Rubbed out

I stopped at a low stonewall
on my slow progress  
saw before me a landscape painting,
ten sheep and twelve lambs.

I thought who that painter might be,
a sudden blur in the air,
when the picture cleared there
was a mare and her foal

five sheep had disappeared;
the painting looked better,
but I didn’t linger,
I wouldn’t like the artist to
think I was a part of his picture    
wanting to erase me
for the sake of the prettiness.
of the landscape

The Hummock
There is a hill behind the houses rounded and soft
I call it a -mother hill- and it welcome you and softly
Murmur, how do you do and leave you alone to sit
On a boulder and think how incredible life is.
If you sit there too long enjoying your sentimentality
It wakes you up the rock get cold and the northerly
Blow that has a fragrance of Siberia, reindeer and *****
So you walk about to keep warm and see wildflowers
Hiding behind stones, but pick them you cannot they
Are not yours will wizen in your hands and bring rain

Walk softly now the aroma of spring is in the grass.
Just behind the hill a hillock grey as October fall, but
Out of sight and no trees grow on it scrawny side it
The mother hill's burden which it bears with fortitude

The Misogynist
I wish I could remember the first day when
opening my eyes saw the world for the first time
****** sheets a sweaty mother grinning nurses look
at the size of his little ****, the child screamed
in horror and could see the rain and the dark sky he never
told me about that I had to re-live his revulsion
he was a child in his crib that didn't scream much observing
the foul world and his mother making love  
the bilious smell of love they thought the child was pure
and knew nothing of the lust of the *****
these early experiences he could not remember made me into
a whoremonger forever ******* anything in skirts
only to experience the loneliness of all animals after coitus  
only old age saved him from this ritual  disgrace
In the rocking- chair he sits and the **** is asleep this slack
the thing he uses when *******

A Flying Bagatelle

Through the open door
come flying
a sparrow grey
of no distinction
it sat on
the printer
looked at me
quizzically
the phone rang
startled it flew to the
window
caught in the curtains
I got it lose
carried the bird
to the door let it go
that was all
no epiphany
nothing mystical
just a bewildered bird
a ringing phone
and a magic moment

Adolf ******

My mother had an Uncle Adolf who after the war changed his name to Dollen. He walked funnily because he froze his toes off in the Arctic. The real Adolf was an evil phenomenon life throws
at us, but he didn't exist in a vacuum.
After the First World War which he fought with bravery he
nevertheless was a nobody trying his hand as a painter
selling them in the street of Vienna.
He became interested in the National socialistic party
attended meetings and was asked to speak.
His voice was hypnotic when he spoke of injustice
and the bad influence the Jews had in the society he was
a man the masses understood, but he spoke of hate.
His dream was of a greater Germany, but the Jews stood
in the way he wanted a race clean Germany and approached
the mufti of Jerusalem to take them he refused to claim
Jews would destroy Palestine. But for him, the Jewish question
was a sideshow he wanted to rule Europe and defeat Russia,
millions of Jews were murdered as were Roma people
and Russians. He lost the war we should be grateful for that,
in the end, he shot himself and Germany in ruin.
A mystery remains, who financed this ****** to commit a crime
we must not forget because if we are not careful, it can
happen again, and we see the inception of this hate in Israel.
(Adolf ****** 1889 – 1945)

Good News Day

Yesterday and it was a long day I’ve edited poems written
15 years ago, spelling tends to let me down, but slowly I get the hang of it
Back from the ecologist, I'm cancer free and that is great.
I had hoped we could eat out, but my wife is frying filets of fish
that has been breaded and look like schnitzel no matter what you with fish
I still don't like it, perhaps canned tunny.
But truth be told – always? - I have to do the dishes when dining at home
the only good thing with hand wash the dishes is clean fingernails.
My mother had so much dirt under hers, it was possible to plant cabbage,
but not deep enough for potatoes; it is fair it was mostly tobacco as she
hand rolled her cigarettes; I tried to but got nicotine fingers it looked
like I had my left hand permanently stuck up my ***.
For the sake of the good news, I will not carp eat the fish and be glad.

