We are Brothers

I'm like you
My flaws are human
My vanity too
I'm what life has taught me
So much so
I can dare to disagree
With you
Yet hold you dear
I do not hide my nature
The good the bad
And the ugly
I'm a human, not a robot
Was not made
To be a diplomat
Consequently, I have
Few friends
Those I have I treasure

Fire Storm
A sudden fire in the undergrowth
a flame that spread so quickly
swallowing up small hamlets and forests
in the middle of Portugal.
57 people burnt to cinders many in their cars
trying to run away from monster flames.
The heat so intense sun a ball of hatred
except for the tourists by the beach who promise to come back next year.
We can't argue with nature, and with bowed
heads fight the fire and accept its vile ways.
Not so in London a tower block housed by the poor
cost the life of 100 people, this was negligence
by the careless using flammable material
those responsible for this crime must stand trial  now
and not let their inequities  be burrowed in  
the commission that will be released sometimes in the future

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

Flag Days

In the village people are not keen of waving their
national flag about (Portuguese) it’s regarded as
rude boasting. An American, who once lived here,
hoisted the Stars & Stripes every morning and, at
times tied yellow ribbons on almond trees.

Politely we didn’t mention this banner madness it
was as it never happened ; then he suddenly died no
one took the flag down till it was in tatters and
blew off in a winter storm; as for yellow ribbons
the almond tree bears beautiful flowers in spring.

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.

Nature program
  I can't use the internet the line is broken
can use the word-processor though but on whole
I have to watch TV for news.
today I saw a nature program about spiders. The one
that impressed I was a spider that walked up
To the intended victim and told a series of jokes to
the intended victim rolled over laughing, it was
then my spider punched and injected venom in to
the laughter that kept giggling.
I take it the joking spider told the same jokes since
the audience died every time.

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 ******.

Lamb Stew

The ewe had
Two lambs
She rejected
The weak one
The shepherd,
Picked it up
It fell asleep
Cradled
In strong arms
He took it home
For his wife
To make a stew

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.

The phobia  

Went to the Carnival in Loule I'm sure it was nice
I felt like the branch of a tree hurtling down a river
Of humanity a maelstrom, a headless monster and
I was filled with panic; a scream was working its way
Up my throat, I found a breathing space by a doorway
As the float with lightly dress girls came there was
A surge towards the edge of the pavement a vacuum
I was able to run and found a dark side- road where
masked people with evil masks played with fire.
I found my way to a normal street I knew in a café had
A sandwich and drink water, I'm in a dry cycle seeing my
Doctor at the end of the month and if she asks If I drink,
I can honestly answer no.
This fear of throngs of people should not be taken lightly
But I was able to flee but also take a picture of the girls

The Vanished Aircraft
The plane that disappeared some years ago
with 290 passengers didn't fall into the sea
but landed at the back of the moon, where
The landscape was surprisingly lush if pale as
there are no red roses on the planet.
There was life on the planet, different in
shape and form and easy to tame and taste
like chicken, and disappeared as the Kiwi bird,
or almost as it was the plane's passengers
the only source of meat.
But there are plenty of edible fruits and vegetables
with no name yet; not to forget
a new religion that worships the earth and
Dali Lama since everyone knew about him others
as presidents remembered are archangels.
There was peace until politics entered and split
people into several camps, for now, they
have no weaponry, so fighting is like shadow
boxing in the pale blue light.

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.

Looking for Redemption


                      Great minds are at work to prove or disprove
the God's existent's we know this I a game the intellectuals play
because they cannot accept the plain reason,
the world exists because it is an illusion.
a conjuring trick, forgotten by its creator.
God is a perfect idea it resides in everyman’s mind
It asks an abstract good for life eternal,
an echo no God can answer

He was no Alfred

The war was over my father was coming home from the sea
he had chocolate bars, and inside one there was a picture of a film star
propaganda is not new- my picture was of Clark Able
I remember the bar of chocolate as being a bit stale, but sweet.
I was in bed at the time, was pale and thing suffering from tuberculosis
my old man looked aghast and said; is this son?
A furious argument erupted, my father had to leave, never saw him again
except on the bus going into town, he sat there crying
and I left to avoid the embarrassment.
But this was years before I met Alfred, who refuses to be my father.

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.

