The oncoming


So also, is the thinking of the enemy.
Millions of people will be killed and nature already
Devasted will collapse too.
It appears to me that the coming tragedy is ordained
That unknown forces will make it this way, it is uncanny
That we blithely walk around with no care in the world
As the Damocles sword has loosened from it ropes, and
Is about to fall.
What is left is scorched earth circling around the sun
The seasons will come and go in in silence and we shall
Not hear the joyous laughter of the young.

Virtue

I wish
I could write
A love song
From the heart
About a mountain stream,
Were cynicism
Dare not enter
Not intrude
As sarcasm
Is banned
Sorry to say
Cannot have lived
That long
I know when hearts
Cries
For the loss
Of innocence

The huddled masses

They came here
from war and starvation
to seek
freedom from religion
and  ethnic
disharmony.
But some came
to sow
disharmony
turn time back
to the
time of war
******
and
no freedom of speech

The Burial
Two days old she was attending
her mother's funeral
pictures were taken when
she sees them she will be proud and sad
she will be proud and sad
I did not attend my mother's
she died  a day before Christmas
hurriedly buried the diggers
wanted the day off
when I got the on a plane
it was too late I didn't leave
A small woman
Her bones must be tiny
Her skull big and empty
it has nothing to tell
So long ago
The woman I remember
has been reinvented
so many times
she was pygmy gave
me to a Swedish missionary  
who soaked me in bleach for
a week I'm so white need
no flashlight
I cannot remember the real one
But she is in here somewhere.

Death before the NEW YEAR

For a week I heard music from his house, it went on day and night, but not loud enough to annoy anyone. Last time I saw him, he looked ravaged by
his drug addiction remembered him as a young man,
I knew he was gay which is a no; in our little village, we all turned a blind eye.  
His addiction had made him ugly I thought of the painting in the attic
in the book Dorian Grey, by Oscar Wilde, it was shortly
before the New Year, he was found dead in a filthy little hotel.
At fifty-two he was too young to die, but his last twenty years
had been a struggle against ******, or some other drug,
perhaps it was for the best. That sentence was disgustingly trite,
what the hell do I know?

Short verse
They thought him asleep
Rose thorns’ cut his jugular vein
Beauty of crimson

Morning Walk.  

Seven in the morning I went on my walk wonderfully overcast
clouds were sable and a cooling wind blew perfect on a time
when it gets too hot in the day.
I stopped at times the old trees by the road looked dignified
leaves moved as saying hi.
Wished I could walk and walk to the bottom of the valley where
the stream is, but legs would not carry me so far, the acceptance
of old age come hard mind and body no longer sing in harmony.
It is so wonderful here in the empty lane dogs know my steps and
do not bark I’m surrounded by the natural beauty.

Me To!

The corniest
Less sincere slogan
Ever written
By fake Hollywood stars
Who has?
Been doing and will
Be doing
Anything
To become famous

Security guard

I was broke, no work for me at the shipping office,
got a job guarding tractors; sat in a hut that was cold and had no heating
and bad light. Well, this job was better than sitting at home
lamenting my unemployment, but my god was it boring.
Sat on a tractor pretending I was a farmer ploughing a potato field,
and that was tedious too. The uniform they had given me
was too small for my frame looked like a walking scarecrow.
At midnight another guard came to take over and I asked him
how he could survive the tedium. Me, he said I go to sleep
I have full time work during the day.
Next day I got a phone from the shipping office it had been
difficult they said I had a reputation for not playing ball
and being argumentative; took the job handed in my uniform.

An old dream surfaces

Today I have watered my wife's garden; this can be
misconstrued, well she actually has a small garden
at the side of the house, we have cleaner who comes in
once a week and she does the watering, but she is on
holiday. I'm not keen on flowers they are so useless
I like to plant cabbage and potatoes something practical and
filling, if I only had a patch of land and a donkey I could
sell leek asparagus and tomatoes on the farmers market
and I will be a friend of many, as it is I sit and write
Not the best thing to do and win friends

At the end of a fjord

The fjord was long and dark
on both sides, hard granite could not soak up the sun
it was like descending into hell.
But the fjord arm opened and at the bottom
could be seen a small village with red-painted houses,
the people here at been isolated from outside influence
for many years and everyone looked the same,
alas, some were giggling idiots.
I big piece of rock fell off the dark mountainside caused
a tsunami that washed the village away and there
were no survivors, except one who didn't have the brain
to tell what befell, at the time of the accident he
had been high up in the valley to get the cows home.
The village was moved higher up, and new people moved in,
today it has an airport and has joined modern life

Epigram
you can never be famous in your wife’s eyes
she has seen the pain hidden in your smile,
the bareness of your soul, she has seen your
discontent on days of yet another refusal.

