An African Queen
Senegal what do I know of that country
But I have sailed past her coast, alas, she
Is married to Dakar nothing I can do.
She spoke French the tall lady and sounded
****, my language seems like a bulldozer
Flattening a Palestinian home so I smiled and
Said little dismayed over my lack of speech
When it imperative to make injustice heard.

Tall she was walked like a gazelle she worked
At a place where she didn't had to be up
At seven in the morning and anyway she was
Not from Senegal, it was Senegal I loved
My ship doesn't sail her way, but I whisper her
Name Senegal, Senegal into the African breeze

goalkeeper

The goalkeeper stands tall between goal posts that
some times seem far away, but he is the hero
the man they have to get past to score.
I was once a goalkeeper, they put me there mainly
because no one else wanted the job.
I will show them alone I decide whether to jump
left or right, today I will be successful, nimble and
elastic, stoic in the face of the horde.
The goalkeeper stands tall, yet feels small goalposts
are too far apart it is beginning to rain, and he wants
to go home,

The Beetles
I will now write a love poem and will include
heart, souls, roses and a box of chocolate with nuts inside
but a song by the Beetles keeps getting in the way
“Will you love me as before when I'm sixty-four?”
It was in Tokyo when heard the song I was visiting a girlfriend
who was a stewardess on a liner, the song said it all.
A few days later I met a cook smelling of ***** and underarm
sweat, he told me my girlfriend had a lover on the ship
a steward, I confronted the man we had a fight and I was thrown
ashore. She had stolen my heart, but I had the song;
so I will not write this love story after all,
perhaps tell you a story of Frieda, who collected monkey poo,
kept them in glass bottles and inhaled the scent
but she produced wonderful paintings.

Security Guard
I failed to get a licence to turn my snack-bar
into a wine-bar, at the time the later was unheard of
now they are everywhere; it appears I was
ahead of time, anyway, not cut out to stay all day
selling burgers, hotdogs and sweet drinks sold it and
for a while, I could sleep till nine.
Snoozing does not pay for itself I had to find a job
night- work as a security guard at a building site.

I was reading poetry at the time and noticed bards
of yore came from wealthy families or had someone to
pay their bill for ****** favours, as I was not that way
inclined resigned my lousy paid job and went to sea
when my ship was in port, I found a godforsaken bar
continued to read, drink and dream

The waiter
The girl from yesterday came into my café
I served her slowly on my waiter's flat feet
She had coffee and a bun gave me ten pence
In tips ,she read a paper, smoked a cigarette
Then left without saying good-bye
And that was it let yesterday sleep waking
Up the past serves no one

A Question

Is Santa Claus
A *******
Surrounded by elves
No women
Work in Santa's
Factory
I find
His interests in children
Is suspect
Grooming them
To become gift giving
Adults
Keeping his business going

Naked Politicians
Once someone sent me a photo of a famous German politician
The photo was from a nudist beach and natural she was a sixteen-year-old girl
smiles shyly –with some reason- she never was a beauty but
All sixteen years old are gorgeous
For me, it made her more human and I have never seen the photo since
Wouldn't be great if we saw all politicians in the ****, say, Trump or India's
Morsi. The Israeli prime minister would cast a rotund figure without his corset
Erdogan and his wife holding hand only shielded by a newspaper
he has banned, Putin naked in his swimming pool perhaps he has a small ****
naked around a conference table somehow the impressive would became
less so and more human to bow to a woman who has forest of a ****** or
shake hand with a man with a dangling *****, my dear they would look so
vulnerable that a war would be impossible and we would giggle and they
would go home stat judo classes or take up jogging or spend time in the gym
they would never have time for war.

The Cross
It six o'clock Sunday early evening she is in
the church that looks Coptic, the sun lit up
the cross on the top and the roof looks rosé.
A Morocco radio station plays Arabic music
this is quite fitting now that they have been
targeted by a racist who has not read history,
but let us put that aside for now.

