The pseudo-science
    
Cooking is not rocket science but would be cook has to
learn the basic after this he must discover why some
food doesn’t go well mixed with the wrong ingredients
The rudimentary is salt, pepper and butter and then
spices depending on the dish.
The food on the plate should look appetising but not
over-decorated, a cook should not aspire to be an artist
for that, he should go to an art school and paint Pretty pictures.
To put a bit of full-fat cream in some gravies
Is ok, but the dish should not swim in grease.
Always serve fresh salad and go easy on the potatoes.

A flat in Town

Tomorrow most of the time there is one, but for some, the unlucky
who died the day before, and rest in a coffin in a cold church, the tomorrow came too late,
I will be moving into a flat on the fifth floor in Loule.
See many roofs and if I stand on a ladder also see the Atlantic Sea and with binoculars
catch a sight of a passing ship.
Life will be so easy take the lift down to the street walk into
a café and drink coffee; I usually make my coffee but what the hell.
There is a park nearby with pretty flowers and tame trees.
The bank manager shakes her head did some calculation asks me about
my age and before I can push the question away with a joke my wife stepped
in and told  
What I cannot tell anyone if the loan I need is refused, I will look mournful  
yet relieved that I do not have to write poetry  about the colours on flat roofs
and the sea is forever green I do not need a ladder to know this.

Dream makers

Through grimy windows, I can see
Santa and his elves blowing
bubbles, goblets and vases heat
and rolled up sleeves

Outside, large flakes of snow
dissolve on asphalt.

From the bar next door
red shadows and empty music leaked
out and into the gutter.
Hard smiles, and much wine, nicotine tongues
meet experienced lips.

Behind the bar a baseball bat,
the cheap scent and fake rings,
loneliness dances with greed.

Senryu
A lie is
A poetic way of telling  
The truth


Tanka
There are many truths
Fanatics think they have a monopoly  
Their version is right
There are many religions too
Each on the keepers of the truth

Evening and horses
I'm walking on the bottom of an ancient sea
The bottom is flat and rich in grapes and cabbage.
The used to be a lake here, but it disappeared
What is left is a small stream that gets its water from
Water below. On the lake that was, and no longer is
Helicopter pilots practice take-off and landing
Some gipsy horses graze nearby and ignore the noise
The choppers make- I took a picture of one going in
For landing, it belongs to the fire department, many fires
During the hot summer, some fires need to burn
And some fires are caused by pyromaniacs.
But never mind I will see my doctor at the hospital tomorrow
She is like a beautiful race horse on the wrong side of fifty,
She is forever telling me what not to eat; she told me curry
Was fattening once and I said nothing on her desk there is
A picture of her husband he is a pilot.

A dog story

I had a dog she loved me; I also had a wife children named
Gabriel and Apple, she wanted to be trendy, and we lived
in the gentrified inner city.
When the twins were six my wife divorced me and got the house,
car and the dog, and I had to take the bus to work.
It so happened, the bus passed my former home, the dog saw
me and followed the bus, at work she sat outside and waited
for me to come out, I let her in, and she curled up by my desk.
This happened every day, so my wife took the dog to a vet
who put her down –or killed her- I wasn't very happy and
said so using a strong language which she recorded, and that
Was ok by me. I never see the children anymore she has
put obstacles in the way, and she used my strong language
as a proof, I should not see the children.
When she died, twenty years later, the children were angry
with me for not visiting them when they were small,
I told them the truth, but they thought if I had really been
interested in them I would have tried harder.  
I give a ****; they know where I live and can visit me,
If my new dog will let them in.

The Windy city  
Chicago a city by the Lake Erin
A blanket of white and the wind
Whistles between sky -scrapers
The great city is not what it used to be
Now it is like third world place
Where bullets whistle through the night
Citizens are no longer safe
Those who can move out leaving it to
The hateful and ****** pavements

I remember the 1968 riots and ever since
Chicago looks like an African city
Demanding and intolerant of other folks
Opinion and guns sit loosely in the holster
Of friend and foe

The Lady on the Island

She lived in a big villa with servants, on an island
connected to the mainland by a bridge, she had house arrest
wanted free elections and democracy.
A hero of the west and she got a medal for her tenacity.
The military junta set her free yet kept their power, she accepted
after all, she was a general's daughter.
As a de facto president, she turned out to be a racist, didn't defend
The Rohingya people who their villages burnt to the ground and
had to flee the massacre by the army, she stayed silent and lost
credibility, she was just elite racist didn't want to be a leader of
people who were not of her blood.