The Old Couple
There is an unspoken acceptance you share a silence no need
to be entertaining and you are bore telling jokes told before
It is an easy quietness each one has their own interest
And to avoid problems a computer and two TV
I do this, and you do that, and I carefully avoid sarcasm
Which is arrogance badly concealed?
There is much to learn from Soap Operas such as Hair- styles
dresses are worn by slim actresses where a plot is easy to follow,
why complicated a play to be academic writers are showing off.
dense lines actors have to learn when it is about looking good
show love and rage in five minutes intervals
Always perfectly coiffured hair stays in place.
Our secret is she is not listening to me nor am I hearing her
this is what I call perfect harmony.
Yet both know there will only be one of them a new silence
that will be a burden on shoulders bent by age.

Metaphorically

I'm a working pony
ploughing the oft
turned over the soil of poetry.
On the race track
of pedigree mounts
                      chasing medals and
                      honours, the  pony looks
                      bewildered
                      but in the end
                      we are Equus Ferus
and domesticated.

Consensus

Democracy! I'm dipping my toes into the shark infested
the water of politics and have noticed that a large section of the British
the public who after years of grooming turned against EU planned
by the upper echelon of the society who never liked
having their power reduced, no longer the lord of their moth-eaten
Empire. Naturally, they have to follow the law of democracy and
try to leave and at the same time keeping the goodies.
Democracy can only function in a country that practice free press,
but in Britain's case its own by the wealthy whose opinions ae
getting their stuff into the paper, and deploy editors that only
tow the view of one kind when pretending to be open and just
when killing news worthy of attention calling it fake news.
We live in an authoritarian society that uses democracy as the cream to hide the rotten fruit within.

Reward
To live in the misery of the past unable to let go
of childhood’s unhappiness but let it fester and
grow till adult life becomes unbearable, demands
of recognitions and compensations, because their
suffering must be taken up polished and with time
a jewel to show the world. This you owe us and we
deserve what you give us, although it will never be
enough even when the gem drowns in blood by those
who got in the way of the righteous path.
Never forgive or forget, let hatred be your leading star.

Beware of slumber
I had taken my tablets and gone to sleep looked at the watch
it was ten o'clock I fell into a slumber that was not natural
like my organs were shutting down one by one
I willed myself to get up stood facing the bedroom wall stood
there until the pain in my legs was unbearable I must not sleep
if you do, you will not wake up again, but I sat down in
my office chair and stared at a drawing when I was young hold on
to this, you must not sleep, endless was the night but as nearly
fell into Morpheus's arms I looked up at the skylight saw the dawn
I had been saved by the day and death hastily retreated
The whispering voice enticing me to slumber had gone I could
now go to bed and sleep until nine o'clock
My wife stirred and said: you are late going to bed, her Holly
innocence is saintly; I listened to my breathing it was easy my
organs function again I had won a battle but knew I would
lose the war, but I will not go submissive into the long night

Racism 1952

A man had been working on a flat garage roof
jumped into the yard, not a long jump but
landed badly and hurt his ankle.
He picked up a plank and used it to get out
and to the bus stop.
The bus driver wouldn't let him on because
of the plank, and he lost his balance and fell,
People stepped over him, this black drunk.
The pavement was cobble ******, so he walked
to the hospital using the road, where he was hit
by a car, an ambulance arrived, the man had hurt
his ankle, but it was not broken, a plaster cast,
they gave him a crutch so he could get home.
The driver of the car which hit him,
picked up the plank it was just the size needed
repairing his house.
We have come to a long way racism is no longer
so ugly but skulk in corners and the judicial system.

