The fall of communism

When free of the burden of communism
and many states became a democracies
it was a great feeling no one telling people what to do.
This and a free press became a burden for the public
who seeking order turned to the right.
When Neo- fascists came to power people rejoiced,
at last, someone to give vent to their prejudices, say,
people seeking refuge from war and most of all
the ancient hatred of the Romany people was provided free
rein. Nothing new here people everywhere are
unpleasant hate what they do not understand,
from there to concentration camps, the road is short.

Alfred getting old

Alfred, the violinist had some setbacks
he fell in love with a woman of high culture and rich,
Alfred moved in with her as she also had a piano
which Alfred loved. He played Chopin and another semi
popular tunes, so engrossed he was that he didn't notice
she was tired of him and told him to leave.
It was shocking for poor Alfred who without arguments
left with his violin.
He used to have a small room at a rundown hotel, but
It was occupied by some other loser, so he slept on
Aa park bench, had a wash at a river nearby where he also
washed his clothes.
One night when he slept he was assaulted and his dear
The instrument was stolen now he had nothing.
Alfred was depressed, but not for long, a woman who, had
A café nearby gave him food and shelter in a shed she had
At the bottom of her garden, she also ironed his clothes.
The police who liked Alfred he was always polite, caught
The thieves and he was back in business.
He became a fixture of the town playing his music
at street corners and was much missed when he drowned
washing his feet in the town’s ornamental pool.

The Marine world
The fish world is like a horror movie
they can't sleep at night or play during the day
The small fish is hunted by bigger fish
that again is chased by sharks and dolphins.
The whale that is not a fish lives in relative safety
because of its size, but is hunted by with harpoons that tear into flesh colouring the sea, red.  
Many people are defending the whale, not so many
are concerned by the humble sardine, if you swim
in a school of sardines, they will do you nothing, the same
cannot be said if you meet octopuses with their
arms break your bones and swallow your whole.
I prefer to bath in a swimming pool where the bottom
is painted blue and it no deep than, say, four feet.

Caravaggio

  
A painting of Caravaggio has been hanging on a wall
in a modest house when it was discovered, it was painted by the greatest
Painter of all time.
I gladdened my heart. I´m a great admirer of this robustious man
A misfit that didn´t fit in the company of artists but walked his road.
No, I have no Caravaggio on my wall, only prints of his work
his original belongs to the millionaires and collector who byes the great man´s
art and hide it from view.
Art should be available for all he speaks to us working-class few other
painters ever did.
A museum is a suitable place for him, not rotting away
in the mad people´s world
who thinks art equal money?

Not what you see

It looked an idyllic scene
a farmer with a sweet, little red tractor
was ploughing a feel while his mule now unemployed
stood under a carob tree resting.
The tractor stopped no more fuel, the man went to
the nearest petrol station to buy some more, but a dreamer
walked past gave the tractor pink wings, saw it flew
towards the sun.
The farmer went to fetch the mule that was tired
standing under a tree looking picturesque.
The mule said, is what dreams are made of all
you need is imagination.

The road
It is a long highway
Trees on both sides.
I walk
No cars or busses my way
The road seems never-ending
Will I find
My approach to the little cottage
Also, happiness.
A vista opens
A warm summer day
With my tribe
We understood the unsaid.
They look at me
From a hazy distance
Moreover, ask
What took you so long.

A few words

Absence
Is not a peace
It is possibilities
Wasted


For the old
The stillness holds no peace
Only an echo of the undone


Peace is not an absence of war
Warfare is mechanical
A battle is the one we fight
With our demons.

Love's Agony

You are the long evenings, the deepest night.
Sweet dreams you are not, in your embrace I'm not reborn
the future is bleak.
I know well a night spent with you gives birth
to bitter regrets.

I promise not to seek you won't help,
I love you more than life itself.
The blue hour casts long shadow and I can't
resist its alluring echo.

Our lair is feathers of tenderness,
but thorns of demanding ferocity.