May Morning

A strange morning, clouds look like they were trying
to put up wallpaper, but the work was too much, and they left the project.
Drips like glue fell into the sea and became flakes of sunlight.
An airplane crossed the sky. It looked old, and it wheels were not retracted
perhaps it was a private plane doing a bit of exercise keeping its owner alert.
A seagull flew past it was a big one hardly flapping its wing, how I envy its flight.
So, why are you not happy?
I have seen so many oceans they are all the same…wet.
The oceans have many colors, grey, blue and grey, and I never saw a red sea.
The building is waking up, lifts in motion, slamming of doors.
Yet, I miss the woodland, the small terns where fish and fairies play; I shall not be there
and ask if they miss me?

the Night and Rabbits
After an obligatory hour on my training bike
I walk outside the was a xanthous haze  on the sky
that slowly faded as the sun went down
It was an evening dark blue silk of the harem a night
for love, the moon  was a crescent luminosity and
I bathed and inhaled the beauty of it.
Saw them in half- light five rabbits by the verge of
the road they were enchanted by the sky and when
they saw me retreated into the thicket and burrows
they had taken a big chance so they could see what
I had seen we had a secret and that made me glad

Religion and a poet
When I was nine years of age I came to see religion
as a fairy tale and as we know the bible is written
by many scribes during a time, some of them were wise.
I like the Old Testament because it is full
of blood and thunder, the New Testament is a construction
a clean-up of the real thing making palatable for the squeamish.
I think the creator of our world as an overarching intelligence
that when the job was done left its way.
The creator is neither good nor bad for it has no interest in
the world besides creating it, so it is entirely up to us
to make the world a liveable place, alas, so far we have failed.
Mankind have dreamt of extending life long after
its natural cycle even if unseen by the pulsing living world,
that is how some transcribers constructed Paradise so
we can exist into the indefinite and beyond.
To be and not to make no sense other than easing
the fearful heart and comfort the transition into death,
at this point my thoughts were interrupted, my wife
came and told me to do the dishes

Alfred has Arthritis
Since Alfred, the man who strenuously denies
fatherhood got arthritis in his hands, it often happens
when it gets cold. He sleeps to noon take forever
in the bathroom before going to town looking like an artist
in his alpaca jacket and French beret.
He eats lunch in town alone never think of inviting me
and in the evening watches Bulgarian soap opera,
having him here has put a strain I'm thinking of sending
he at home didn't think it would come to that.
He sits by the fire I buy the wood, I will tell him he is not
my father and tell him to leave; perhaps next winter.

The American Preacher

It must have been in the middle or late fifties that
a famous preacher was coming to our town,
a big circus tent was erected beside the evangelical church
to acuminate the throng.
This was pre-TV time, and there was no entertainment
except walking in the park and feed the birds,
this man's appearance was rock-star news.
He spoke fiercely in English and a person beside of him
translated; it was so odd many people were
in ecstasy hollered hallelujah, and prayed with the preacher.
He was a gigantic fraud of course, and my mother said so too
but she was a communist and disliked America.
Today, in a newspaper on the net I read he had died at ninety-nine.
Billy Graham was his name.

Misapprehension

On my way to lunch
Drove the wrong way
Turned and followed the car's
Silhouette
In front of me
Speeded up to join it
The car caught up with its
Illusion
And became whole again
Lunch at the café
As usual

Testing Water
It began with a sign in a window have your water tested here, I knocked
On the door, they had meant drinking water.
Next day I brought a bottle your water is not drinkable they told me
I rang the water board the ******* water I pay for is not drinkable.
It has not been drinkable for 26 years I was told you foreign swine the man
On the phone said. Listen to me you **** I was in Luanda in 1975 when
The Portuguese army melted away and we from the foreign legion had to
Keep the population safe. SLAM!
Next day the water board came cleaned the cistern, the driver of the truck
Had lived in Norway for five years it was he said living with icicles 4 dead cat
Skeletons and a dog that still had fur on it head, I fed it and it grew a body
But the dog was not happy, when I took it for a walk it trice to tried to throw
Itself under a bus, I learned its name was Prince, one morning it disappeared
And was found in a pond having been dead for fifty year it preferred to stay dead
I understand that having tried to be famous for fifty years it is like waking up
And eating soggy cornflakes in the morning.

