A friendly Story
He the modest farmer was cutting green juicy spring grass
those that had spring flowers entwined it was for his donkey
that had been in the stable in the winter
He put the fodder in a jute sack and when it was full carried
it home to the donkey now in the yard
The animal ate and ate alas there can be too much of a good thing
its stomach full of gas it took flight over the mountain to Spain
where it landed outside the famous cathedral in Seville
Its arrival caused some uproar the believers looked up and said
but where is Jesus?” An *** and Jesus they had read their Bible.

For one day there was not a word about presidential election
In the USA, but a story of a beast that had eaten too much spring
grass and was full of gas but the story ended well the donkey was
sent back to the unassertive farmer in Portugal

The Fable of Jesus

Jesus was skeptical of his tribe, as a trainee carpenter
so lousy couldn't even make a bookshelf, they kidded him
for that and Jesus took umbrage and criticized
the priests who served the Romans.
He took to hanging out with a group of radicals of the day
and since he was good with words, became their leader.
They had groupies too, one of them was Magdalena and
Jesus took a shine to her without saying so, but them all
knew from the way he looked at her.
Being admired by his flock, Jesus thought he could take
on the establishment, like when he chased money lenders
out of the temple; he was wrong.
When the Romans mocked him and crowded him a king,
he thought the people would come to save him, no such
a thing happened, he was strung up (Crucified).
The women came to his rescue, healed his wounds and
sent him to France where he took the name of Pierre,
married Magdalena had seven children and was
a much-respected Goldsmith

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.

The Choice  


She was a lovely middle aged woman,
who mostly only shared her vanity with the mirror.
She is watching her weight
having the strange believe that a man does not like  
women of Ruben like dimension
nevertheless through her modest education she as
able to meet people of economic status as she had
the ability of sit on the greenest twig.
But she must pay the prize of living away from here nearest
In a town that makes her feel perturbed.

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.

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.

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.

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

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 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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Just writing

My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
Now I was dizzy the rook swayed.
I came here decades ago, and many pens have fallen to the floor
Although I use a word-processor.
Words are my crutches I lean heavily on them to find a meaning
And not knowing what that meaning is.
Just a vague feeling I lost something on my way to the stars.
I write at night now a steady hum tells me I have to make up
For wasted time, but my time of waste was a fun one
Full of women and sensuality

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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.

Not About Elephants
I will not mention elephant even though they are
majestic looking bend to the advice of the Mahout  
who whispers encouragement in its ear like a joker
at the royal court. Sometimes like kings they rebels
- off with their heads- thrashes about until calmed and
there is no reason other than feeling trapped I used to
see rabbits when on my motorbike  I saw tigers, boars
and lions too but I had to sell the bike and hate it when
someone says it was for the best. Well, it was not for me
and how the ****! Do they presume to know what I like?
or not, we were out having lunch I wanted a glass of wine
But you can only have one she helpfully said, I didn't have
any wine she is not my Mahout.  I will rebel trampling down
cars; tomorrow I will go out looking for rabbits

The lunch

It was a beautiful autumnal day
The colours after rain was green and auburn,
I stopped at an inn had beans with
onions and bits of pork.
Great food, but I should have known it is
a food one ought to eat at home.
Police patrol, an officer with shiny boots
that appeared to reach his elbows, opened
the door, then quickly closed it
wishing me a good journey.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

The full moon
Is not showing off it shines
For no one in particular
For you and me and caterpillars
Climbing a tree
The new moon is growing fast
A teenager on the make
But when it nearly full it loses
Interest in the near things
And just shines
As it is the only thing, it can do
Reflecting the sun
The moon is a secondary sun
Trying to warm the night
Nevertheless, lovers swoon
And the werewolf lurks in the bushes

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?

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

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 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

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

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.”

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.

The Sentiment

Saw her in a garden, in a street where nice people
live, playing with other dogs and rolling on soft,
grass. I called her name she came to the gate
wagging her little tail; thought she remembered
me, but I was only stranger who knew her name;

she ran back to frolic with the other dogs. I have
seen her since in other people lush estates and
on beaches afar when the sea is calm and ripples
gently rinse grey pebbles till they shine as pearls,
but I don’t call her name anymore

The lunch café
I'm not dying to die, but I like to weigh less
To be free of this old body this harness of humanity
It was not always so I was young once
And made a drama out of politics and ***
In a way, I simmered down when reaching middle-aged
Then a wanted a daughter by didn't find a woman
Suitable, they were ti stupid, and I wanted my child to
Be a genius be, say a brain surgeon at 15
I met a doctor once we had much to drink I nearly made it
but she woke up and refused.
Then suddenly I was old had no future no higher grade
from the old people's home nearby they came and bath me
change wet sheets, tough women and that is ok,
they give me lunch not what I like; politely I throw the food
into the loo and flush than I drive to my café
where they know what I like.
Big table cloth down to the floor if Flora slips under there
and give me a blow-job ten minutes before lunch
it will be a perfect day