A pact we made in a church, which reeked
of bunt wicks, desiccated roses and the redolence of death.
The name of our love is…Agony, we can't
put stop clawing each other asunder

History of the people

At the Newmarket, it was the oldest one
in town,  the farmers came with horse and cart selling their produce
Their women folks sold thick long underwear,
handy in winters when the North-westerly blew.
Over the scene of banter and friendly business hung
the aroma of horse and the whiff of a wee dram.
The change to modern time came slowly at first some farmer
had bought trucks it was easier that way and warmer too.
Then one day there were no horses left exhaust fume and rain
time was going a little faster no time for a chat, and I was
fifteen and had other interests.
It was the work- horses that made the Newmarket more pretty.
Oddly enough the iron rings on the fence where horses
were *******, are still there… waiting
for the warm breath of a steed.

Donations
  
  Every week I'm asked for donations
  for worthy causes although my sympathy
  is for the reasons such as the plasticization
of the oceans, the vanishing bees and etc.
I find myself unable to send money firstly
because I have only a small pension if I could
I would have sent money to everyone.
My only offer is to write about the havoc
we are causing to our world, and I shudder
to think when our excreta becomes packed
in plastic and the fish drowning in our
pollution that so quickly can be stopped.

What will be will be

It was raining all day he sat morosely
on the balcony, today he sits on the terrace
and is still pessimistic despite sunny weather.
He wants to go back to his cottage in Algarve
to soak up the atmosphere of what once was
say hello to the trees, birds and bees and
things that annoyed him like dog crap outside
his front door and the holes in the road
lugging firewood, sleep under three duvet and
on top of two mattresses, he is not a princess
hear dogs barking in the night and feel safe.
Last time he was home had forgotten the keys
had to break a window inside the yard to get in,
despite this, he had slept well to the choir
of howling dogs, with a belly full of wine and bacalao.

People of Utopia

In the deepest less open forest of Congo
a tribe live in idyllic greenness the have cattle but rarely
eat meat their diet is plants, milk and blood from their animals.
They are naked, bath in a stream and walk with a natural charm.
Is this Paradise, the nearest they come to fighting
is jostling with long sticks and no one is hurt.
But wait, isn't there something wrong the absence
of middle-aged or old people?
The people die at forty, don't know why, the program
maker didn't mention it he just waxed lyrical
about a life without stress and overlooked the obvious.
Had the program maker hid the old away for an esthetical
reason? But it appears people die early in this Paradise
I will not join the tribe in Congo just yet.

Her old head
Upon a pillow lie
I held her hand
She withdrew her
Hand
Looked
Into a distant
Past
And said
I wish you were
Your brother

When words stop
  
Words, words sunken Japanese warships
in the bay of Palau where yellow jellyfish do not sting
and the US military plans to make a base on the moon
and bomb the world to smithereens
I'm watching too much TV and fed useless information
I don't need. Trying to make sense of this;
war is the loser nature is peace.
Until the war that is cyclical destroy everything this
is needed to win Concord.
In the meantime, economic wars are manufacturing useless
inventions and underpaid garment workers
cheap food and obese people. This lasts till a new hot
battle begins and those who want peace are traitors because
they know there are no winners it is an illusion we have not been able to understand, like religion and Santa Claus.
When the human voice disappears
when wolves no longer howl in the valley, then battered
Nature will slowly take over, and peace will reign.

The Whites

It is not easy to be white these days, the whites
get the blame for the demise of the Red- Indians,
by students who do not understand history.
When a mass of poor white came to America, it was a population shift
of great dimension, a tsunami over the prairie and
the local tribes who, in a way, were stateless suffered.
But the whites worked hard and made America great, with the help,
in the beginning, of black slaves who became disadvantaged
and have not been able to rise above it and develop.
The whites didn't invent slavery, Africa has always had slaves,
And here is slavery in many parts of the world that is not white.
The history of the whites is one of triumph, alas, also of
cruelty, but we must come to terms with our history it can't
be eradicated by attacking statues,

New Time

Temporal tears dripped off the wall clock onto the floor,
in a pool of time, I swam to the bottom to find the light where it began,
but I didn’t have the stamina or the will to find a new illusion.
When I surfaced, it was late afternoon, and soon the sinful sun will paint the sky pink; afar,
by the foot of the hazy mountain, a pair of leather clad cowhands gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.