Stay at you lest

In the working class district where grew up
Stay with your lest
most boys began working in a factory when old enough
they married to a nice wife had a little flat and children.
they continued being solid workers till the reached
pension age got a watch and a picture in the local paper
dressed in ill-fitting suits looking solemn and proud.
They had done their life’s work and could now
sit in the park or feed the ducks and wait for dinner.
I didn't want this went to sea and later at catering academy
but I was a lousy ****** spent most of my time reading
and when I had reached the pinnacle of my profession was
utterly bored and rebellious I was not wanted and
took a job on a ship anywhere in the hope of finding what
I was unable to define. I tried writing, prefer the vignette style
used English or the Norwegian language, it was a slow going
liked to do what I did even though, I was rarely published.
I sit in a small cabin far from home and know I should have done
as the other boys become a reliable worker with a nice wife,
They found dignity in their place I should have done the same.

Chechnya

Retina less windows
Bodies, strewn in foul streets
A photo of Grozny

Summary executions
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe, who cares

Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

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.

A love story too  

We are making love
But in your eyes I see
You think of someone else.
At ******
You shout out the name
“Rudolf.”
Who the hell is he?
I resentfully ask.
The red-nosed reindeer
You say and smile.

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.

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.

I was in Trieste

It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?

Selling books

A friend of mine who used to be my editor,
until I discovered she was bewildered by commas,
has gone all mercantile, if you buy one of her
sweetly decorated books with flowers, you also
get a doll presumably made of plastic.
The child had no memories yet, only that he loved
his mother, father, grandfather and aunts.
The Israelis will say he was paid by the “Hamas.”
to go play in the sand.
If you buy one of my small books at Kindles, I will
send you a picture of a dead Palestinian child.
Truth is a costly gift, but in general, a doll is more
popular and cosy.
When the doll has been hugged enough and thrown
away, the truth, like granite, will always be there.

The Hamlet

In a deep valley, where winter sun doesn't reach
Time moves slower than normal and so damp
You have to wear a rain coat even if it is not raining
I came across a hamlet so muddy that dogs have
webbed feet,
duck tails and bronchial bark.
Only women dressed in jute sacks live her together
with ****** sons
who sit in dark recesses and sleep in the pig sty,
pull faces and laugh at nothing in particular.
Beans, pig fat, garlic and boiled cabbage is their diet,
and the women love death, waits for one of the fools
to die so they can have an ****, pull hair
and scream all night.
Seen from the top of a hill the hamlet looks
charming and rustic.

Old man drives in Alentejo

It was a warm day, with hints of fall, when he travelled through Alentejo
He stopped many places and took pictures of the undulating landscape,
Grazing cows and sheep resting under a cork tree, and no ****** drones
will come, blow up farms and **** the cattle.
He stopped at a small village inn, it was empty, and the owner told me
He had to close; the people had no work and lived on bread and potatoes.
Ah, this clear sky a painter's paradise, had a hidden sun-drenched
poverty will they ever wake up and start another revolution or are freedom
curtailed by EU, doomed to a life without laughter.
The farms I saw were farms producing cash crops that looked colourful
but didn't need workers, and it was not meant to be like this.
There was great hope after the revolution in 1974 when the landed elite
lost their land, but somehow they got it back, using their influence
and money. The old man ate lunch and drank red wine and thought
of poverty and sun go hand in hand in this blessed land.

The River of life

The mountain ice gave birth to a river
Crystal clear down rapids that were an ecstasy
Of ****** pleasure smoothing rocks  
Foaming of joy let it never stop do it again
The stones said.
But some waterfalls were not so silver-tongued
Ending in eddies of resentment.
The water became corrupted by overuse as it
Reached lowland of temptation
A wide flood running slowly towards the ocean
Where it will be clear again and regain its innocence
Alas, it cannot make the journey once more.

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

A lady’s dilemma  

Her mind and body are restless
she is in her late-middle-age
a difficult time for a woman.
Her long relationship with a well-off man
has made her economically safe
but she is bored
thinks there has to be some more
before she loses her looks
and disappears into elderliness.
She has grown up with children
they don´t need her as much as before.
A part of her also likes to be settled
married and have a home of her own
She is also worried about her legacy
be sure her children
have something to remember her by.
There is something hectic about her
like time is running out
She might seek solace from her turmoil
in another man’s arms.
She is in a dangerous time of life
I hope she chooses the right path.

Soldiers’ Women

On the plateau, a file of women in black,
war widows waiting to be given tea, bread
and rice from two men in a pick-up truck.
The men spoke hoarsely scurrying them on,
found their work embarrassing they would
rather be back on the mountain fighting.
Thought of the women as superfluous, yet they
had given birth to boys who fought and daughters
who was married to a warrior.
The women didn't look the men in the eyes,
spoke softly about the health of grandchildren,
they had miles to walk down to the village, till
meagre soil and tend to skinny goats.