The Death of Poetry

The grey coloured straightjacket of poetry
I have like a Houdini freed me of this shackles
flowers and loveliness and lies
an unbearable burden I was getting buried
by a tonne of rotten blooms
I'm free!
Fly from tree to tree not seeing its foliage
soar higher than anyone before so elevated
the blue planet is a bauble on Christmas tree
and land on a potato field not seeing
its ordinary colours and brown soil
when flowers from Amsterdam are in season
I'm free to wade in a muddy rain-pool
wear yellow wellies towing on a string a tiny sail boat
which in my dreams become a three mastered schooner,
all this because I ain't no poet but a writer
and I can without hesitation use a double negative.

Rustic Morning
Still, early morning and coarse grass had stopped crying
But the carob tree was still tearful someone had broken its branch
The one that was easy to grab from the lane.
By the stone fence, a mule looked soulfully at me, so I scratched its
Forehead and we enjoyed each other’s nearness, while a cat chased
A rabbit that jumped behind some boulders where it was trapped
The cat came out with the dead animal in its mouth it dropped it and
I imagined it roared than began eating its prey.
Both the mule and I contemplated this rustic happening, we sighed
It began grazing; I walked my way saying: “see you tomorrow old boy.”

Alfred

Alfred, the pianist who is also my father
although he denies the paternity vehemently,
was in Hawaii and played the ukulele with
little success and went back to Europe.
Alfred the pianist and also my father, could
get the sweetest tones when he played and
women swooned in other men’s arms,
was when not playing of a rather sullen nature
he spent the day walking around town with
alpaca jacket end French bonnet, he looked ever
artistic and I followed him around; once when I fell
a bollard got in the way; he did help me up
and said; I'm not your father!
Alfred, the pianist and also my father, got to be
ninety-two and in the last years of his life was glad
to have a son even if it was a fake one as Alfred
was fond of pointing out

Good for Some
Immensely hot day, yet no sun it was hidden
behind a ring of polluted air, a strong wind
came and cooled the landscape but with it
rein fell, thousands of them, broken bones
and crushed skulls, the poverty struck and
dogs had enough to eat...for now.

Then rain fell each drop was a bucket full and
rivers overflowed. Pots and pan left behind;
head for the hills was the cry, shivering people
eating frogs raw, cannibalistic ****** in a sea of
mud caked humanity.
The laps of the north were given compensation
for loss of income.

The small words

“All that's mean nothing” not my words
but I often think about it, when reading the newspaper
I look for the no-news the filling of space
the news is often there and when **** flies they are taken
by surprise busy reading the headlines.
Being so wrong the want to set aside democracy and civil
behaviour the by- line has become a headline we must
demonstrate denounce the new from the stage or pulpit
by the pompous and incompetent
perhaps it would help to read the alternative press they
have less to lose and don't worry about circulations  and
no capitalist master to serve

On my way to the pub

I was walking to the pub at sundown
when I reach my destination the last pink rays
on the sky was vanishing,
a promise of a sunny tomorrow.
On the road, I was overtaken by a horse
that neighed politely,
on its back, a crow sat using a foul language.
On the way back home I was late had
been playing poker with matches,
I lost a box.
I met the horse it offered to
take me home the foul crow hade gone.
I stabled the horse in the garage
gave it bread and water.
Next morning it was gone.
The crow sat on the window ledge
demanding a silver soup spoon and
an assortment of nuts.

From Face to Faith

As Christianity sinks into
ennui of middle class tosh
of an all forgiving God.