When sleep kills


The devil sat on my chest trying to strangle me
I fought back to fall on the floor, and the devil let go
I had fallen into a deep sleep I knew was not natural and my struggle
to wake up from this sleep Apnea had been heroic,
there were claw marks on the wall, and my fingernail had broken
in my effort to break free from Morpheus deadly attack.
My wife had fled the thunderous drama and called for an ambulance
it was not needed I had won the struggle and could sleep lightly
until the morning with delicate hands moved the curtain.

An accidental old man

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out
walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.
The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept
sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.
He fell asleep and during the night water from
an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could
float holding onto a root, and when the water was
level with the ground he could get up and get out.
The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising
and the valley became a lake and his house, which
had been on the high ground a sought-after property,
and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany  
with brass handles.

Flying high

I fall through the air so dense can´t see a thing
opened up my big, black umbrella
descended in an orderly fashion.
A scythe of a moon gave enough light I could see the coastline
the dark menacing sea was waiting.
Landed on dry ground walked through a mono-cultural landscape
at the sound of endless Fado seeping up from the earth.
A maze of orange trees that bore a fruit no one bothered about
artificial juice can be bought anywhere.
From a hilltop, I could see my cottage noticed the yard light was still on
this hurt my frugal nature.
I heard the din of a desultory air-plane circling around
looking for a missing passenger.

The people prevails

This day dark clouds are hanging over us they didn't move
making the day into night. The old people say they have never
seen a day like this, as God Catholics make the sign of the cross.
The end is near. Women wear scarves tightly on their heads,
to protect their hair against the sun and the weather.
The Queen of England used to wear a scarf; she doesn't do that anymore.
Lest people think she is a Muslim.
The hate against all thing Islamic has not reached our village yet.
Jews and Arabs used to live in harmony in Spain, then came the Christian
horde and brought ****** and disharmony.
Who is going to rule?
For the people, this means little they till the soil and pray to God to tell
and pray to a god of their choice to lead them, which now is a God
of dubious morality, a pope and empty promises.
In the end, the clouds parted and the night was starlit.

The Enigma


Some children rescued from the hell in Syria
came to the west where the got a good education,
which made them realize their rescuers were
also, the enemy who had bombed and strafed
killing their relatives.
The rediscovered they were Arabs and the culture
of the west was contrary to the Koran, so they
thought of bringing the war to us with a vengeance.
What we have done to the Arab people, even giving
them the bleeding wound called Israel is not and can
not be forgotten; the decision made by the few to
wedge war in the Middle East is a price the man and
the woman in the street, are paying.

Haiku
The **** crows at four
I listen to its keen caw
Then sleep till eight

The farmer is up
Starts his infernal tractor
I smell diesel fume

At eleven o'clock
The fishmonger's white van tootles
Soon it will be lunch

Modern Transport

The new silk route is exciting
from Pekin to Paris takes a week on a train
fully laden with shoes, dresses, toys
and tightly packed wads of dollars for politicians
The travel is free but you must be prepared
to eat canned soup and Peking duck, for a week,
but you can take pride by doing
the passing of solid waste in 15 countries.

About me (isn't it all)

Old age is travel towards death, and I spend
the waiting time writing what I call alternative poetry
as I'm not fond of swanky poems full of adjectives.
I have published many books of poetry on the Amazon
and about 30 E-books each book is about thirty pages
consist of poetry and opinion and read by no one.
I have a catering education but what I know comes
from reading massive amounts of books and
newspapers, of a solitary figure, except my wife
have no friend (they are all dead) should she go
before my life would be no worth living.
Every morning I sit pedalling away on my stationary bike,
try to get in an hour, but it is like going nowhere fast.
I comment on what I read in the Guardian and on twitter,
like to read George Galloway's opinions, he is small
of stature, is a narcissist and should be careful not getting
to close to Russia, the bear has sharp claws.
I spend my time (if not wisely) by being active this because
boredom beckons when I have nothing to do.
In the evening I drink wine and fall asleep in front of the TV
I have always been a drinker, but dislike drunkenness.