The Norwegian club

We went there last night
it was set in a wine bar and the prize,15euro each,
I refused to pay that much.
The bar was almost empty but for a group
of Norwegians who sat whispering in a corner
And there was no one to welcome us.
I was donating some books to the club
left some of them on a table.
No one stirred.
I thought the scene was surreal.
We left and had a meal at a Portuguese
restaurant.
I suppose the books were thrown away
after closing time.

Drowning dreams

The lake in this landscape of stones and sky is dark, forbidding
Alluring, like hypnotic eyes coming nearer and see me.
My depth is endless it murmurs, all your illegal dreams rest in
               Me, come swim in me, dive and I will show you the sensual shock you have been denied, you will see your parents in a ****** embrace
floating by, your lust to join them is''  unbearable and out of you
ejaculations. There will be no respite, no hiding place for dreams
you have refused to see.
Has morning light rescued you from the truth?
As you sink further down the hell of your existence shall drag you
Into the flagellation of desire, and you'll see bones of those who
gave in to yearning, forever living in the hell of the impossible desire.
The lid of the dark eye shudders, turn back now, let me embrace
the forbidden, and your secret will go unspoken, like the shifting
Sand in Sahara where only silence survives.

For a few Lovers more  
I was driving along and on the car radio Rod Stewart
sang “have I told you lately that I love you.”
Why do I find it so hard to say those simple words?
I have practised in front of the mirror looking like an actor
who knew his lines but have no talent of imagination.
I bought her a car. Instead, this made her happy now she
could drive to see her lover, and return earlier  kiss my bald
head and say : I love you, thinking of him
I met him at a party and said I love you…for making my wife
so happy, he was stunned into silence.
She stays home now I think he broke it up because every time
they made love to he was thinking of me the zing had gone
it was in the open the affair had lost its dynamism.

Love is 3

When we are out driving
She tells me the way.
When reaching a roundabout
She tells me how to approach it.
When the journey ends
My face is a mask of forced calmness.
I park the car
She takes the lift up
And a primal scream is heard
emitting from the garage.

The Enemy among us
The western world has lived in peace for sixty years
mainly because of EU and shared horrid memories.
This has not been the Palestinians case who were
shooed away to give room for a colony called Israel and
those who object – freedom fighters- are called ISIS.
The USA have dropped bombs in the middle -east for
a long time and produced more ISIS fighters which now
is a common name of all who do not like being bombed.
Ex-president Obama sends drones they are intellectual
from the out- set. Trump drop a bomb the biggest in the world
it made a terrible noise, and 36 Taliban were
killed, they too are called ISIS.
(In Trump's case one wonders if he suffers erectile dysfunction)
China and Russia is ISIS in disguise, as are left-wingers
and those who do not believe in the American dream.

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.

The inmates

The young prisoners with slingshots
fight an army that shoots back with sharp bullets
The young keep on fighting
An enemy that knows no mercy, control the water
supply and electricity.
How many young men and women must die?
Is the enemy willing to commit mass ******?
to eradicate a race of people?
The world looks but says little and some elderly
ask: why can't the young prisoners behave.

Titleless
                        A rock fell
Off the mountain
I listened
For the last echo,
Heard a sigh.

Tuesday Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
and I see umbrellas walking by, some of them
stop, fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.

I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; a lady umbrella was a bit
smaller, had frilly silk borders,  was sable coloured too.            

Now they are  all colours but black, cheap and
cheerful a sharp breeze and they turn inside out
and that’s ok; it’s the cheery bit I like.    

During world war two, the German air force
dropped a few grey bombs down into our town,
no big deal, pale flames warmed winter nights.  

In colours everything tends to look good, poverty
too; the hungry wear colourful robes and falling
rockets look like fireworks a festive night.

Family Gathering

He dreaded family gathering and now
he was in the middle of one.

Tried to lasso the wind (Samuel Johnson)
of old slights remembered.

They turned to him called him a coward
always siding with his mother or being absent.

He just sat as not hearing the coward bit riled
as usual he absented going into his den.

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.