Mare Nostrum
On the coast of Augusta, in Cecilia this wonderful sea,
the bluest of turquoise, transparent and I saw fish play.
Blood and bloated corpses have made the sea less pretty
and fish nibbles on cadavers of those who tried to cross
the sea to escape the lunacy we created in Libya.

A president short of stature but with inflated ego plus
philosopher idiot, two men were responsible this disaster
of a war just to get rid of a dictator one of them had lent
money of the other who should not be left out of his confine
of academia, he should have in hidden in a university writing
books only historians take a passing interest in.

As it is the impossible vain man get feted, all because he is
an intellectual and wears a velvet jacket and clean collars.
My old Mafia friend Thomas the knife, has invited me to
Augusta, I will go there but not swim the hazy sea, but we
will eat langouste, drink child wine and talk about the days
when philosophers and presidents left us alone to **** only
when needed and never the innocent.

Horse Flesh
The mare in the yard is almost a pony it used to be
the falling horse in western movies.
She got old and Hollywood has no use for slow horses
It had performed in Lima Peru where the cowboy fell off
and I bought it on the roundabout
took it home and painted it yellow but as got older she
ended up in my garage,
together with my scooter and other useless toys.

The Spell

Does pure evil exist or is made by the religious
to scare us and fall into the embrace of a god
that may not have our interest at heart.
It began a few days ago
when I noticed someone or something was
trying to take over my mind.
When parking I scraped another car,
I broke the mirror driving too close to a bin.
It was then I saw it, malevolent eyes
painted outside my house,
I looked up saw the shadow of Satan on a flagpole
his laughter echoed and echoed on my soul, but
I shouted back, called him and his imps ****.
I knew a spell had been cast upon me and took action
I painted the eyes yellow and green,
the water leak in the kitchen stopped.
I had won because my mind was much stronger than
the person who had cast the spell.

The Love Letter

I'm old now ten years ago I was old too if a little
a bit lesser in years, she is my wife's niece but love is
like rain it just falls where it pleases.
The plain of Spain has nothing to do with it even if
at the time sit chooses to fall there….
I wrote her a poem her voice her body her hair way
she cast of her head when angry how I could let this
go I'm not a wordless mute.
It was not my intention to do anything about it I just
dictated what my heart wrote in a shivering moment.

Her mortification was deep she is ashamed of me,
a man she called Uncle behave like a lovelorn boy with
unbecoming thoughts.
That was not why I wrote the poem it was about love
not its fulfilment, the monotonous everyday issues.
I cannot erase the written words; she does not ring
her beloved aunt in case I answer the phone.
My infatuation was abstract as my love for her.
It is a woe living in a society of people, who read and
feel the words, not as something reprehensible, but as
an expression of love that has its own rhythm like
waves on the ocean

Meatloaf

The old man had bought minced meat it wasn't much
he had to friends coming for lunch, so he added two eggs
maizena- flour, white flour, and milk and mixed well.
He left the dough in a bowl by the sink and had a coffee,
when he came back tiny ants –very tiny- had covered
his food, perhaps a thousand of them, as he didn't want to
throw the dough away he mixed the ants into it and
added a bit of colouring to make it look darker,
he then made a meatloaf and served it with mashed potatoes
and fried onion.
The three old men ate well and as one of them remarked
this was indeed a meaty loaf.

The Smallness of things
There are not many elephants left on the savanna
Near the houses graceful nature has made them
Smaller with tusks not bigger than an oxen's horn
And can hide in the bushes or look like a tree if
People come near.
They are hunted by people who would like  
To have an elephant's head on the wall.
With so many humans being killed everywhere
Why should I care about elephants, it is just they
Are my friends and when leaning against a tree
That is an elephant’s flank there is a contact
Between us and an understanding that we are
Both a dying breed, like tigers and lions
Cute Vietnamese pigs and flying genii that will you
No harm, it is not it’s their fault having black wings  
And screams as when a barrel bomb hits its target
Startled I wake up and there is blood on the carpet.