Not Welcome
The sun is like a huge gas bottle exploding- it is an enormous bottle
- not a puny flask.
Strong as it is yet fragile it can shift, cool a little,
and the whole world will have Icelandic summers-
a sad affair- all year long and no hot springs like
the Icelanders, who are sons and daughters of Irish
monks who came here to Christianise the island
which at the time was sparsely populated and - like
Japanese apes- mostly lived in or around hot pools
Today, winter tried a comeback pathetic show like
seeing an old man trying to lift a bag of cement on
his shoulder and fail, grey dust, laughter, scorn
and admonished by a foreman 40 years his junior;
and still two years before he could retire,
icy wind, a splatter of rain but, the clouds could not
make a steel band, cracked, and the sun smiled.
To make it worse the tuned into a mild zephyr, but
winter tried- nothing wrong with failing- lost
it – the sun- will be stronger and show no mercy.

The vision

The horses, mares and colts that drank cold water
in the shallow river crossing the grassland
looked up a massive plane its wingspan
darkens the valley.
The horses gallop till they are tired and the plane has left
the horses, at ease, can graze again.
The far mountain is like a Canadian blue mountain song
is hazy and shivers like a broken vocal cord.
A lotus swarm of helicopters fill the sky and scared
horses are galloping, again and again, the sky darkens.
Then on the far mountain, a new sun appears it shines
bright for a while, then dies like a comet.
A storm blows, the grass withers and the river are dry.
Dead horses, but the blue mountain is a diamond

Coffee unsweetened

It is morning; the old man drinks coffee
while thinking about a dream he had in the night,
the dream, since didn't write it down is hazy
and soon it will be forgotten; the old man does
not write superficial love stories anymore.

The metaphysical, the abstraction of love that
transcend the physical aspect, has a god-like
quality in its understanding of the world as it
is, and it means acceptance of others opinion
even when it is a moth holed and trite one.

The old man knows he is a micro cosmos of
the world he lives in, this makes him shudder
because he given the right circumstances could
have been the incarnation of evil, but as it is,
his love of the living saved him from evil deeds.

*** plants
I have no picked flowers in my home
If I see a beautiful flower by the wayside
I stop and admire it, perhaps touch it slightly.
In my house, are there many *** plants I water them regularly
Some thrive with much sunlight in the window sill
Others like the shady interior.
If you hand me bouquet of roses, I can't think of why,
You are handing me impending death.

The action is downtown going quickly there
are girls dancing on a pool symbolism not needed
this constant friction any ***** hair left
it doesn't matter it is in garish colours and
music that arrests free thinking and lap dancing are for losers
the only time the get an intimation of ***
and going home and pocket ******* and feeling quailed
drying your shoes on the mat, your mother saying there
are sandwiches in the fridge
not let her know you had dancing girls sat on your lap.

The army intruder

I live near a stream that has been running dry for years
into a winter lake that has been drained to a helicopter pad
trees around wear dusty uniforms.
There is edginess in Europe after many years of peace
the warrior monster is waking up.
The monster is ****** erratic and can strike at any time
asks for more weapons.
We think we know who the enemy is, as usual, but we are wrong
as we listen to the voice of antagonism.
A new page of history is written; we must make a choice
Not wait till millions of people are killed, the last bomb dropped
when a poet writes about the war, be “the guardian famous.”
The new peace will only last so long because the human mindset
is set on war; this is our tragedy.
The voice for peace is as puny as children cry in the symphony
of the battlefield.

Alone it dreams
The inner bay where the water is shallow
I rolled up my trousers leg and waded out to see
the small polished stones
With sunlight and the clear sea the stones had
the appearance of diamonds to **** for.
I took up a few but in my hands, they quickly lost their
lustre; threw them back, my feet was cold it was not
yet summer when the inner bay would be full of bathers
who wished the beach was sandy.

The ocean of dreams
  
The old man was still in his bed; someone said, is he dead?
No, not yet he says I dream of seagulls flying over the ocean.
Once I was a dolphin, my sons and daughters live there,
Now they are in the bay of Cascais, waving for me to join them.
They need a father figure.
Years ago, he swam ashore, and kind people gave him a suit.
Now he walks like Hercules Poirot, small careful steps.
He dreams of the vast ocean he knew so well, swam alongside cargo ships.
It was a fun time but not a place to write poetry.
My dear children, he says, I will join you later when I write the poem.
Of everlasting love.
Is he dead?  Someone whisper, no, he is only dreaming of the sea.
He knew so well.