Drones
The agreeable weather persists it worries me sitting in the yard
I was going to read the papers, but cramps in hands prevent me
so I study two flies circling they could be miniature
drones sent there to spy no, stop this persecution complex now
the political editor of the Guardian is not spying on you.
There so many drones now the grey cloud one sees are drones
flying in formation and the sun is a giant mirror.
There must be a regulation the government will demand to fly
wherever they want for security, a word loaded of falsehood
and lies what they don't want you to know is called security.
We the people may get a small drone that only flies 50 metres
over the house and not be weaponized “the right to have drones.”
Is not in the constitution
Do not make love to your wife on the patio or in your garden the eye
in the sky sees you and you will pay a hefty fine for lewd behaviour  
We will have to suffer drones
till some clever clogs find a way to shot down drones with a laser
rays or turn the drones, so it goes back to base and blows up
the hut where the controller sits pressing abort, abort to no awhile
desperately throw himself out of the window and run.
The two flies – drones- have disappeared, this makes me annoyed
so I'm not worth spying on , is that it!
On the roof, sits a seagull it is one legged used to be the king of
a cliff in the outer sea, it was dethroned and came here  to live
out its retirement on leftovers, at night it shrieks in despair

Tanka
He died alone
what an amazing expression
we all do
your friend lets go of your hand
alone you enter Hades

A dog’s day

It’s not that I’m lonely I like the beauty of the landscape
without having anyone to interrupt my thoughts, telling
me how nice it is.
My dog sees my mini-Savannah as enemy territory
barks and birds take flight leave her in the car with
open the window and try to take a few pictures.

We are going out for lunch, my wife and me, food
is not as great as nature, golden grain and green vines
it is about forks and knives looking decorous talking
about nothing and chewing in silence

The door to the yards is ajar so the dog can go into
the living room when we are out.
She pretends to be distraught it is an act, she knows
I will bring her leftovers; when we return, she great us
theatrically, I know she has slept on the sofa, drinking
water in the loo and barking at noises outside.

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?

A voyage to Greenland

Greenland is the largest island in the world, but it is not a continent
I looked up Nuuk the capital up on the YouTube; it is now a modern town
with supermarkets and even cafes.
I was there fifty years ago. Back then it was a rather primitive place
with a million barking dogs and drunk people on the dirt roads,
they used to hang dogs slowly so the hairs stood out and it was
exported as pelt one hopes this practice has been outlawed.
I remember the coastline it was bottle green and for once, still,
we went fishing in a clear stream so transparent and shallow
but when we waded over to the other side, it was so deep we could have drowned.
It was the coldest bath of my life.
Greenland was beautiful, but it was then not a place to remember with fondness,
except for the trout we caught.

The combat in Ukraine

I have a problem; we know that Ukraine is a corrupt country
we also know it has fought a low-level war against
the Russian-speaking people in the Donbas region, so Russia
intervened, so far so good, but what is the next step?
If Russia holds on to the territory gained without having
an army station in the freed territories on a permanent basis
because Ukraine will cry foul and attack when they can.
Russia has always been a magnet for intruders because
of its potential riches and vastness.
There was a time when Yeltsin and his cronies were popular
they grabbed the state's assets and sold them down the Volga.
This was abruptly stopped, to the chagrin of the west
once more; Russia was the enemy.
I’m not partial to the Russian government’s plan, but as I see it
Russia has to occupy the whole of Ukraine and install a regime
that is permanently neutral and let Ukraine be a member
of the Russian federation.
In any case, the war must stop as thousands of young soldiers
die for the wrong reasons and the civilians are bombed senseless.

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

A Reflective Moment
Now in my late seventies I have left behind me
any vestige of religious feelings, on the contrary
I think religion is bad for humanity.
Death is therefore not an enemy but an end of
conscious life. Then the process of degrading begins
and last till we are earth and the dust that settles
on books that never got read because the TV was
a bigger draw ones taste is decaying.

My lack of beliefs has freed me to sleep and not
worry whether I wake up or not I snooze like a baby
which has stopped crying and should the morning
arrive – I hope it will- and a new day begins, for
when you die the world dies too.

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

Continuity
Inside the greenhouse
I laid out dead roses
And the smell of spent
nature made it clear
no waste of tears
as the sun bore down
on sterile beds.
Only the beauty of dust
sparkling
in a shaft of light
danced a promise
of continuity.

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.