Street Walker in Oslo

As the black-winged night occupies my balcony
and spread its wings in triumph and shop lights
try in vain to illuminate and gladden a grubby street
I see you leaving your flat and begin your night shift
As you walk past splashes of yellow light,
I can see your white powdered face has not yet
settled into its customary inviting grin and your
lips are a machete slash where blood has coagulated
into lumps long ago.
Dressed in red tonight in the hope of attracting
rampant lust, but since you are an old bird
you are reduced to service those with a putrid need
for violence, but even in your disgrace I know
your heart is pure.

The Serene world

In the little corner of the world where I live far from airports,
military establishment and the liberal middle class among people
who at heart are flag nationalists and proud to be Portuguese.
They are not too fond of foreigners who for the most part are British
who are quite happy not having to mingle with anyone.
I having lived here forever is accepted as the strange silent man who,
when he speaks, sounds funny and rumours has it that he writes
which never fail to impress none readers.

So here you have a postcard picture of an idyllic village tucked away
in a valley, and the nearest it ever came to war was a bewildered plane
flew low overhead the houses shock
brought people out of houses talking excitedly about the near accident.
But in the tiny cottage unpainted and rustic, there is near starvation,
and if the winter is long the old die of cold and church bells toll.

The first Flower

The first winter after a long war was cold
but today the snow was slushy the beginning of spring
It was a poor street house had not been
painted for years, not much food and the ice was
reluctant to let go of its pale grip.
It was then I saw it along a wall of flaking cement
a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright
it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity
I understood and saw it all.

Too much Peace

A car stopped outside we closed doors and
Windows switch down the light and TV hiding behind the sofa
Knocks on the door we're silent
No one in a voice said, they never are we only want to read
The meter we have to guess how much water they use
I tried to get up; my water bill is high my wife pulled me back
It is a trick they want you to open the door.
This is what happens when you live in an isolated village
The peace gets so intrusive that ghosts appear at high noon
And the criminal fraternity stops robbing Jewellery stores,
Banks and so on, no they come to rob you my water and
Electricity bill is getting higher we have to move into the city
Listening to police sirens screeching down the street and
Know we are safe; of course it an illusion our fear is death,
Gets the best of us

The Love
*** and love do  not always meet and as you get older
seduction becomes a routine both partners trying to
do their utmost and after coitus feeling empty.
I was 55 when I met her, not a pretty lady, but she had
alluring eyes, after a few meetings she invited me to her
house for a meal and the magic happened.
In her bedroom only lit up by the open living room door  
we became one body and I remember the silhouette of
her body soft and glued to mine.

Embraced we fell asleep and hours past before we stirred
we had achieved the wonder of having an ****** at
the same time. We tried again, but the moment was lost
we drifted apart; we had dreamt the same reverie, yet it
was worth remembering.

Who's Who?


“We're twins,” I said, the mirror looked horror
struck my image turned and fled, profound is
the indefinite glacial depth, the horrifying  
loneliness of a mirror that only sees itself.  

A gardener  wearing my shoes is pruning
a rosebush, while I'm a tree near the window,
living in fear of the logger's chain saw.

No image, I'll fall into a black hole of vacuity
and why is a hole always black? Can't it be red
or green? I'm a blue apostle, in a naïve painting,
forever walking on a lane flanked by fearful trees.

This crazy world
Steven Hawkins is dead his contribution to science
was magnificent, even though I do not understand.
In the meantime, we pollute the land big cities are
running out of drinking  water and future wars will not
be about oil but fresh water.
We continue to fight wars that are about ism and power,
yes, the isms that by its nature is hateful and
only good to make those who live here dislike into ogres.
Space is full of debris, our ocean so full of plastic
that marine life die, but still, we carry on over a cliff
and down the abyss, icecaps are melting showing
Islands we want to use for oil- exploration can we not
Delay this haste to our doom,
Perhaps Steven Hawkins’s had a point!