The Pelt
Dressed in a fur coat of starving foxes
she made her great entrance at the supermarket.
The foxes tore themselves loose
and attacked the delicatessen that served
cooked chicken in black boxes a and cellophane,
but avoided the cheeses display.
They had been hungry so long and lost the fear of mankind,
attacked the guard who tried to stop them.
Only when sated they slinked away so rapidly I was
not sure if I had seen what I saw, but the lady
who had lost her coat was cold, and she cried.

Forget me not

Rebellious heart
Cast the spell of love
Flirtatious,
Like spring breeze
Lacks boundaries,
Meaningless!
No conclusion!
Shifting shadows
Only walked
By the unhappy

The Aliens have landed

This is the third day of the new, year and days are equally dark
and miserable as days before the fireworks and drunk people
filling streets with hoarse screams, scaring dogs and cats who
do not understand the collective madness that grips people by
celebrating peace with thunder.
Most of my friends are dead and yes, we danced around
the golden calf, we wanted it all, we got illnesses and old age.

The third day of the new, year and it is the same old ****, car bombs
exploding, a WikiLeaks no one reads as the truth is bothersome
enjoy yourself; our democratic system is going down the drain
and no one will look up and see when they are swamped by
an alien culture and the darkness.
We have been conquered by our lack of respect for our system
and not a rifle shot has been fired.
Kneel down you infidels; there is a minaret in every town.

Unlike love story

Sweet dawn you are not
in your embrace I'm not reborn.
A night with you gives birth to bitter regret.
A promise to not seek you out
will not help,
I love you more than life itself.
Nightfall brings long shadows
irresistible your allure,
Our lair is not feathering of tenderness
but thorns of demanding ferocity.
A pact we made in a church that reeked of burnt wicks.
desiccated roses and the redolence of death.
Our love is agony,
we can´t but clawing us asunder

January  Seaside

The yellow sanded beach has been washed
by the sea and is now free of human debris,  
such as forgotten sunglasses, suntan oil and
empty bottles of noxious soft drinks.

It is just there reborn, drying in the winter
sun, yet to be stepped on by man above,
large, sanitary seagulls crossly shrieks, warn
us not to trespass on their domain

Fear of death
When old is waste
Of precious time

Death of Arnold

My best friend Arnold died,
he was only nine and three quarters.
In a white casket laid and his hair
was combed for once.
His lips painted
(he should only have known)
Rouge on pale cheeks.

Arnold was going up to Jesus, that's
what the grownup said; he didn't
Look as he was going anywhere
I felt embarrassed the way they
had dolled him up.

Death is strange I knew it was Arnold,
but was aware he was an empty shell
mother hung the picture on the wall,
a reminder, she said.
When my brother died she took
the picture down.

Haiku

Beautiful horses
But it is the modest mule
That carries our load

Tidy office building
Busy and efficient place
Kept clean by janitors

Our great cities
Without armies of cleaners  
Uninhabitable

Galloping filly
Bets are on black beauty
The jenny won

Power play

I sometimes think people get what they deserve
****** was elected, Stalin too and Netanyahu is also elected,
but when the house falls it's easier to blame one person
calling him evil and thus avoid looking at ourselves
The majorities of the Israelites have a hardened attitude to
the Palestinians, it is as they look at them as vermin,
we have heard that before in another time here in Europe.
When the downtrodden take power they have much to revenge
Usually, it is the weakest that get a taste of their whip.

Mystery Tour

I hired a car wanted to drive to the countryside
where I spent part of my childhood.
By a farmhouse that looked familiar, I stopped
a dog came out of an up- ended barrel greeted me,
Is Jason coming home?
The farmer and his wife came out, he patted me
on my head, and his wife gave me a hug and said:
“a little boy once lived here.”

