Abortion

A pregnant woman can do as she likes, yes, I too believe
In a woman's right; but a pregnant woman has the responsibility
of a new life growing inside her and it is paramount that
the beginning of life has the right to be born.
It is often single, uneducated women who get into the predicament  
instead of making her into a killer, we should help to give her
economic help so she and her child can live with dignity.
Women who are busy breaking the glass ceiling when finding
themselves pregnant have an abortion as a matter of course, and
in the name of success commit ******.
I'm also against adoption it is a capitalist invention, take from the poor
and give it to the rich, and it is of no help, as the birth mother will regret it
and the child when an adult will ask, why did my mother give me away?

Writing a poem

You can read hundreds of books by famous writer
and learn of their stories how to write.
You can read other poets work and learn the craft
of poetry, there are so many styles, in the end
you can sit down and write a perfect poem and
it will be admired for its style and perfection,
yet by doing so, it is still not a proper poem
because the poet is hiding his emotion and honesty
in aptness that is a barrier to the truth
For without the integrity and passion the poem
will be a perfectly executed poem, it may win laurels
and win in a competition, but it is still words that
will remain so as a demonstration of the art of writing
but it will never be a poem.

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

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 Divine Victims

There have been so many battlefields mostly forgotten
there was Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan Libya, among the many
battles and millions of dead civilians some were children
Yemen is a graveyard for children killed by Saudi bombs
Yes, the same nation we do business with.
Myanmar, ethnic cleansing is working overtime, but it is
in the east and nothing to bother about.
We have in Europe a clear-cut war, Russian versus Ukraine
Russians are bad lowbrow people, Ukrainians upright
defending their homeland; nothing could be simpler, right?
Ukraine is the victim of Russian aggression
enough said. Stop thinking, take out your prejudices and call
anyone asking questions traitors, dismiss them with contempt
when the **** hit the fan stop looking surprised.

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.

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

Insubstantial

I opened, one early morning the window in the door,
and was met with a face that looked like a cloud; it
blew frost roses on the glass, they were so beautiful,
abstract, and oh, so fragile.
Years ago by the cloister's wall, I saw some miniature
looking roses, I replanted them in my garden, they
disappeared I thought they had died out, but this spring
they were by my wall nodding shyly in the breeze.
As the spring turned into summer, they had no shade
and disappeared like frost roses on the window glass;
and that is ok by me, cause I know they are there just
under the earth waiting for another spring.

Love, ***, and Religion

Why should I tell you this, again and again, this love story of despair?
Entwined, our bodies wrapped together as one, her sea green eyes exuding love and my innocence was total.
slowly shells fell from my eyes I had been sleeping in a bed
soiled by many men, in this warren of inequity.
I begged her to stop this behaviour, but she said she was a free spirit
and could do as she pleased, and I closed my eyes and waited till she
had time to see me, but was no good!
The thought of other men ******* in the bed of love was too,
much; threw up at my disgust, on this bed of dissipations.
Her pursuit of gratification was voracious, for many she was but a *****,
I loved because she once said she loved me.
She is old now her lovers gone, she sought refuge in an evangelical sect,
and once again I lost the woman I loved

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

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

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 Great Man

Harry Lesly Smith was born poor in a slum
he had no education but rose above because
he was of a sunny nature.
I read excerpts from his book (he wrote several)
and he expresses himself in a pure working class
vernacular way and since he was not a famous
literate one thinks his book sells modestly.
I too was born in the slum and Homes, finally
ending my boyhood at a farm for the rebellious.
By nature, I’m five minutes before midnight
and tend to see the darker colour of the time
we live in, these the last hours before the world
explode and hurtle through space.
I too have published several books of what I call
“alternative poetry” I can't even give my books
and have never sold a book through Amazon
or bookshops.
I liked Harry he represented the excellent human
and I will remember him well

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.

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,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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…

Unpainted Canvas

The insurance man was young and so closely shaved
it looked so naked, and I had to look away,
His face was  white like a blank canvas that had
still to be painted on by time.
When signing papers he had to use reading glasses
which made him look older.
He was incredibly kind I had an attack of lumbago
and he helped me up from my chair standing up
I'm pain-free, but I can't stay up all day.
Back to my old self I opened the door bid him well
and we parted as friends.