Zionists, claim the right
to defend themselves against
the people they robbed.

Moslem zealots are busy
blowing each other up
and playing the victim.

Atheists are hateful of
those who believe in God,
call them deluded.

The Culture
Cultural differences, I once was on a ***** ship
that plied the waters between Spain Italy Greece
occasionally France and sometimes Turkey were
most of us felt foreign; there was no easy rapport
between us and the female populace as there was
then a separation between the sexes, it appeared
there were two types of women; **** or nun, yet
I think it was the best years of my life.
Greece has a special place in my heart; it is where
it all began the idea of democracy of which I was
paid by the lovely people of Piraeus.
The western culture to hundreds of years to develop so
let us protect it and not misuse it by writing new laws
that curtail or freedom

Last dance

They had danced to the dunes of a juke-box
dawn, they were alone except for the barkeep
he was asleep, leaning his head on folded arms
on the mahogany counter.
Soon the sun will shine, followed by the day
and they had to face the dreaded future.
Both were married but not to each other  
was love strong enough to survive the day?
They didn’t know the answer.
Just one more dance.
Hell is tomorrow with heartache and loss.
My god, let this moment last forever.

For Fatherland

In a country to near the Arctic Circle
every new generation -men and women- had to
throw pebbles into a lake,
until the lake was full and you could wade over,
Alas, a bridge was built,
so futile the pebbles.
Now they are learning how to throw a hand grenade in Afghanistan
and draw funny pictures of Mohammad,
pity about the bridge.

Surprise
The queen in her gilded coach pulled by four horses
Came gliding on the sea and towards shore where a group
Of men waited to be knighted

They had done their duty kept their mouth shut and
Averted their eyes to the state's illegal acts and now
Pay off a title and membership on a board

The queen came ashore she had a white lion cub in
One hand and a hammer in the other and with it hit
Each man over the head they fell to the ground…dead.

The queen a Marxist revolutionary had been silent so
Long but she was old, the truth had to come out
No more horse -drawn carriage, but she kept the lion cub.

Be Nice to the Police

It was like watching me on a film clip,
surrounded by four police officers
one of them a woman who yelled at me
for not speaking proper Portuguese.
I stared at her with contempt
It was a tense moment.
A conciliatory officer stepped in.
No big deal he said, a little scratch the car
is insured documents in order
have a pleasant journey.
I have often wondered why female officers
are so aggressive, is it because they are smaller,
land compensate the feeling of inferiority
by being brusque?
I met one smiling woman officer once, black and
six foot ten, refused my offer to marry her so I could
feel safe, was married she said…so what!
Before I forget the rude female officer was standing
behind a car in the dark smoking a cigarette and she
was overlooked by the male officers

Dogs on the loose

She was a frustrated woman two drunken husbands
hostile sons and a daughter who was sleeping around till
she got syphilis and ended up in a madhouse.
Lived alone she did with five dogs that obeyed her
she was their world loved her entirely as a religious
the person loves his God and asks no question as the god
feeds the spiritual need and thus fulfil them
Then it happened she fell on the floor and the dogs
sensing weakness went for her a frenzied attack biting
at her throat and she bled to death, the dogs dazed
ran for the hills till they were hunted down and shot.
They had broken the unwritten law; dogs are inferior
to humanity this is a pact that cannot be broken.

No milk for babies

I have lost track of who is fighting whom in the overlapping endless wars
in the middle- east, but that is beside the point today.
I was standing in supermarket's till a woman in front of me had bought
a litre of milk and now she looking for loose change.
I was amazed she looked like human dairy; she could bottle her milk
in small flasks and sell it to health freaks.
In the vastness of her bag movements, it was her husband Carlos smelling
Like the inside of a purse
I always like to take him along when shopping and know where he is and,
He has got the car keys.

The Americans have been bombing again making sure there is no milk for babies
because they want to build that pipe gas line across Afghanistan and the Taliban
or is it the Pashtuns are saying no, from my home I see for me a giant in uniform
with a belt full of bombs bestriding the world.