In the kitchen, they gave me two slices of loaf with
blueberry jam on, my favourite food as a child.
The couple had not aged in fifty years and their
eyes I was that little boy
I took my farewells and promised to visit soon.
A bus drove passed throwing up dust and when it settled the couple,
and the farm had disappeared into the mist of time.

The Emerald Isle

           Sailing into Cork, I saw the green hill and the sea were jade.
          Understood why Ireland is called the Emerald Island.
            On sheer slopes sheep grazed, chances I thought,
the slightest slip and they would fall into the verdant waters,
           why do not graze at the plateau, be happy with modest
           fodder if not as succulent as, grass, too Insafe to get at.
          And sheep that fall are caught by voracious vessels and turned into a stew.
         Cork was a pretty port it had no hasty feel back then,
         it became a busy place ignoring the hazardous slopes,
         holy is economic growth, lush living for everyone.

First of September

It is oppressively hot it as summer
refuses to leave the stage and is overacting badly,
to be a walk-on actor or a decoration in play
about summer, it is jarring.
We applaud, but we are tired of the monologue now
It is a time for the lesser actors

The new tyranny

             This dawn, after rain had trumpeted its force on the old roof tiles,
it ceased to a soft drizzle, yet I refused to get up before eight,
alas my Protestant work ethic and a full bladder forced me up
from a warm bed, so I made coffee.
I was thinking how the internet has restricted our freedom, secrets
are in public domain, this intrusive faceless monster wants to know
what we think, so the right product can be directed to our email.
Free speech is only possible for those who have nothing to say and
accept living in the land of the convention who accept trivial political lies
swallowed whole without an afterthought.

Doris Day.

I had something on my mind but Doris day
keep coming in making me hum one of her songs.
There was a foul *** ****** in Milan which
a man confessed to, but it was found guilty
she had precipitated in the deed and was jailed,
bet she didn’t bother to sing one of Doris Day's
songs. Four years later they found her innocent
and set her free she hastily went back to
the USA, which was a shrewd move to a new court case
found her guilty again and can't go back to Italy,
a shame really she after four years in prison spoke perfect Italian.
The latest I heard she was going to
Norway for her holiday, fishing for salmon I think.
I have studied her face, something about her eyes
tell me she is a psychopath, but what do I know?

2019

We got off the bump of New Year, 2018
is a submarine run aground on an island
in the Saragossa Sea.
Her sailors walk in ring drink whisky from
bottles that never empty and don't make
the drunk enough to dance a jig.
The sailors’ life is an odd one they see
life passes by but always from a distance
when they finally go ashore, it is the second
best offer the divorcees of availability.
Yesterday’s hamburger, stale ketchup and
rejected buns, they take what is accessible,
no other choice as the ship sails on and on…

The Lovers


On my walks in the interior of Algarve
I followed an overgrown track that once
had been a road for horse and carts.
At a clearing, I found a clumsily made shrine,
and on it with unsteady hands, was written
Pedro and Maria 1912.
I sensed an immense peace sitting here.
Love is enduring and everlasting.
Their tenderness is what I breathe
in the trees and plants.
Later on when I was lonely and sad
I went up there and warmed my soul
on their love.

The Flowers of Fall
On the road to Bolequeime on the way to
the German supermarket that sells proper Teutonic sausages
autumnal blossom flowers sit on white plastic chairs
high heels and shorts
Sometimes a car stops, no, not the man in a white van
usually, it is a big car with dark windows a business man on
The way to the office. A quick blow-jobs nothing much else
to do in a car and no need to undress.
The flowers have water which they drink from after a job
in this line of work, no one smells the roses
They used in the summer gone look exotic on the beach and
clubs but only pensioners are here now and they walk
slowly in the sand, so they trek inland like beautiful **** by
the roadside and the dust of passing cars.
The roses look nice in falls light if you remember what love is
you’ll not find it here by the verge they only sell despondency

Linkin is like the facebook
Only posher and middle-class
Here company directors,
Guitar players and teachers
Can write learned articles
Mainly about themselves
And what interests them.
Apart for being pretentious
It is free of baby pictures
Which is satisfying and keeps
Facebook users at bay.