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.

This not a good day despite sunshine
he feels like a blob without muscle tones
dripping from the wall.
an unspeakable person he has become
to think he always wanted to be slim and elegant
in a tailor-made suit. His whole family are fat
it doesn't bother them swilling beer eating pork
sit there with ample bellies being satisfied,
it as they think it is a sign of prosperity and not
a mark of embarrassment.
Tomorrow he will go for a walk, stop eating
and force his physic into shape, but not today
there is a program on TV about slimming
he wants to see.

Fear of death
When old is waste
Of precious time

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

The day Charles's mask fell off.

Charles Rose, a predator? He looks so harmless
on the screen, a person of high intelligence talking to Psychiatrists
like he was one of them, and then he does THIS!”
Men are more predatory than women it is an instinct, look at
the lion, why it kills little lions, yeah that is what I mean it is stupid
But a lion wants all the lionesses, that's predatory.
Thanks to our rapacious predisposition we have gone from using
flint axe to nuclear weaponry; why are men so stupid?
If you think of Israel as a man and Palestine as his long-suffering wife,
you have got it right. Hear her demands to be treated as an equal.
Charles Rose walking naked to his shower in front of women, did he think?
His 75 years old body was ****? Charles, I used to watch your program twice a week when I see you now I can't stop giggling.

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.

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 Walker

He woke up when a nurse at the old folks home, kissed him,
because it was his eighties birthday, he knew this could
not be true he had slept for fifty years and now woken up
By a kiss. He looked in the mirror; the face was not young,
this was an illusion because they said he was old.
He set about capturing the lost years by walking across
Europe, from the south to the north, but to his surprise
when coming to a town people cheered him on and he
was famous as the man who was walking back in time.
When he reached the north of Sweden, he looked forty
he was treated as a sage; fans wanted to know his secret.
In a TV interview he said, “if you walk long enough, you'll
find the way home.” This was regarded as a truism, and
roads were clogged by elderly people trying to find their
youth or a time when they were happy.

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.

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?

Haiku
In the Middle East
Firecracker holds no allure
People want accord

Winter Sea.

The sea is calm, sullen and pale cuffing against
the hull of my ship lazy as oil;
woolly clouds are panic stricken
running southward as followed by a pack of wolves.
There is a surge as the gloomy
sea begins to heave, too late now to reach a safe
haven, a tranquil Nordic bay.

We can’t escape as billows do it is getting
darker the ship shakes as a drunk sobering up;
to get through coming days
I’ll to seek solace in dreams of forest and lakes,
glades and silvery
carpets of glowing butterflies.
As for the ship, she can pretend to be a swan.

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

The Colonel

It was early morning and cold
He looked towards the long landscape of sand
the rebels had won with the help of al-Qaida,
and NATO bombs.
Someone somewhere had condemned him to death.
As he prepared to leave the sun arose as did
French helicopters shooting the shreds his caravan
and he was left at the mercy of the terrorists

History lesson
All that means nothing is pearls on a neck one means nothing
but many of them tell a story of inequity the Palestinians have lost the propaganda war  
so what about it there will be a large Israel with two religions
Big deal history changes fortunes, and progress without our opinion.
Yet all this nothingness no one reads about is the unwritten history
as things are should the Palestine people by fortune and luck win the race for power
there will be useful idiots like me defending the right
of the Zionist to have their exclusive land, but not in our backyard.
We do not anything but will protest in the Guardian but do little about is as
we do nothing about the settlers on the west-Bank.
In the end, it means nothing as wars continue and people think
The god is on their side because some prophet said so.

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.

Legs

Marlon Dietrich – Blue Angle had shapely legs
She advertised long after she was sixty-five
Selling sleek socks and perfume.
Legs are smooth or rugged coastline in a fjord
Get narrow and narrower on the way to the port.
It can take days to unload and recharge,
or a hasty in and out like modern container ship.
Leaves the birthing unsatisfied and restless.
But on the other hand, ok, if it is business.