Yule and Monte Carlo

While I sit and watch circus Monte Carlo
and get annoyed by the undignified use of wild animals,
perhaps except horses, they are beautiful and dumb and get oats to eat after
the performance,
There is no peace for the Palestinians and their struggle to win
back their country and bullets sing through the night.
I watched a bland concert where Jerusalem was sung by three tenors
but having heard Placido Domingo, they didn't measure up.
Then the ads came on in Portugal they last forever, I fall asleep
and didn't see the clowns.

Huldra

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)

Clearing the Air

She rang said she was coming with the late train,
Since it was her birthday I had thought she would
Come early so we could go to a restaurant for
A meal and drink some good wine

The train arrived just before midnight, I was hungry
And tired of waiting, she was tired too, I had
Brought flowers, she thought they were nice and
Put them in the backseat of the car.  

We drove home, both feeling wounded; at home,
she made an omelet, I had a drink; later we watched
a TV show in aggrieved stillness. Next day we had
a big row and that cleared the air

A Poet is Amused

Now when we say good bye give me
a promise with your hands and lips
no, I didn't mean an apple.
Object
Plutocrat
Advocate
That has nothing to do with grammar.
Who said it did?
The first time I saw naked woman was a September night
she stood by the fire cleaning her private part
soapy ***** hairs
overcome by desire, I ******* fell to the ground
in someone else’s garden.
Poets are like ****** sell romantic poems and show
their filthy souls to anyone in need of a dream.
He goes to the nearest tavern and has a dram
and doesn’t let grammar get into it only wishes to live
in a society that ban full stop and comma.

French emancipation

French women are free, well-educated and elegant,
but spend much time to attract men.
Easy of virtue, yet frantically look to get married to
a wealthy man, who can free them of distressing liberation.

They will intellectualize their misery, see themselves
as Sagan Melancholic, ye yarning to me middle class
housewives worrying about the price of garlic, meet
other wives and talk endlessly about equality.

A Vision
Eifel tower the old ***** is lit up again
her wide open legs still drip blood, and
her hips are white and slim and she   has
blue- rinsed hair. She is ready to welcome
the masses people without an ideology
and those who think that having *** in
a hotel near the Seine where millions of
condoms that slowly find their way to
the sea is the heights of romantic living.

Young men came, they had a creed wanting
to destroy this ***** and Gomorrah, but
the **** in the centre of Paris tells us we will
survive because we are Godless and place
lust for life first

Gun Play

They haven't got guns in heaven only toothpicks,
but God has got a golden gun given to him by
the producer of James Bond movies.
He toys with it just for fun when newcomers
arrive, but most of the time the gun is on top
of the Bible, he wrote once upon a time.
Not that he has copyright, he will be the first
to tell you, but with the help of strange people
who insisted he had spoken to them
Sometimes when God is alone, he put the gun
to his temple and click…nothing happens
it is all in jest, or is it? Infinity can be a burden.
Now, if you wonder about the toothpicks,
angels like to welcome you with a bright smile

Film Set?
There were many bathers on the beach when a rusty
U-boat surfaced, a hatch opened a man came on deck
he was the captain and wore a German uniform,
a long white beard, sunken eyes yes, he looked weary.
The boat inched into the sand her captain jumped ashore.  
  He walked to the cafe to borrow the phone, had to ring
the embassy but, the number written down on a piece
of paper, was obsolete He sighed, drank a beer said
it was first time in sixty years since he had drunk a beer,
walked back to his boat. Full aft, the U-boat wriggled lose
of the sand bank, found the sea and vanished.

Flanør

I will not write word today
                                             Not on the blank screen
Perhaps on paper and pencil
When writing I feel closer to whatever
I’m writing about.                          
                                         Only my handwriting is so bad
I practically have to reinvent on the screen the poem
I wrote on a pad.
                                         I look long and hard
to find back to the feeling I had when scratching down
a letter, which is a form of conversation with self.
                                        Writing creates honesty
it also creates thinking I reason better when writing
                                       but, as I said, no writing today.

