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.

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.

Was it a Painting?

Did I write a poem called “Pieces of Sky?”
Apparently, the poem was well received, and I'm glad for
this boast to my flagging self- confidence.
The nearest I can think of pieces of sky are mountain lakes
which mirror the sky when it is blue and the lakes ditto.
This happens in Tibet or thereabout when the mountains
scrap the heaven and pieces fall off.
In the holes they make you can see forever, before unseen
hands **** the sky into blue velvet,
that is ok, you are not meant to know everything
and become a tedious know-all.

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.

How unlucky can a man get?

There was a man, an ocean sailor,
in Argentina, he met a woman who he married.
During a storm, she was washed overboard, and
he couldn’t find her. Undaunted he continued
sailing around the world, met another woman
(from Sidney) and married her.
In the strait Moluccas, they were ambushed, the pirates shot his wife. Well, life goes on and when he finally came
to Oslo, the press was not there to extoll his considerable feat.
The thinking was losing one wife an accident
but losing two was considered irresponsible.
At the sailors club, he was welcomed with polite
coldness, he knew why rumours were floating about.
Disappointed he sold his boat
bought a flat on a high rise, the seventh floor.
this had a terrace with a low railing.
No, she didn't have an accident if you think of it,
but she did commit suicide.
I don't think he ever married again
But he wrote a book about his many years
At sea and tried to explain his misfortunes,
The book sold well since he used an alias.

Sobriety
In the beginning, it is like walking on a narrow track
With olive roots over the ground to trip you up and branches
Of trees slapping you in the face, if you fall get up and
Continue to walk to be tired is not an alternative for a rest
The track gets smoother and wider, but it rains muds up to
Your ankles and you have to cross a stream.
After the ordeal you look back and wonder who helped, you inner
Strength the id it stepped in when most needed
Ahead is a shiny asphalted road waiting just for you.
I can't promise you happiness and Hallelujahs,
But promise this when at home and the day was long you
Will smile feel contentment for you have walked the walk,
Your feet are dry and life is not as bad as you thought.

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.

All alone in Paris

I fell into the Seine
Called for help in English
Was ignored.
By accident more than luck
I got ashore.
A man sat fishing
He was English,
“Why didn’t you call for help France?”
I’m a tourist
“Everyone should speak French I’m
A  Francophile. He said
And refused to answer your plea for help.

Catalonia
This is my first opinion in a new slim volume of vignettes
they are celebrating in the streets of Barcelona they are and the independent nation now,
they were independent, but now they are a republic.
Tomorrow the people will be sober, where is the money coming from,
they have to print their version of the Euro, the one they had is no longer a legal
tender. Businesses and banks are moving to Spain, Catalonia is a member of no one.
If the Catalans are willing to suffer years of need, just to be a republic, that is ok,
but this freedom movement full of propaganda of suffering Catalans will hurt them
more than Spain that merely followed the rule.
It was not about independence but about money Catalonia is prosperous an as
the saying will not pay for the poorer region it is as simple as that.

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.

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.

The Voice of the People

The morning is excellent and calm
I try to write about the feeling I have inside me,
but can only come up with a feeling
of boredom, that comes when looking out of the window
too often and see nothing has changed.
I don't want to live here anymore, but is fearful
of the unknown – being outside my comfort zone-
even if it is tedious, I find the world scary,
a cacophony of a common scream
That comes with unbridled democracy, everyone
                       Has the right to be heard when they should be quiet
                       or speak sotto voice
when they can only produce banalities
Thinking has to be approved by the masses and
those who call themselves liberal

Shoplifting

At the supermarket, my wife pushed the trolley
While I walked around in the hope of finding some
Unboring food found a tin of tunny in hot sauce
I could make a breakfast of this (diabetes).
But the tin in my pocket to hand to my wife
And forgot about it.
We paid and left.
Outside I froze we hadn’t paid for the tin!
What to do know? Go in and pay for it, the line
To the till was long, forget about it she said.
I was a shivering wreck when driving out of
The parking lot and no guard tried to stop us.
Ok, I ate the tunny for breakfast, but if I had been
Caught stealing, how to explain it and be believed.