Laughter

They were young at the stage when old people
But not your granny look funny, those young faces looking
Or perhaps not into the future without any trepidation
I enjoyed their laughter even if it was directed at me with
Hair was sticking out of my baseball cap; they looked edible.
I knew with resigned sadness when they came to age I would
Be no more and they would stop laughing and face
A future of devastation, need and hunger and many of them
Perhaps most die of wars no of their making but of what
Political leaders decide today
Despite this foreknowledge, I would like to be there
And laugh with the survivors.

Retaliation  

The mate went ashore an afternoon,
                                  For the purpose to go to the bar
                                  and steal the cook’s girlfriend;
                                 the cook had to work till eight
and when he finally came to the bar his girlfriend
had gone with the mate to a hotel.
How they mocked him next day, but the cook smiled
showing even, wolfish teeth not his natural once mind,
                                 but nevertheless very white. It should
                               have worried the crew, it’s no good to
                               tease a man who can spit into their soup.

The Piano

He let his fingers glide
Softly on the keyboard which responded
With a sensual murmur
The piano bar was not open yet.
When he hit the c-string to hard she mildly
Protested, he had been too eager.
Together they played faster and faster
Till crescendo of love-music filled the room
Silence!
The bar was opening and they had to play
The public wanted to dance to.
Tomorrow he would arrive early and together
Play songs of love

The Savannah
The wildebeests have been crossing the same stretch
of the river for years going back into a foggy history and lack
of interest. At the river, some are eaten by crocodiles  
and on the other side by lions. Meat on hoof and
a calf cannot find its mother, Gnus don’t do friendly and
there never is a sympathetic aunt. It must find its mother
now, because it has been earmarked as a possible meal,
easy to catch, no bother.

Did that calf survive? I don’t know history does not concern
itself with trivialities and as for its mother her memory is
short. A dumb beast, yet there are more wildebeests in
Africa now than twenty years ago which means fewer lions
and more crocodile handbags than before, which means
the calf probably survived

Death of a young man

There is a schooner in the bay flags on half mast
a crew member had fallen from the top of the mast
and since the ship had no freezer he had been
buried at sea. This reminded me of the deckhand
on a boat, I was on he fell down and empty hold
got up insisted he was ok, but the captain called
an ambulance and two hours later he was dead,
At eighteen his passing was senseless. I hoped
his mother had more children to console her which
she wouldn't have had had she been caught up
In the abortion debate believing it was ok only
having one child. Abortion is the quickest way to
depopulate a country; the Israeli knows this and
give black Jews a pill so they can abort, they want
European Jews of the type who becomes good
soldiers and belief in their supremacy.

Dance Nocturne


August night, is an abyss hotter than the day
and the wind the blows was born in hell.
From open windows in their dark interior
the primal scream of *******,
wriggling bodies trying to produce a child
that like them soon will die, but first, it must
go to through the ritual called love, which is but a primitive
urge to copulate the planting of seed before sinking
underground spent and forgotten in the mass graves
of boredom, decorated with flowers
that radiates death to come.
The Tasmanian tiger howls to the moon and
forever vanishes into an ancient forest, while werewolves
sway to a Mexican dirge.

At the end of rural Idyll  

                         It has been a long day
lugging water, gas and fire-wood
up to the cabin
I hope it is the last time having to do this.
We are moving into a roomy flat in Cascais
it has a panoramic view over the bay, the sea
yes, it was my first love even though I'm loath
to admit it, but I will miss the trees and
the greenery of the woods, but what the hell
my almond tree will look after itself.
There is a lunch café on the first floor they also
bring food up if I feel tired of being polite.
What I will see now is the shifting stir of the ocean
and much time will be spent watching the bygone.
I know I will cry when leaving I was content here
although the local doctor from Moldavia thinks I behave
drunken Yeltsin, she has a good heart, wishes I could say
the same about her receptionist, we had an argument
and now I have to go to a private doctor for my medicine.
I have an old seagull on the roof can't leave it alone to catch
it will be painful it will bite me, but when it sees the ocean,
it will be grateful to me.

Bianca Jagger

Now there you have a woman with integrity
she had her youth was a film actor and lived a festive life
married Mike Jagger, he must have bored her stiff
And naturally, it ended in divorce.
The divorce settlement gave her the freedom to be herself
and she has been a tireless advocate for the oppressed.
Right now she is fighting to have president Ortega removed
and I hope she will succeed.
She has also defended the plight of the Palestinians plight
this caused an uproar from the Zionist which called her anti-Semitist
So lately she has concentrated on other causes.
She is a great advocate against injustice and fight for them always.