The happening

On the balcony sat a raven it had yellow eyes
It crewed with delight.

Ill in bed the flue, a stream of transpiration
turned into a raging river.

Transported me to the sea which was cooling
and calm lowered the fever.

The raven had fallen to its death into the canyon
of high rise flats.

A man picked it up his dinner of the day saved
he wore a feather on his hat.

Artists

Alfred, by chosen father, vehemently denies
the paternity and has had his statue erected in Faro.
At last, he was honoured for being glorious
bringing colour to an otherwise gloomy town.

Graffiti made by the like of Banksy charms
the rest is scribbling on a wall.

I know little about painters except for Caravaggio
he spoke the unvarnished truth about our life.
His critics like to point out that he was illegal too
what else to expect of the fearful.

The disappearance

The Gulf of Mexico suddenly ran into the Atlantic
left oil rigs high and dry.
Naturally, the USA claimed the land which was disputed
by Mexico and Cuba and Belize.
What was left of the gulf had rivers and lakes
and as the land greened it turned out to be fertile and
the Amish people encouraged to farm the land which they
did with earnest enthusiasm.
Village sprang up, roads were built, and the famous
veterinarian Jan Pol opened up his practice as well.
As years went by, people forgot that they were farming
on what has been the bottom of a sea.
The sea had not forgotten.
Slowly seeping in and those who had built luxury houses
were the first to leave, but the fishery thrived and
the shrimp business had a revival.
There was a mass exodus, and the Amish people went
back farming the land they knew.
When the water had claimed, all of the gulf and people
forgetting. There was only Wikipedia left to give
a brief outline of the past.

Appointment

I have unfolded my poetic wings
they have no feathers and the downdrafts
makes it impossible to soar
Tomorrow the doctor will see me, I have to walk
on a treadmill, just like Oscar Wilde
he wrote a book about it, I’m more modest
perhaps I can get an alternative poem out of the test.
I fear my doctor he has got cold hand and looks at me with distaste.
What I fear the most is a petrified blaze that turns roses into
bright diamonds no one will ever see and that oil spill
will cover the oceans with a rainbow slush.
Can't tell my doctor this, he will only give me a pill for it.

The racial question

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

Dream night

My wine glass is full of moonlight,
drank and floated dreamily, on a carpet of night.

Couldn’t resist the moon’s pull, my home bathed
in a spectral light, both beautiful and mortal.

Flowers in the garden were deadly pale, olive trees wore
silver capes of unrelieved sorrow

This nocturnal landscape isn’t to my liking, put me down,
red, green and golden are my colours

But I did glimpse, behind the tall mountain, night’s ultimate
sacrifice, giving birth to dawn

A night for Romance

Wes at on an upturned boat of the type of “the old man and the sea.”
by Ernest Hemingway used, the night had all the ingredients needed
for romance, full moon and glittering stars on blue velvet.
She gave herself to me, how trite and old fashion this sentence sound
nevertheless, it was so, sixty years ago.
I gave her a cheap wristwatch bought in Genoa it was hopelessly slow.
I think it was in some small sea port in Guatemala or some other
the port on the coast of Latin America and the year was 1964.
Then the night paled I could see my ship it was ready to set sail
to some other destination. And so many years later her kisses
still lingers on my lips.

Ethnicity
                              When I came to England
I couldn't get a job opened a café instead
in a district called Wavertree, Liverpool
Someone said Jews live there I didn't see any
the people I befriended told me they were Jewish
that made no difference to me.
I never cared what ethnicity people, have never had.
But I'm highly critical of Israel which I regard as
racist country an apartheid state
that treat the Palestinians
the way the **** did to the Jews
and other minorities.
It is therefore offensive
to call the Jews an evil race
as they are victims
of the Zionists just like us.