In many European countries, the leaders lament
but secretly wish they could do the same, life would
be so easier without this intrusive Islam.
We, onlookers, are guilty too we have not been able
to accept the Muslims on equal terms
The cross is now in darkness there is a murky side
to all religions they produce extremists

The Longest Day

It is Sunday I'm looking out of the window the road is grey as the sky,
so many empty houses, no longer do I hear voices a car stopping
female laughter and the slamming of a car door.
It is said ennui is when the brain is resting, and the Sunday is longer than other days.
I know of a man who built his house on an ancient grave- stones it was strange seeing
those names on the wall, mind he didn't live in the house but in the barn with a mule,
two a cow a dog and several cats.  
It was impossible to sleep in the house sighs, knocking sounds and
someone saying “ get me out of here it was all a mistake.”  I wonder if the man ever
got to sell his house.
From history, I know of a Viking chieftain got so bored on the day of rest
thinking of *** took out his knife and nailed his left hand to the dinner table,
one can say his brain was over relaxed, pulled out the knife and he denounced this
new faith called Christianity and went back believing in Thor and Odin and not
to forget Valhalla, a place free of monotony.

Colonisation of India

The ****** of the oriental princess happened
as the sun rose from the east.
A dagger, made of gold coins on her back as she slept
on a mattress made of hazy stars.
Her lips dripped ruby, collected by her father,
the potentate, who gave them to the queen of England,
she, in gratitude, gave him a Rolls Royce equipped with
a driver who could sing “Rule Britannia.”
Greed choked the potentate and from his blue lips.
Sapphire dripped.

Mermaid Fascination  

Put a seashell to your ear and hear
the storm that blew and the call from
the mermaid you met when wading
along the shores of Peru.

The tail thing is a myth because I met
her late in the evening in a pink room
perfumed to cover for the odour of
beery men, who live in dread of dentists.  

She was glad to see me and I seeing
her, although not at this place, yet she
took an hour off her busy schedule and
we made love without haste.

A Refugee
He had been given a lift by a Lithuanian truck driver
to a little town in inland Norway where the winter
starts in September and is cold and unforgiven as its
inhabitants. The truck driver had given him money
for coffee, and cigarettes.
Not dressed for winter this swarthy unshaven Levant
perhaps Iraq, a flotsam from a war caused by black
stuff that came up from the earth and cursed them.
He walked into the railway station had a coffee but sat
So long a guard came and told him to leave.

In the waiting room, he felt strange, sweated needed air
went outside to cool down and collapsed, pneumonia and
lack of nutrition an ambulance arrived people gathered
Around, ****** refugees get everything for free someone
in the crowd murmured.

The Tree of peace  


A very old olive tree, owned by a Palestinian,
so ancient that it might have given shade to
the carpenter Joseph when he was resting under
its shade a hot August lunch time and contemplating
his sons’ futures, was bulldozed this morning.

No big deal you may say, and I agreed with everything
must come to an end, even olive trees, only
the perennial was got rid of because the Israeli    
army’s snipers needed a clear view of the village
where people, who didn’t like their regime, live.

I, the Alpha Male
Since Trump
I’m an alpha male a
No longer pretend
To like feminine causes
Soap operas and
Side with female lead,
Poor woman her husband who
Drinks beer and comes
Home late
Demanding hot food
I will secretly
Admire him we are both
Alpha males
After lunch, she can do
The dishes
I will drive out late at night
Go to night clubs
Dance all night outside  
Inside is too expensive
She can do her shopping
Alone with my card
Not bother me with colours
And ****** shoes
And other trivial things
It is so liberating to be myself again

The Desire

When I'm hundred years old, I will
not wish for a ******, namely because
they have no experience just lie there
waiting to be penetrated
I will ask for the best ******* in town
One who knows all the tricks needed to
get a sleeping giant stand *****, march into
its last war after thirty years of slumber,
Let a geyser of pleasure, break lose and
flood life lived into a patina of love.
Then blissfully die in the tempting arms of
****** desire.

Dubai, the shiny city among dunes built by
                         migrant workers and their blood. Yes, this unparalleled luxury,
                        hotel staff smile like bright buttons, or else. Your discontent may cost them their job, suicide among migrant workers go unreported; so guests can sleep easily in gilded beds.
                       Dubai will sink in the sand when economic forces move elsewhere
                       and this hubris on the parched soil will be a historical interlude.
                      The wind in the night will murmur of untold suffering and
                       the soul of the dispossessed shall whisper words for no one’s ears
                      and shall be goats bleat before sacrificed on the altar of time
                     without end; for this is the universal law, those you enslaved will
                      arise and possess you.

Palestine children

You have killed our children
your bullets have pierced their heart of love
now only hatred remains.
You can plant you flags
talk falsely of peace you never wished for.
Our young will not forgive you,
you killed their caring hearts.

Bachelor Day
It was father’s day he got up early and
drank coffee near the phone just in case
his daughter rang.

Then it was afternoon and he must have
fallen asleep and he fretted if the phone
had rung and he hadn’t heard it.