http://rochakpublishing.blogspot.in/2012/10/jan-oskar-hansen.html

choices

It was a moment when the cacophony of voices, at the railway restaurant,
became one, no longer dusty prattle mixed with cigarette smoke, but a real,
human accent making an utterance; alas, the voice spoke of mortgages,
the price of heating homes, electricity and food; the only true issue in our
civilized world that has imprisoned us with their gilded promises
So should one be shocked, isn’t that what we have worked towards too?
A life that is mundane that doesn’t tax you with any political philosophy,
any ism of this and that only leaves you to worry about the ordinary
things like the ice cream parlour in Parkgate that sells 21 flavours of ice cream,
now isn’t that nice to know and snigger about we can call it a democracy of
choices

Trump
A week is a long time in politics it also a long time in an old man's life
who knows it can end when he sleeps; I say that and think of suicide
watching the entertainment on Portuguese TV the utter banalities makes me
shake uncontrolled fall to the floor until she switches off the telly.
Ok I admit to being over the top, she have been away for a week with
TV off most of the time except when watching the news on France 24 and
counting their lies and the omissions I take a grim pleasure watching
the new reader speaking his lines not listening to what he is saying like
a human robot and now we have got Trump he is theatrical ok mind,
he only do one-dimensional figure and is unable to  be someone else
as his ego is big as Mount Everest like it or not he is the best president ever.
Democrats are stunned they are used to the hypocrisy of politicians it
has become a norm …and now this vulgarian is in power, tells his truth
as he sees it some agree, he promised the working  class people
EMPLOYMENT.
For the time being, we believe, the day will come when the smug liberals
string him up below the statue of Abe Lincoln

The carafe

Bought a bottle
Of posh red wine
I look
It looks at me
I look
It looks at me.
I get furious
It is empty now
Threw it in the bin
Who wants to?
Look at an empty    
Bottle
If you are not
A collector of labels

Down syndrome
It is like a landscape that labour under dark clouds
when I remember, the call I got from former woman friends
she had broken up with me because she was pregnant
with Dutch fellow from Amsterdam
15 years later she rang me -I'm old fashion do not change
my phone number often- the Dutchman had gone old and
returned to Holland, that his daughter was really mine
if I would come and say hallo.
I went to her house but wisely had my wife with me, my
“Daughter” was 14 and had the Down syndrome, a nice little
person who likes to hug and kiss people, I had no knowledge
whether she was my daughter or not and there is nothing
about this disabled child that reminded her of me except she
has diabetes.
I could have taken blood test to ascertain if it was my child
I didn't want to know the result, didn't want to be bothered.
My wife was angry said I was egocentric, so I agreed to let her
visit us for a few days every month.
The woman I had *** with, twenty years ago says the girl need
this and that, new shoes but, not bought at a Chinese shop
I ignore that and walk her about in the village as I did my dog,
stroke her hair tell her she is a nice girl,
but no, I can't get it into my head that she is my daughter.

Black Sheep
It had been raining all day the sky as dark as inside my coat,
but at six in the afternoon, it was clearing up enough for me
to go the shop and buy a bottle of wine.
On the way I had to brake hard a sheep was on the ground
it had given in to life’s harsh reality, I didn't like the idea of
it being run over, got it up it had a broken a leg…bad news.
Got it to safety not that it mattered to the sheep it lied down
its chances was zero; the farmer would slaughter it and it
would be dinner for days.
Not that my action altruistic I shuddered by the idea of
blood and innards all over the road by being fodder a least
it was useful, a farmer with 200 sheep can't afford a vet.

Caballus

I'm a stallion
Once run for miles
To cover a mare

Tamed pulling a cart
Harnessed
I have lost the spirit

When the man whips me
It because he hates his wife
I think of hay.

I, a love story in D minor

I had loved you before you were born
I knew you were in the unknown waiting to innate
I adored when you were a child a gift of love
I looked after you in the awkward teenager years
I saw you one day before I stood the woman
I hallucinated, the perfection of my dream
I declared my love for you, and you said: don't be silly Don
I saw you getting married and I cried in the night
I hope you will put red roses on my grave
I love the colour of love

How it is so insane

There is a hardening of empathy in the blood vessels
of the Western world has peace lasted too long, if we
regard bloodletting as a natural cycle like the seasons
and now it is blue frost winter in the heart of man.
We have always been killing each other, the USA was
born by eradicating the local population and indeed
in Latin America, the conquistadors killed 90%
of its people and now we have Israel repeating
the long history of ******; not to forget the Rohingya
people escaping being slain by Buddhists in Myanmar.
Now we see a crescendo of mass eradication of plants
and animals, the very foundation of human life it is as
we are at war with self, committing suicide in our quest
to dominate others and thereby us.
There will be no place to hide whether we live in a castle
or in a cave when the world is red-hot bullet hurtling through space, and there will be no history to tell.