About fish

Something made me think of fish
not those in tanks which life must be boring
swimming around and around
until tired and resting at the bottom
wondering how to get out of this watery trap

Do fishes think or is it all instinct?
Say, two codfish meeting each other on the coast
of Greenland: hi, their old mate hasn’t
seen you around for a while? No, I met an escaped
farm salmon, but it didn't work out

It got broody wanted to swim upstream
being a bachelor, I took my farewell and escaped.
Chased and being chased that’s life
a proper fish instead takes its chances rather than
living in a glass tank

The Cow

By the edge of the cliff where the grass is juicy
the cow tried to eat it all the last straw you can say
alas, it tipped over and fell into the sea
and since happened in Dover, it swam to Holland
and joined the Dutch cattle.
This was a good solution till the cow demanded
special privileges such as imported Dover grass,
when it didn't get it will, it swam back.
On the way across the channel, it was run over
by a Panamanian registered tank-ship.
Children had to go to school hungry no sausages
or milk for breakfast.
The ship, the farmer (not setting up a fence) and
the Dutch got the blame, this wouldn't have happened
if we had let, the cow gets its own way.

A tired day

Yesterday I walked to the tax office
Not that I had any business there
But the woman next door said it only took her 15 minutes
To go there.
It took me two hours going there and back.
Tired today watching cartoon a man was knocking
On the door of a suburban house pressing the doorbell
selling vacuum cleaners
A beautiful woman opened the door
My doorbell was ringing too; it was the waterman
And by the time I had paid him and taken the water
Into the kitchen, I was too late to see what had happened.
I like a cartoon; the impossible becomes doable.
The ship with for cranes is still at the anchorage perhaps
They can’t get a master.
Should I offer my service

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.

http://imglogo.podbean.com/image-logo/716014/poweredbypodbean.jpg

The compulsive

Autism in the like of Julian Assange
And Greta Thunberg is a force for the good
Their passion can for them be tragic
they go to any length to follow the truth.

I had a tailless female dog, circled to find
the tail, till she got dizzy.

Obsessive people can be tiresome, have
great courage and suffer for their beliefs.
Heroes are for the quest for honesty.
We should be grateful.

Guns in Sweden

Sweden has problems with too many guns
shoots hole in the night.
Many refugees came to Sweden, who thought
when the refugees discovered a Nordic paradise
they would become Swedes overnight.
The inhabitance of this Eden has a discriminatory heart.
The glance of an eye tells the truth.
There was a clash of culture.
People of the same philosophy likes to live close to each other,
for them, Sweden has a cold heart.
No work no education, guns are easy to buy.
I don´t know the solution
Perhaps the Nordic people, are too regimented
and it will take time to change this attitude.

The re-membered

Speak to me of a memory that ran into the sand
taken by the high tide drifting away
but at low ebb glitter on the lonely strand.

Speak to my memory as seen in a child's eye
when my mother was young and danced
had laughter on her lips and stars in her eyes.

Speak to me memory in the haze of dreams
when life was lovely, and summers were long,
hold on to your vision of yore till your life ends.

Speak to me a memory of your time as a ******
when life was often sad, but books made you sane
in every port a letter from your mother.