He went into the kitchen but left the living
room door open, he had a ham sandwich
which he ate by the phone.

It was now evening and she was not ringing
how could she a product of his wishes,
childless man. she was a figment of your dreams.

Love is Odd.

She is in the kitchen cooking something for tomorrow
I do not criticise what she is doing
when I did she shouted like a tempest and silenced me.
we spoke and I promised not to make any comment on
her frequent use of the washing machine and I promised
when peeing in the night to keep the stream in the ***
which is not easy three in the morning?

My wife went to see a doctor today, and she has seen
many but I made no sarcastic remarks, she has exhausted
all the doctors in our town and the net widens.
Love you see it tolerate your partner's obsession and
dutifully listen to her symptoms. I do this without shouting
although a ****** helps

Confused loyalty


1940 German occupation
British planes
On the night sky
To find the U. boat base
They didn't
But dropped their bombs anyway
Puny bombs
Burning buildings
Dead civilians
I was sent to a farm
Near a German base
Soldiers became my friends
As the war ended
I was home again
In time to see
Women dragged out
Of their houses
Had their heads sheared
Confusion for a boy
The soldiers were my friends
But enemy of
The Country

The Games we play

This is not an English poem, the fear of showing
emotion, look at my stiff upper lip, wrapping
words of love in cotton wool. The truth is, my
Dear, I don't care for you, but my cowardice is
a deep river so profound I can't come and say:
I don't love you anymore.

Flowers sent, the ring I gave was out of pity
and guilt hoped you would sense the chill
behind the gift and frigidity of feeling.
Under a cloud of pusillanimity, we'll wed, live
near a hairdresser salon for you, and a park
bench of Autumnal leaves, for me.

Unbridgeable the distance between us, I will
go on dreaming, and you will scream at, my
passivity till there is no reason left,
the useless wind brings no seed to replant.
This is how it will end because I lack the gut
to say simply. “I don't love you anymore.”

Ploughing

The farmer has ploughed the land around the almond trees
the earth is rust red I took up a handful it was lumpy, full
of dead plants and still warm from the sun.
A breeze was blowing shaking dust of trees and upending
parasols in gardens of those who do not till this land, but
want to be a part of the rustic idyll, tend rose bushes with
gloved hands to avoid callouses on hands used to type on
a word processor, where they try and fail to share the peace
they have found among small farmers travail.

I have the camera with me, but use it not how does
one shoot a picture of the wind or branches of a tree
moving rhythmically as the second dancer at a Bolshoi
performance attended by the prime minister.
Think I will leave the wind to a painter friend of mine.

A Brother Never Met

I wish I could tell you a story of brotherhood
now that my siblings are dead, I was the youngest one
but knew I had a half- brother in Arizona
a product of my father who was quite active on
this field, the woman- his mother- conceived when my
mother was pregnant with me; I didn't know this
before I was in my forties. I contacted his half- brother
in Norway to get his address since he had been
adopted and had another surname, but he wouldn't
give me the address he had forgotten it I knew this was
not true but left if at that. To my surprise, my nephew told
me the half -brother had been on holiday at a village
where I go shopping and buy medicine.  I wish I could say
I bumped into him and a new brotherhood blossomed.
Alas, it is more likely he does not want to know about the past
and our parents’ transgression.

The Escape

When Rudolph the red nosed reindeer wanted to
Be normal and join the flock on earth, Santa got depressed
Sat by many of Finland’s lakes contemplating his life
He too was tired of flying through the air and gets a cold
He wanted sunlight and a sandy beach.
He got hold of a tame water buffalo and an unemployed
Drunk from Helsinki and for a while they got away with it
Till an elf with a grudge told a newspaper about it and children too
Had long wondered why Rudolph had two horn, not antler and why
Santa was late, swore and kept falling off his sledge.
Santa had to come back from Thailand and sort out this corruption
He told twitter he was sorry, but fired blabber mouthed elf.
He had to look for sober man to act as Santa and train a new reindeer,
Because Rudolph and had got the taste of the high life.

The Farming couple


The farmer and his wife
is harvesting almond
a net around the tree and
a long stick
she picks up the nuts and puts
them in a bag.
She is not wearing gloves and
her hands are that of
an old salt.
they  go home for lunch
home- made bread and cheese
she does the washing up
while he snooze a little  
in the autumnal sun.