Christmas Turkeys

It was long ago before ship - containers were invented
when ships were admired by their design and some were
unashamedly called swans.
A ship now is so loaded with containers it looks like Lego
In a commercial dam of contamination,
but beauty had to leave in the pursuit of profit
I was on a ship a “freezer” the ship was a gigantic fridge
and the order was to deliver one million turkeys to some
foreign troops station in Africa the Brits always have to
occupy something to feel great.
The freezing system broke down, the ship stank and we
had to scuttle and abandon ship, we rowed ashore and was
arrested they thought it was an insurance scam.
We're soon released and sent to a swanky hotel before leaving
In the morning the ambassador laid on a table for us it
was full whole fried turkey, luckily he left to go to a party for
the higher ups, the servants and cooks removed the turkey
and gave us a mountain of eggs and bacon followed by crates
Of beer. The ambassador met us at the airport to take farewell
The press was there too he was a man of enormous vanity yes,
we had enjoyed ourselves but not the way he thought a silly man
hadn't done his homework

007

On the train going west, a snooping man asked questions
asking about other peoples but saying nothing about himself.
I told him a tale so violent he paled and left at the next stop.
Believed in my story when the train stopped in Liverpool
had few pint looked at my visit card stating I was a bookseller,
but that was a ruse; I was a Russian assassin sent to **** some
agents that had turned and they sat in the pub.
When the smoke from our revolvers cleared, they were dead
and the landlord refused to serve me, and the game was up
Yes, your Honour, I’m in the book trade.

Clouds on Dreams
To believe what we see is often a fallacy on a video
a rat attacked a cat; the moggy scared ran away but was it so
I think not video and pictures can be doctored so we are
left with a sceptical mind
Yet in the Sahara, I saw in the sky a ship sailing upside down
I know what I saw yet it was a mirage so therefore I can
talk about it without being made fun of like the day I saw
a flying elephant it was slow and met a crocodile
that loved me, of course, it was a mirage
That is why I'm fearless telling you this; you will think mirages,
was whisky involved?
There mere suggestion will send me into a rage and I will
never speak to you again.
The cat ashamed, turned around and killed the rat, just in case
you were curious. In the world, the strongest win just looks to Brazil  
and what the heck was I doing in the Sahara?

The Missing love

This is the sunrise of your life, booming voice hollered,
what do you mean, silly man it is raining outside,
well – lamely now- you are alive that is something to
celebrate; you are right I have got everything, house
car and all that, but wish I had someone to love and take
care of. I will drive down to the lost canine place and see
if there is a dog that needs me. Not any dog, say, a puppy
I haven't got the patience to train one the dog must be
about five years old and preferably a house trained *****.
It must be an older dog because I’m old so when I die
The dog will hopefully die to of old age too.

A Day of Reckoning


Forenoon, it had been raining during the night
the wizened winter landscape was now green
and amongst olive trees long-legged sheep grazed;
their pastor and, on occasions, executioner, sat on
a boulder casting dreams into the future; man and
beast, rustic peace, pity I hadn’t a camera.

On my way to the village to buy the papers, a sheep
had been run over by a truck, with its stomach burst
open and its content glinting in the sun, it was still
alive. Ah, you dumb animal abandoned by everyone  
it looked at me without any hope of deliverance,
so I reversed my car and ran over its head.

As the skull was crushed its eyes popped out, landed
in the middle of the road that now had eyes to see
with, the shock of this made it shudder a long rent in
the asphalt ***** black tears trickled. Quickly  
I threw the eyes into the thicket which was instantly
transformed into a field of tinkling bluebells.

From nowhere a road gang of small, denim- clad men  
with big hats appeared, they were badly paid lived
on road kills. Expertly strewing soft sand on blood, filled
cracks with healing asphalt, and off they drove with
their dinner. Empty road it had no knowledge of what
had just occurred, it was up to me to remember.

Was it Arizona?

