mix blood
because if they do mix, the offspring
will be rejected by both groups
and for perpetuity be lost
walking the strand of loneliness.

(Huldra, female troll in Nordic Mythology)
Apr 18 · 39
still water
The Muir

As a child living on a farm during the war
had a pond on peatland, the pond’s water
was fenny and dark.
Slow swimming trout that tasted of mud
Swam, near the surface of the pond.
My friend and I built a boat with sails,
It sunk, I clung to the mast, Peter swam
didn’t make it, screamed before being
dragged under by something atrocious.
The adults came running, they didn’t find
Peter, the pond had endless silt, lukewarm
infinite, its foundation in the maelstrom
of conflicting horrors.
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