DR. Congo
I saw the villa Joseph Kabila bought in Algarve it is to be a bolt hole
when he has to flee Congo, he has blood on his hands perhaps not
enough for Hague to bother about, like so many African presidents,
he has robbed his country to destitution.
Perhaps this echoing country, with forests is too big to be governed
especially since no money is spent on  new roads; Kinshasa its capital is
run mostly by mixed races, not even they can keep order and people
throw all their ******* in the street.
Joseph Kabila, Joseph's father, tried ordered a thousand wheelbarrows
gave a job to ditto street cleaners who sold their wheelbarrows and
consequently lost their jobs. But these setbacks are not the problem
Congo is too rich in minerals, oil and timber and the big international
businesses have descended upon the land corrupting all in its wake like
a locust plague they have failed to get rid of and they have no interest
in making Congo a nation which, it will be when it is a more modern.  
I looked inside the villa it had cavernous rooms gold and glitter quite
fitting for someone who doesn't know the value of anything but gems
and never mind the culture

Ghosts you see
It was dusk the sea-mist came rolling in
There was rain in the air
The familiar landscape looked strange
As belonging to the world that had no
Night or the light of day
This was the time of the ghosts those
In Twilight who could not feel hot or cold
They are waiting for a sign a friendly gesture
To be recognised not as fantastic but
A real person just a smile and they would
Melt into the world of abstraction and
Become the air we breathe the scent of  
Flowers and last year's spring
Leaves on trees, fruit in a basket or soil
Dark brown earth from where cabbage grows
And lambs jumping of joy among olive trees
You see them along the roadside not clearly
They are shy all you have to do is to smile
And the spring will be bountiful

The elderly
So we are elderly my wife and , but not helpless
she is good at running shops and I could do any job
like swiping the floor in a bar and washing glasses.
Our joint pension is small we never reached
the elevated rank of executives., yet we worked and
were told we were good people for the state.
We are often rejected because the we are too  old.
We do not ask for much just a bit of dignity we can
be of help more years, but lately we have the feeling
of being surplus, the sooner we are dead the better.
We were not blessed by children can’t rest on laurel.
Just give us a job and the feeling of being needed-

Such a disaster
Waking up in the morning
Shamelessly white

Haiku
Self- tanning cream
The pride of looking sporty
The mirror pulls face

Haiku
Deep philosophy
The poet is in deep water
Saved by low tide

Haiku
One types of success
When your work brings happiness
And not endless doubt  

Haiku
The loser a man
Who knows he's incompetent  
Yet accuse others

The news I read
Been the same for fifty years
War and film stars

War & Peace

After the war in Norway and the German army left, income
and employment they had brought such as building
roads and airports disappeared.
It was a time when my brother and I stole coal from the train
depot’s supply, potatoes and other root vegetable were    
and the fish in an unpolluted water was plentiful.

We were caught by the police they let me go because I looked
small and innocent. My brother was sent to a youth correction
centre for two years- it still makes me angry thinking of it-
peace had done us no favours.

My mother was doing two newspaper rounds my sister and I
helped her, the morning round was the worst, Norway is a
cold country it was me who found the dead man he had frozen
to death, drunk and falling asleep in a snow drift.

I’m sitting here as an elderly man remembering the old days
and “not good old days” we had each other and family love.
I sit here ancient man with house, car and a modest success,
oh, my why wouldn’t I give to feel the love again, but they
have gone now- all of them- and I’m the only link to our past.

Morning in wonderland

I sat on the steps in the yard drinking a morning beer
the dog was dead at my feet as I
reflected on the ruin that was my life.
A single raindrop fell on my lips it tasted salty,
perhaps a message from the sea.
High above among clouds a plane carrying 210 tourists
winged it's way home.
The dog stirred and yawned I wondered if the salt drop
was from someone peeing up there.

4 Haiku for the spirit

To fly far away
Let clouds absorb unhappiness
Tears a summer lake

Haiku
Melancholy
Unburden my heart of grief
Leave as morning fog

Haiku
As an eagle soar
Weightless for a second
As an oak leaf falls

Haiku
The burden of mist
Obscuring dawn's brilliance
Silent is the house

Yule Tide

The pig
In the pen
Is being slaughtered
To day
Christmas starts
With a killing
Some get
Pork roast
Others get trotters
In the yard
My neighbour
Is hosing away
The blood
His sacrificial
Duty done
And I got a shoulder ham

Going home.  

On the plain of Alentejo
sacred green grass ornamented with white flowers.
Rolling landscape and big farms
grazing cattle,
sheep in the shade of umbrella trees.
Rolling landscape I would love to be a stallion here.
Alas, I see few horses and no mares,
but many four- wheeled motorbikes
disturbing the peace.
Cows, sheep and big balled bulls
milk and meat,
time to stop for lunch.