Endless road, in flat landscape of shrubs and sand, no elevations
no distant ridge of a mountain, no coast and sunlight gleaming on
a calm ocean.
Trapped, I drove slower and slower, doomed to drive on this road forever;
the thought of getting out and start running, when I saw a few trees at
the distance, soon some houses too and a petrol station,
I needed to fill up the tank; the attendant wasn’t there walked over to a café,
where an old man sat reading his paper,
didn’t look up when the swing door slammed shut behind him
A fat black woman, behind the counter, was watching daytime soap on
an ancient TV  set
she turned and looked at me; I said: “coffee please.”
She gave me a cup and said “fifty cents,” turned her massive back on me,
continued watching TV. I looked and out saw the attendant, hurried out,
wanted to be sure he didn’t take off again; I never drank my coffee,
not that anyone took any notice.
The man looked foreign, and I said: “must be lonely living out here?”
“Yeah, but it sure beats living in Baghdad, the he murmured.”

Humour?
Where were you when I was arrested at a public toilet for drinking
of a flask of brandy- the man beside me was a police officer out
to catch people like me who needed a drink to survive the tedium of
living in a provincial town in the middle of a landscape of cows

Where were you during the court case when the judge said I was
a disgrace, a plague on the backside of humanity drinking in public
Is a serious crime, the buffoon thundered threw the gavel at me
it hit a guard in the head he who was knocked out

Where were you when I had to run gauntlet of jeering reports
and people pointed me out in the street and a hush when
I entered a café, and the waitress refused to serve me coffee
you went to holiday in Spain drinking red wine.

Dresden

As the war was winding down
it was decided to bomb Dresden
It had no industry and had no military target.
the bombing was vengeance
Ten thousand people were killed that night
mostly burnt to death as the attack created a firestorm.
This was ******.
The killers got medals.
With the war on the thought was a dead German
is a good German.
I think this outrage prolonged the war.
It took years before the atrocities saw the light of day,
excepts India and Kenya, few knew Britain
could be party off mass ******.
The Albinos has been revelry to many carnages and
gotten away with it.
It is time for an apology to Dresden and her people.

The broken mind

In the gorge, near the river that died five years
ago and is a pale scar running from inland mountains
and down to the coast,
unheard words of lovers come here to die;
“I love you,”” Come back to me” “I can’t live
without you.”
Whispers in the breeze for no one’s ears but
the intrepid that comes here to conquer his own fear of love.
It is easy to get lost here trees are unfriendly
have thorns and branches snap
when you try to climb  to see where you are,
and wild beasts follow wait for you to succumb,
fall asleep so they can eat your brain
leave you confused, and rescuers will say:
“Poor man has got the Alzheimer.”
The stillness hears fearful screams, the unheard
last effort before sinking into silence

Lost Love
25 years ago September met April and
September fell in love; she was eighteen I was 52
…I know what you think.
At the post office, she worked, and I posted letters
to pretend friends in Liverpool and return address
and if someone opens them know they will find
an ocean of words about loneliness.
One day when I came there, she held the hands
of a young man, her eyes dripped of love and
I never sent the letter to a fictitious girlfriend  
at Beck Street number 12 in Liverpool.
You could not help falling in love with her she
was perfectly formed had long blond hair and
laughed like an angel.
It was the usual story she married had children,
then a messy divorce.
We are friends now I told her how much I had
loved her, but I never had the courage to say so.
She held my aged hands and said: I loved you too
but thought you didn't care about you many
girlfriends on the Merseyside

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.

A July day


Twilight in the village shuttered windows
I’m walking alone, they have all died, dogs  
too and cats have gone feral.

Stale heat, as heavy as a stage curtain full of forgotten tragedies,
hangs in the air.
I take no pleasure of this walk, but I have been indoors all day waiting
for sun-fall and a cool breeze….

Back home I open windows, share my light with the night.  
Sit on the sofa move my toes,
a man needs exercise, and watch the news on TV

Martin Luther King

It is 50 years since he was shot dead
It shocked America and naturally uproar and looting
by the black population followed.
I remember the man because he saw that poverty
is the enemy and we must try to eradicate it.
For the black population not so much have changed
a horde of young black men have no education and
live by gang violence and drugs.
The white live outside towns and pretend no to see
that there is cancer in their midst.
A massive amount of money must be spent to give
the unfortunate an education which is a way out of poverty.
If that doesn’t help inter-marriage is a good solution in the USA today it is up 17%,
but will a darkening America be a better place.
No, it will not unless we tackle poverty.