The resurrection

It was a shoe box, black on the outside and white inside,
I had a puppy dog, it was run over, and it was so very still.
Funeral in our neighbour's garden, we used the shoe box.
I told my audience how much I missed the dog, and how
funny it had been, sang religious songs and went home.
In the evening we hear a scraping at the kitchen door,
mother investigated, I was afraid of ghosts, in she came
with the puppy and there was a wonder in the air.
The puppy was spayed and lived to be eighteen years.

Biography

The wind blew hard last night
the bedroom window was open I was too lazy
to get up and close it.
I was thinking of writing my biography but found
my life was too tedious to write about it,
Anyway I have only come alive for the last thirty years
before that, I lived in a bubble of self-loathing,
Of course, I could have written about my many illnesses
but I dislike self-pity.
I used to be a seafarer and remember vaguely how bored
it made me after ten years; sea life is for losers.
I could have written about women there has been a few, but most of my affairs were insignificant, *** has no purpose if love is not involved.
I finally got up found a blanket and slept till nine.
Self-biography is mostly self-serving, and we only remember
the right part and our pretension.

The bus driver and a rowing boat


I remember a song “A slow boat to China”
There was a man a bus driver who took his wife on holiday to Spain
where his wife ran away with a shepherd
The bus driver went home alone but had the house which exploded
(a gas leak) when he sat on the loo; he was unharmed but somewhat
embarrassed. When the insurance money, came he bought a rowing boat
which had a mast and he could set sail when the wind was right.
He landed in Falmouth before the winter storms.
When spring came he rowed and sailed to the island of Neves where
he met John Cleeve, who wrote a funny article about the brave man
and suddenly the bus driver was famous.
The rich people in Neve gave him money which put in a bank
(there are so many banks) when he went to the bank to draw
out money for an ice-cream, he found he was a millionaire.
High finance is a mystery and something had gone wrong
not for him to ask questions, but he did transfer the money
to a Swiss bank and took the first plane back to Europe.
The bus driver is now a prosperous cattle farmer in Andalusia.

Story teller

Now as spring light fades into a softly
blue evening, I turn to you and ask?
If you can tell me more.

The river doesn't flow as rapid as before
the lake is still dry, no breeze blows
away dust of broken dreams.

If you can tell me more tell me now
Before light is a space and
The stillness has lost its echo

Alfred and the wilderness  

Alfred, who with the greatest of ease tells,
Me he is not my father and I went for a walk across chlorophyll filled field.
Alfred who is a musician and never ventures out in the landscape
saw some grazing sheep and wondered if they were dangerous,
no, I said they are sheep and born friendly
as God created them, to this Alfred called me a crypto-Christian.
A little Lamb came up to my father it was so sweet,
as only a lamb can be he lifted it up which the ewe disliked,
and it butted him in the rear.
Alfred was shocked, got up and demanded I bring him to safety
in the nearest town; never trust animals they are all out
to get us he said while limping to safer ground.

Brexit 2

They don't get it the politicians
why people voted to leave.
there is and rightly, so a deep
discontent among people, the see
their water, gas, train and bus prizes
privatised by pirates.
There is a revolt in the air, the Brits
are tired being led by the nose
by a capitalistic system that long ago
ceased to be a democratic, free vote is not
democracy and EU has nothing to offer
only more dictates.
The Brits know the future can be tough
(As tough as it is now,) but at least
It is their choice, and there be better
days to come when they throw the shackles
off, walk free towards a new down as equals.

The loss of innocence

At a school sports day, I was running sixty metres,
I wanted so very much to win, didn't quite make it,
but got a bronze medal, which I bore on my lapel
with unseemly pride.
When joining the merchant navy, I wore it too; no one
had a medal like this. In bars, girls asked why I wore it,
they were not used to meet a real hero; I could not tell
them the mundane truth, but spun a story.
Alas, women want what a man has got, falling for her
charms I parted with the medal, my downfall,
never saw the medal again.

What happens to rings?

Some of the are ****** made for decorations
Other rings are made off gold and diamonds
And have a serious implication.
I had a ring once but threw it away made
I feel hemmed in dislike the idea of
Belonging to someone, even in matters of love.
Still, rings keep circulating from finger
To finger, an endless dance of commitment
That didn’t stand the test of time.
The bond between us is our hearts unity
Which only death can erase.