Epiphany

It was an incredible summer in 1950 the war was over things were getting
back to normal, mother's new boyfriend who worked at a factory had
a rowboat and paid holiday leave. A Sunday early we rowed to a small island
in the bay, mother had brought a blanket, sandwiches in brown paper bags
mostly jam I think and two bottles of soft drink, water and cold milk that sun
went off, and a thermos flask of coffee. The boyfriend gave me a line with
hook on told me to go fishing- telling me what to do is not easy not even for me-
in the shallow water near the pier as bait, I found a worm under a stone thread
the living thing on the fishhook.
the water was crystal clear had tiny fishes that looked like rainbows swimming
about I saw the sky….I was in a trance thought I was what I saw took a step
forward and landed in the water people came running helping me up back I was
in real time mother came running too shouted at me as mothers do and worried
about my delicate health. Rowing back into town again the boyfriend was grumpy
suggested I had fallen into the water to get attention I said little in my defence
how could I explain for a moment I had understood everything, but on the other
hand he could have been right how is a boy supposed to know

The first dance

My outing into the big world was to go every
Saturday to the local cake shop eat cakes and drink coffee
But now I had to go to a dancehall
I noticed there were several women no one asked to dance
I asked one of them she said no, I asked the second one
She said not too, totally destroyed I looked for the exit.
Surprisingly there was a woman by the exit who said yes
Without being asked.
My dignity restored I danced with her several times
There was an alehouse near she wanted to go there
And I was only too happy that a woman spoke to me.
She drank several beers and when I asked to go back
She told me to *******.
I walked home alone

A blanket and a coffin

It had been raining for days, and everything felt damp
now the sun was shining the old man took out his coffin
from the shed, opened the lid and took out the folded
blanket and a pillow to dry it and take out the dank smell.
He sat by the computer and didn't notice it was raining
again, and when he did notice the coffin was full of water,
and the neighbours’ ducks used it as a pond.
He upended the coffin; it would take days to dry it now
hoped the weather would hold for at least three days.
The old man knew he was ridiculous, wanting a blanket over him
and a pillow to rest his head on like he, when dead, would notice,
yet the thought of it gave him comfort;
and that what's life is all about.

Daddy’s girl

Little girl spoilt
by her daddy
likes to be
a little girl again
life was safe.
Sugar and spice
and a few tears
when meeting
life's shadow
the dead of her pony
Daddy bought
another one
Joy tinged with sadness
love should not
be replaced so quick.
She looked at her daddy
eyes filled with tears
when he died
no new daddy would appear,
except of course,
she could fall in love
marry a man
who reminded her of him,
but it would
never be the same.

Short circuit
Why do we do what
Logic tells we should not do
To punish yourself
Or someone else who will
Not know of our act
Of self-destruction when
Logic has been suspended
Still, the question remains
We can't explain it
The great “WHY.”

The Sin
It must be a tragedy to be a man and a ******* what
treatment is there for an unspeakable lust the forbidding
feeling, the dreams, the church which is a wrong place to
confess a priest is not viable he has to cure himself of this
ugly vice. Is it a vice for a child liker for him this is
the sexuality he was given it was not asked for a burden of
always hiding yet goes to places where children assemble
and from their young bodies oozes a newness like a scent
that threaten his social standing should it be known and
should he succumb he will be cast out loose his employment
the sneering people goading him and he will join  the people
of the night.

The Woods in January


I have a photo that has no colour, of
a forest and a black, wet road rolled out
as waiting for a presidential visit, that
will never come, trees have no vote.

This is not an old forest, the trees, are
winter dark with snow on, those near
the road, look like dangling youngsters
grumpy by enforced idleness;  

but there is a hidden passion, snow has
thawed around the trunks, intense root
touching, and sometimes unwelcome
groping is going on.