The Respect

I do my best have shower every day, keep my nails clean
And when I left the merchant fleet learned to speak English
With a modulated voice never would you hear me swear.
I have been a sailor of the seven seas got lost in the Saragossa
My middle-class manners is a fake not even an actor can act
Every day he needs a break. Sometimes too I fall out of my role
Let it rip to the great consternation of those who were my friends.
As a lad, I lived in a pietistic Christian society they didn't like pigs
But ate its meat (Religious Duplicity)
Pigs are not as many think *****, but you have to keep their pen
Clean and clean them with soap and water, it is a mistake to
Think they like to sleep in their own dirt.  
Nevertheless, a swine is a pig and as long as think along these
Lines nothing will ever change.

Reflectoid

The entrance fee to a heavenly life
                   Is often too demanding
Like a bursting cloud
                   Foaming gutters
                   Flooded streets
No one to complain to like un-tuned piano
                   The tuner has lost
His hearing
No comma or full stop needed

Tomorrow's future

Christianity appears tepid I usually do not think about its
lack of centre as I dislike all religions they are fairy tales
that demands to be taken seriously.
Christianity can seem innocent enough, a bewildered vicar
and nice ladies bringing a flower to decorate the altar, till
we remember Bush and Blair; they invaded Iraq, not for
oil alone, but to prove their God was bigger than Allah.

The Christians have for hundreds of years fought in every
Corner of the world and foisted their brutal religion upon the innocent even
up to this day. The occupiers of Palestine belongs to the western conquering
culture and they – Israel- will be the biggest losers when the weakness
of our shallow culture is exposed and millions of Europeans
will flock to Islam that demands thrift, morality, and honesty.
Our culture is rotten; only Islam can save our soul.

The Merchant seafarers' war

When world war two started Norway was
neutral but unsure which side to stay on.
The English thought occupying Norway
but they were too late the German army had
done the occupation.
The British sent a ragtag military force to Norway
trying to cut the country in half to stop further
advances but were told to pull out.
Norway had at this point a big merchant fleet
It was sequestrated and used bring good and weapon
for the allies.
This left thousands of ****** nowhere
to go those go tried to flee was arrested and sent
back as crew members of any merchant ship.
They the crew lived under a constant pressure
(one out of ten) never made it home can you imagine
how they year after year lived in constant fear
a tank ship full high octane for planes with the enemy
U-boats lurking about. When the war ended and
they could go home they were treated with indifference
like shirkers who had avoided the war.
These seafarers where heroes of the highest order
but the government ignored them, they let down the pride
of Norway, one can say without them the war might
have lasted much longer

The dreamless
Old as a ******* mountain
Bony fingers
Covered in parched skin
Between them, moss grows
Once they stroked
A woman's *******  
Caressed her back and
Held a firm hands on
Her buttock
In the night of love
He thought it would last
The kiss of desire.
Arthritis
The unthinkable
Is a reality
What is gone is
Recurring dreams
More pain in the long night
Paying the piper

Disregard  
  

My neighbour doesn’t till the land anymore he has sold
it to developers, thought he had got rid of his animals,
I was shocked and dismayed when he led a mule out of
the stable where it had stood, in the dark, for two years
Standing there in the courtyard it was clear that it had
lost interest in life, the winter sun that shone into its
eyes met no reflection, blind and dumb it could hardly
stand on unshorn hooves.
There was a long silence no one looked at the beast till
the truck came to take it away, up the plank it walked
offered no resistance, a being so utterly broken that it
could never be repaired
I looked at my neighbour in the hope of seeing regrets
or shame in his face, there were none, and it struck me
that if humanity has no compassion for all life what hope
have we got to find deliverance?

The Christmas Present

I bought her silver filigree jewellery  
A modern design
It was expensive, but it was worth it
She wanted to see it before Christmas
I could see she didn't like it
I thought it was beautiful but had done
A fatal error it was for her
And not my taste in silver design
She changed it next day
For something she liked
It hurts me she did this, but what the hell
Next year I will buy her bijoutries
In a Chinese shop