Night in the village

                       The silence is dark and eerily quiet
every window is shuttered, and it is as I'm the only one living here
there is no sound of anyone has a TV low
I'm the single living being here.
I saw a bright light earlier I think a dark matter has vacuumed
them up, but somehow forgotten me it took my dog too
she was out and was caught by the subject.
I don't know what to do, call the police who will not believe me.
Come tomorrow they look the same but having
the mind of something horrendous with the mind-set of people  
from another planet, in the morning smile as trained to do but they
will walk in a mechanical way repeating the same word trained to be human,
I can do little only wait for dawn and make
my escape as I will not live amongst
people who **** at will when a strange signal from outer space
gives the orders to **** and there are no humans left.
Get him now before he tells what you are up to eradicating the humans until our robots
can take control and we will rule without people of free will be no more. God made an
error, and we have to rectify the idiotic belief that humans are unique beings.

The Master Sailor

Along the tourists jilted beach walked
saw a rope, thick as Popeye’s arms
sticking up from the sand.
I pulled and up came a schooner
with its crew onboard.

We set sail away from winter shores
it disappeared in a funky haze.
A dream had come true, a master
of my own vessel.
It didn't last someone
pulled the plug.

On meeting Socrates


It was the end of the day at the old folk’s home,
he had spent the last two years of his life indoors, in this room
he had refused to take his meal in the dining room
together with the old people, this was at first refused, but
after a few days and fearing for his safety, the relented and
served meals in his room, for which he had to pay extra.
Lately, he could feel life seeping out of him; he had taken
to his bed, no, he wasn't hungry but drank some tea.
He thought about his life and as usual, could not make up
his mind, had he tried too hard, or had he not been serious
enough was he just a gnat seeking the lamplight or a tiger
prowling the jungle of words, he giggled over the tiger thing.
His feet felt cold, thought of Socrates who had been forced
to drink Hemlock, he said the death started with his feet
crept upwards till it reached his heart and sudden as a gust
of wind blows out the flickering light of life, he died, and would
never know whether he had taken himself too seriously or not.

Crystal-like

It is sad to be a limpid snowflake
                                          look up and millions are falling down
and they are all around just like you.
                                          On the ground littered with snow,
Hard trampled cold snow
From solitary beautiful and crystalline
                                       to a minutia in a frozen landscape.
If lucky you can land on top of a wooden pool
                                        and hope the weather will hold.  
You will blow down from your perch, become one of them
                                       and later reduced to slush

Yesterday’s Time
The valley has been overcast for days
and in the night when we both are awake
tears fall as rain softly and sad.
It shouldn't be like this the sun should shine
and I should be glad to leave, the winter
was too hard it cannot be repeated, but who
remembers yesterday?
All those boxes filled with the past ready to
be sent by car to a place where people drive too fast.
And folks are busy to hurry on the day
that is longer now than before, ready meal no
time to cook anymore; is this my new life now?

They had been angels sitting on clouds for
ten thousand years playing the harp, but
since they were in a timeless environment
They didn't want knot, only filled with a sense of
ennui that came from sitting on a cloud void
of touch, and they also miss not being hungry
and thirsty, and feeling sad for throwing one out
off the cloud, he had no ear for music.

They objected to god who took off his mas showing
A face a hole so endlessly deep that if it was white,
told they were his illusion now they had to make a choice
either continue playing the golden harp or vanish into the big
white hole; they choose the instrument. God put his mask on,
and bitter silence wafted like an ill omen through the galaxy.

The movie Horse.

The mare in the yard is small, almost a pony, brown and white she used to be a fallen horse in western movies till she got arthritis in her hind legs,
lost her jobs no severance pay, the film industry is a tough place for
the less famous entertainers.
I bought her for a cowboy ballad I had written, but the song was never
performed since it was about llamas in Peru.
I had left her in the shady yard with a pail of water, and pile of straws.
The day had been hot she had slept standing up, shifting her weight from left to the right legs.
She was awake now could hear hooves scraping on concrete, neighed softly
calling my attention; took her to the far field,
where the grass is greenest, she galloped about a bit, then after rubbing her behind
against an olive tree settled down to do what
retired horse actors do, grazing and dreaming of the old days.

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.