The old poet and red wine

                     The old man gets up early in the morning; he doesn’t
                     eat breakfast but drink coffee, switch on the computer
                    look at the blank screen waiting for a word to come
                    so he can try writing a poem; it is a hard going so he
                    mounts his training bike and get some exercise.
                   Noon is the best time of the day; he walks to his café
                   have a good meal and a jug of red wine, which puts
                  him in a good mood and talk to the old men in the park,
                 Sometimes one of them say something interesting he
                can use when writing. The old poet knows his best
                work is behind him, but he still tries to tease another
               poem out of his mind. His evening meal is simple he opens
                a tin of soup and drink a few glasses of red wine watch
                TV, or makes comments on the Twitter.

Bombing raids

I was born before the world war two and remember
sitting in the basement of a school, in the dark with fearful adults.
The bomber planes where British looking for the airport
but everything was in darkness, failing their objective
bombs were dropped hit house many died, and there was fire.
It must have made a big impression on me, although
I cannot remember the fear, but when I hear sirens, I panic and look for shelter.
Mother sent me to a farm in the countryside, as it happens
it was next door to a military camp and sometimes at night
when enemy planes were in the air and cannons were fired I shivered
in my bed and took to sit under a footbridge that crossed
a small river saw little fishes swim and shiny stones.
Otherwise, I had a good war except
I'm petrified by the look of guns and fireworks New Year’s Eve.

A Beach in Cascais

On the beach of Cascais
Human seals, jam-packed
Soaking up the sun.
Female seals
are eying each other.
Who has the best tan?
Then they all go home
To dark shuttered flats
The fear of being seen
At home by prying eyes
sits deep in the mind
Of the Portuguese.

The burning
Let Rome burn, so spake Nero or one of his flunkies
Towns and cities are burning every day in the Middle East
Flames taste not of roasted chestnuts in the Alley
Of peace but the stench of hatred fills the air.
This will continue till the last drop of oil, better still
Until we don't need petrol for our cars any more.
In the middle of this, we have Israel armed to the teeth
Yet fearful, it is as it knows the future is lost.
I wonder why so many high ranking officers in the USA have  
German surnames, one thinks it is a tradition.
In new wars to come it will be about water- resources.
Look out Scandinavia, so you don't end up like Libya.

The Teeth
I sit under a skylight the sun is benign
this February day and its Friday come to think of it.
It was not a good night; sleep was interrupted by
this sense of being a failure, although I had not set out
to win the world's admiration, but I know of a lad
that had plans he ended up peeling potatoes, and
which can be an art in itself not peeling to deep.
It is my wife’s birthday, and we are going out for lunch,
Then we are going to the jeweller to change
The gift I gave her to something more to her liking,
I dislike when she does this, but it is her birthday and
as it is a said her only day to shine; of course, for me, she shines
Every day when she has taken the teeth out of the water
solution and put them into her mouth.

Syria, my lovely

Asma al-Assad, the wife of the president in Syria
  her crime is to be married to Bashir al- Assad.
Since the president of Syria is sitting pretty, they had to find a softer target hence his wife.
Hadn´t she defended the Syrian army, said they were brave
they must be after ten years of war?
Remove her British citizenship, and we shiver by the thought.
There was an insurrection, and it was crushed.
It could have stopped there if the west had not meddled and
American bombs terrorized the civilian population.
This endless war many Syrians fled, who can blame them?
NATO, too, got involved, this dangerous beast full of generals looking for a fight.
any action, as long it has a pre-fix, “democracy.”
Assad´s chemical attack on the civilian population, surely a war crime.
A Canadian reporter said it didn´t happen, it staged by the white helmets, and no one was reported dead.
The lady reporter had upset the narrative, was sent home in disgrace and now covers handball matches in Seven Rivers.
I Denmark they are sending the Syrians back they say it is safe, they will be safe if the west will stop interfering

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The infancy of TV in Norway

He came home early to see the news
on TV. After the news weather forecast
Then a bit of entertainment
a lady played the guitar and sang badly
end of TV for that day.
He cycled down to the nearest pub
they closed at eleven, the town only had 3
Uphill was more difficult.
On Sunday. the Tv was more lively
mass, sport and the Flint Stones.
Monday evening, film night, often
a dreary Polish film. Good night!!!

The Plateau


The plateau is so much bigger than I thought it took years
to get here but the distance is so enormous will I reach the other end.
Before my birthday which I try to ignore those I loved have
died and not spoken off they are a ghost in the machinery of living.
The world has turned around the sun many times and what mattered no longer do so,
but I'm happy to find my reading glasses on top
of the freezer. I pity those coming after me; they and their brood will be nuclear dust.
If there are any survivors, they will start making flint axes and learn to communicate. I
have made my warning and will hereafter say no more about the subject