It isn’t easy to be a tree if one is placed
amongst siblings, and its roots can’t
touch a loved one, across the road, for  
the future must be bleak indeed    

Yet, trees can take comfort in its versatility
It can be pulped and made into voting
slips or made into paper on which poems
are written.  And you call that solace?

in Paris
A summer is over the night arrives with
unseemly haste, it was not a delicious season
too spent most of the time indoors
fantasising about  silky sand, the sun and sea
reading brochures of adventures in Thailand.
When I get to a new place, it never is as had
Imagined it to be, say when I went to Paris
I had in mind the way it was at the time of
Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, James Joyce and
Ernest Hemingway, instead it was just another
overpriced city, mind I found the birthplace
of Edith Piaf and the street had a patina of
time went by, so I shall not be invited to
a literary salon, but I got two collections of
poetry accepted at Shakespeare's bookshop
I’m glad I read their books, but I’m also glad
I never met them

Resurrection

Then he died
As everyone must
And he entered a tunnel
Pink light
Like a boudoir
Sliding on soft silk
Well, I never!
Pity he cannot write
About it
Doctors resurrected him
They told him
He had smiled
So sweetly when they
Struggled to bring him
Back to life
Crucified
Surrounded
By Roman soldiers
Sigh!
His death had been so banal
A dream of a bordello

The two-timed

I know of a man who drove his wife to her lover in Faro
when it rained as she was afraid of the dark.
He waited in the car reading a paper when she came
out from the house of tryst she purred like a kitten,
he was happy too she would make him a good dinner
She died, the lover and the two timed stood by the grave
mourning her in their different ways and since they were
both alone, the lover moved in he does the cleaning and
lit the fire while the two- timed makes dinner and cakes.
Together they grew old and died in their sleep.

South Africa

The rainbow paled in South Africa
the end of apartheid has ended, freedom for all.
Not quite, the poor in Soweto are getting poorer.
The difference it now consists of white poor as well.
The new leadership behave like the old one corruption
and shade dealings.
South Africa is practically a democratic one-party state.
Or was democracy and equality brought on too early?
It takes time.
What is there to say when people riot and burn down
the places where they buy their daily bread and have to walk for miles
to buy milk for their children, other than an act of despair.
Big business is doing well, thank you.
But nothing has been done to alleviate the suffering of the poor.
The rainbow state has lost its lustre.
If you wonder why the poor ran amok was the jailing of Jacob Zuma
Despite his failings, he has an African heart, which the new elite, dipped in white culture,
failed to see.
He is the chieftain dethroned and Africa bleeds.

The Last Joke
My friend at the old people's home was dying
the heathen had taken a sudden interest in religious
matters, especially the sweet parts of angels and
harp playing on a cloud, the dream of man, tiger
and the lamb was sitting by the lake liquid silver.
He grew, as he weakened, restive asked me to pray
aloud by his bedside, to please him I did.
“Please, God let Oliver be and angel and teach him
how to play the harp…amen”

A howl of laughter from the sick-bed that ended in
a cough, the old ******* had got one over me.
He died that same night with a smile on his face.

Sleepless

O, sleep, why did you forsake me
I close my eyes will me to sleep
Nothing!
Better get up watch an old movie
A western one and you know who
Are the baddie and the sheriff
John Wayne is holding in his stomach.
The fake fight scene with furniture
That breaks easily.
O, sleep, why did you forsake me.

The Great Detective

Hercules Poirot stood alone
the lovers he had saved from the gallows
had departed.
He had tears in the corners of his eyes
and said: I, Hercules Poirot, the most famous detective in the world
I cannot understand the nature of love.
I concur.
My wife and I have been together for twenty years.
I love her dearly; she does not care about my writing; it might
upset people.
Her female logic makes me knotted in despair, but what can I do?
We have grown old together, and my nightmare is to live longer than her.
She is the practical one. I see conspiracy theory everywhere.
When Hercules Poirot could not solve the problem,
I give up too and go on loving her.