The malady

Knocks on my door
             The hall is empty and bleak
Dark doors keeping secrets
            I tape a spoon against a wine glass
Its plinks sings from room to room
           Looks for and outlet
           Settles like dust on book shelf
As residues of unspoken words
            I hear children in the street jubilant voices
Pain subsides
Get out of my chair slowly, a battle won

A Winter's Tale

It was clearing up in the afternoon
fingers of sunlight lit up the olive grove
a slight mist and a bizarre story
I saw him the old man dressed
in a soil dark suit, with a jute sack over his shoulder
picking up lost souls.
This time, of the year there is many.
The clouds in the sky have many hues some are black
others rosy
and ephemeral shifting colours with the light,
pushed by the wind
Church bell tolls before noon.
This miasma of ages,
stubbing a toe on the exposed root of an olive tree
when trying to follow the track of yesterday.
It has no future
What was it all for?
Is there a god?
The end is silence

The Industrialist


When the shipping tycoon
in my hometown, died they
dipped him (Best suit and shoes)
in liquid plastic and
when dry they put him on a towering plinth
so he could
watch over us for all time.
Birds took a great interest in
the statue and soon covered in green goo
it was high up in the air and difficult to clean
birds were declared illegal immigrants
and shot dead.

A night bird, (perhaps an owl),
pecked holes in the statue’s
shoes, the body inside, now slime,
ran down the plinth into
the drain and down a gutter,
the plastic casing imploded and
hung like a ****** in a window sill
of a house scandalized
by unproven rumours.
Since seedy facts about the tycoon’s
shady dealings and ****** custom
(*******) had since came to light –
as foam in a sewer-
no new statue was made.

Vacation

I have been invited to the golden coast of Spain
White beaches blue sea, cooling in the sun.

The Mediterranean postcard beauty, tempting
It is also full of thousands of dead bodies.

On days after storm, it is possible to walk on bodies
From Tripoli to Lampedusa and not getting wet.

The sea that crashes ashore on coastal Portugal
Is green, refreshing I will stick to the Atlantic sea.

filial                                                      



The daughter of the dead police officer was polishing his riding boots.
  They were so shining he could use them as mirror which used to do and slapping
  her if the boots were shining enough, he needed glasses but refused to wear them.
Now in his coffin knocked by a car she had to put them on his cold feet.
She was feeling sad but also, she was ashamed of her own thoughts, quietly relieved.
Free now to go out and be a lap-dancer, if she so wanted; heaven forbid,
tomorrow she will dress in black and then she would be free of his tyranny.

Spooked
Driving along on my scooter seeing the familiar
landscape there was a time disturbance
the landscape was the same but the trees small
and there were fewer ploughed fields.
mystical shadows and a murmur of voices sounded
as an echo and I felt spooked.

I stopped and waited perhaps I had a funny turn
slowly the warp panned out and I was back at
my own time, yet I sensed an unease I should not
come back to this place that had layers of old time
that had yet to melt into the clarity of a white water
that has no story to tell.

Gondwana
I woke up it was morning and a year had gone
My future was behind me I only had to live for the day
And not bother with philosophical questions but
Set the day free to wander, see where it will take me.
I hope it is not Madagascar this island of muddy shores
Steamy heat, odd animals with big empty eyes
A variety of snakes and dusty roads leading nowhere

This Island was once a part of a supercontinent but it
Moved out of time Madagascar is a reminder of not to
Worry about now whatever happens it will move out
The world is a stage where most of us a statists but has
No say about the script; time takes care of that.

Shipping as it was

He had many ships the old ship owner
He liked to visit his vessels eat the onboard cuisine
Talk to the crew he knew their names
Listened to them and their problems
****** stayed onboard long on his ship some
Tor years they knew nothing of life ashore
And when the ship was in harbour only ventured to
The nearest bar one can say they had become
Shipionalised  
He died the old man and the expert shipping people
Took charge, reduced the crew number no benefits
Finally hired crew from Asia and flagging out to
Avoid paying taxes.
Shipping as we knew it had come to an end, sad
But nothing lasts forever but it galls me to think
Fifty thousand seafarers lost their job and
It didn't make a headline in any newspaper

Confession
The tall tree looked as it was burdened
with a secret, I walked under the tree looked
up and saw ten thousand black, shining crows.
When I took the camera out of   my pocket
to take a picture they flew up.
On the blue, early sky looked as a black cloud
going east getting bigger and menacing.
A tried to take a photo of the cloud but the sun
was in my eyes. A ripple of a shudder across
the landscape, but the tree looked free as one
coming out of a confession cubicle.