Winter poem

This is a cold day overcast there is snow in the air
dogs are curled up in barns too chilly to howl at strangers
and unusual scents or noise, stillness hangs
as a shabby grey carpet of cobwebs on a stage abandoned
whispers of humanity are dust on floor boards
shuttered windows, roads unused we shuffle indoor
from room to room draped in blankets caught in the grip
of winter the time when the old dies.

There is hope on elevated sites that catch the sun
the almond tree blossom the bride of spring tells us it
will be alright we must hold on a few weeks more and not
succumb and crumble as a leaf on the tree of life

The unreal versus the real

As a toddler, there was a war on, not that I noticed, there
Was a German camp nearby and I was their mascot let me sit
On cannons and their enormous horses, they also gave me
Chocolate and slices of bread with strawberry jam; so far my
War was idyllic.
Reality!
There were shots in the night, and the camp was lit up
Russian prisoners had tried to escape and sot for their attempt
On my walk I came across dead Russian, I knew they were gone
They had been my friends too, and snow was falling.
A big German took me in his arms and carried me home I Think
I had been crying; he told me it was a dream and to forget it.
Stillness, yes the stillness is what I remember no farmers were out
The land was empty.
I didn't visit my soldiers anymore preferred to play with the dogs in
The back yard I wanted to go home to my mum and just as peace broke out
I was sent home from the farm and witnessed the jubilation of
People who had been occupied for five years; and it was the beginning
Of cold winters and scarcity, they bore with forbearance.

The Nightmare

So warm this August
A child is drawn to the ornamental pool
A surface of lilies
A mother calls for her child
A face white as lilies floats in the light
A mother scream pierces hole in the day
A fraction of a second nature is silent

The Wasteland

Through Gobi
I walked
Alone
Dislike
Smelly camels
A pilgrimage
God and I
In this dramatic
Vastness
Journey no
Wasted
Came out of this
Enormous
Real estate
Knew a lot
About sand
In shoes.

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.

Candy bar

On a Friday I loved her
with all my heart, bought her
expensive chocolate.
During the weekend she grew
in my affection for her although,
I didn't see her.
On Monday, I fell out of love
she didn't look anywhere near
the way I thought she should.
Bloodshot eyes and her
teeth were green.
Her shiny hair was matted
and she reeked of an unmade bed
and filthy ***,
and to think I was not there.
I took revenge,
ate her chocolate.

The Multiracial

We are all mildly racists at heart; we unconsciously judge the world
and other people's value and beliefs as inferior to ours.
Where we were born and the culture we absorbed as superior to others.
No matter how liberal we are and no matter how good we think we are
it can't be erased by a multi-cultural
Agenda pushed our way. But we can learn to respect one another views even
if they are born out of ignorance as we think it is.
And the “Them” will think the same about us as ignorant of their values
and their superior culture.
When we fear immigrants, it is because we think the will watering down
our cherished culture and replace it with something inferior, we
don't see the beliefs they add are making us intellectually richer
and expand our understanding of the world.
Israel is a good example trying to make their land a race pure state,
we have been there before, and it ended in disaster.
For those who might be in doubt, it is also called ******.

The Failure
When I was bored with sea life
and walked ashore in Santiago
I could find no work except in house of ill repute
throwing out the rebellious and for some reason
became a father confessor to the women, not a good start
No one wanted a book- learned man who had read Nietzsche
so when the money was gone it was back to sea.
any ship would do as long as I was paid so I could leave and
try my luck. I got a job on a Liberia type ship that looks as
it was ready to sink – it did after I left- for some reason
the ship was going to Norway it is a mystery we got there.
After years of self-disgust, I had a heart attack and the state
gave me a sick benefit which was not enough to live on
in Norway so I want to Portugal and stayed, there deep in
the interior and spent my time walking or writing
alternative poetry with little success, which disappointed me
that not being knows, until I realized it didn't matter
I had found my Shangri La and that in the end is my goal in life.