What a Story did

Sometimes or often enough to become a norm
we are a product of stories told in the environment
we live in as children of north/westerly wind,
residing in a pitiable home with tempest and storm.
I, when our teacher read stories from the bible-soaked
it all up I could see the stable, straws and donkeys
I grew up left home and forgot about childish things
but, hold on, I live in a converted stable
in a landscape of olive trees some as old as the Bible
(Which one) do shut up let me continue, and when
it rains my home have the aroma of mules and dry hay.  
I live frugally, but have two suits and want to give one
to someone needy, the best suit is for my funeral I like
to look like the executive, I never was.

Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food

Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized

Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow

Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying

Taser rowdy whites
On uncontrollable blacks
A gun is handy

Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins

Flight of Rococo
The marina was quiet this Sunday afternoon
The horde had gone back to their offices and factories
The pensioners who take vacation in September
And October walks slowly about and eat well they are
Not going dancing, the women will be tiddly and feel
As they did forty years ago, perhaps tonight the hubby
Will be frisky, but having drunk wine he will fall asleep
She has been going in and out of shops I'm outside
Pretending to be elsewhere I think of Goya's women.
Ah, this slimming craze why do so many women think
It is **** to look like freed concentration camp victims
She is tired now sits on a bench I walk around and look
At boats, I could never afford, except for a few ocean
Ship made of wood polished by rough hands by men who
Are not politically correct calling the ship a she that have
Or possess what men like about women

Weekends


In the afternoon sun
the asphalt road shines like an ice rink;
flanked by green trees that
cast black shadows,
helped by the breeze
they flutter slightly,
soundless articulation a symphony for the deaf
My memory brings me
the aroma of curried
chicken and rice,
but since it is Friday, it will
be smoked haddock, boiled potatoes and
stewed carrots  

Still a twenty minutes drive,
before getting home,
shadows merge with the evening and
the ice rink is a memory

The Beast of Burden

These last words of this collection
Is salutation to mules, donkeys and horses?
They have disappeared from city life, yet without them
No city would have been built
From the landscape to they have gone without a lament
Without them, no field would have been ploughed
We owe them our way of life.
They were sacrificed in our senseless wars.
We remember them not and that sadness me
There is a hole, in landscape a white dot beside an oak
Where the mare of many foals stood
I miss the sturdy beauty of donkeys and mules,
And the aroma of their work is gone, and we are poorer
For the vision, we shall not see again

Summer Remembered.
It is odd in a country where winter last 8 months is it spring and summer
we remember and there were not too many of the good days either.
We took a ferry boat to a small Island for bathing now it is connected to
a bridge and parking spots take up the most land. Mother liked to go
there on Sundays she enjoyed the water, she swam like a seal and floated
like a wine cork thrown from a yacht, I was waddling in shallow water
collecting shiny objects that had the ability to lose its gloss when we came
home. My mother divorced at the time her lover was the ferryboat skipper
I think he wore uniform, it is jeans now for everyone and anyway with
a bridge who needs a boat, but they did go on camping holiday together and
I looked after myself. Mother loved him and he wanted to marry her but didn’t
want me it was silly of him to ask a mother will always choose her children.
Anyway it was winter approaching and Norway sleeps like the brown bear for
eight months if not going to boring places like Ibiza back then.

Blame it on Israel

This day had no laughter and no wisdom of an old man at my age
I ought to tell people what to do give advice in my rocking- chair
Instead, I'm in a revolt of fifteen years old wanting peace blaming
the old generation I'm should smile telling them to be patient
when I have waited for the freedom of the Palestine people for
50 years and Israel is not the nation to blame for this
Like the death of a child should not be of importance yes dear,
so many children die this one was rescued in a ruin the child was
blinded blood pouring from his mouth
Can I as an old man in a rocking chair defend this action?
So many civilians killed in the Middle East the Arab world is at war
with itself hating each other for not belonging to the right religious
group and to think Islam is the faith of the peaceful but the reality is
different what we witness is Arab greed it is all about  money,
empathy was not especially an Arabic notion this idea of sticking
together pulling  the wagon out of the oily slime seems to be alien to them let us made this clear Palestine would have been a sovereign nation if the Arabic world had wanted them to have independence