Looking at things

Walking on cobblestones is an ordeal
and more is the traffic, I look out of the window
when I walk on my treadmill count how many
cars going around the roundabout.
When I have counted 500, I stop this treadmill
15 minutes have gone by.
When I lived at the border of Alentejo I walked
on the soft grass and counted flowers
saw grass grow into fodder for sheep.
A Moldavian family bought my house, people
tell me how lucky I was selling the house
I had many offers but told no one, hence “lucky.”
My lyrical mine is all but dried up, now reduced
to write about furniture, a sad fall from grace.

doctor. Lunde

Let us go to doctor Lunde she said
I found a place near the bus terminal that no buses
A police officer came and told the parking place was only for bus-passengers.
He offered to drive there us- in my car- but got the gears wrong
And we ended up in swallow lake.
You drove they are into the lake I said
But it is your car, and as such responsible, we called a tow car.
It dragged the car up, and at the same space, rules are rules
The officer said even when there are no buses.
We finally found parking outside the doctor’s office, he cam
Said it was his space and besides he was a chiropractor
Called himself doctor people trust them.
I lady from the cleaning- police said I had to wash the car
Instead, we drove to IKEA, looked at furniture with strange names.
Selling stuff, you had to glue tighter yourself
I’m not a handy man.
We ordered Swedish meatball without mashed potatoes,
You have to have mash the lady said it is the rule, so we ate
The ***** and left the mashed potatoes, the lady who serves us took it
As an insult to Sweden so we ate the mash too.

The molester  
On a podcast, I heard Cardinal Pell so poised,
the boys’ were telling lies,
he wouldn't dream of doing this to anyone,
but time moves on he was not believed;
whether he had ruined anyone’s life is debatable.
We had gone on a walking trip it lasted two days,
we slept on a hay-loft and the young
Priest (not Catholic) took my hand on his ***** *****
and made me ******* him,
next day the other boys said he often did that and giggled.
Boys are resilient they do not commit suicide after such
an encounter, it is just one of the things.
The young priest became a bishop, and his serious face on
TV makes me laugh that no one can see the falseness of
the man who is a child molester.
A warning though if it happens to you tell the other boys
but not your mothers who will make you feel guilty
drag you through the court and ***** up your head.

Modern man and machinery

Now those nuclear power stations I have shown to be too dangerous,
people are looking for an alternative.
An open cast coal mine in rural Germany they are
destroying natural beauty in the hunt for coal which in
my mind is wrong.
The workers and the drivers are burly men in their fifties
and the machinery they employ is like substantial greedy aliens
the men work long shifts despoiling any life that might have lived here.
Open cast mining, dust and noise and a far cry from Nirvana,
yet the people live longer, but someday in the future, the bill has to be paid when tampering with nature.

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.

The Amazon

The Amazon rainforest cries and the mighty river senses the doom.
The inhabitants of the forest are beleaguered in fear of losing out
the logging, the clearing of land, estates for cattle, future
hamburger meat.
Those who try to help the people of amazon are murdered
not by the rich but by the deluded poor who fear for their livelihood.
A tragedy is enfolding the world watches helplessly, wring hands
and write learned articles about the plight of the Jungle people.
If the rainforest dies, the river will die as well
A new desert where nothing grows except scorpions and snakes
and the nature will suffer the people who lived there
will be extinct, in the name of democracy where everything
is legal if you are mighty; in the end, the globe will die.

Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.

A dog's life

The neighbour's dog barks
it heard me coming up the driveway
I usually stop and give him a cuddle
but today am too tired
When barking doesn't help it howls
I get up to go to the dog and play a little.
Dogs don't demand a lot they get sad when ignored.
Five minutes of my time and the dog is happy
Just sits there and love me with his eyes.
If only life had been so easy, but it ain't, the day has been filled with driving to
the mechanic
to repair her car and driving her back twice.
When old one likes to be left in peace for a day or
so, and since we are moving I have to carry her
stuff, sometimes she forgets am eighty years and
Have a pacemaker. Hope she will come home late
meet some friend at the supermarket she likes people
as I need a break from her relentless demands.

Holland

In Holland this sweet clog walking land
have too many cows realising methane gas into the air.
There are many gas explosions in Holland
no one has yet to connect the gas with the cattle.
But it is difficult for them the have fewer cows.
Once I met Prince Hans of Netherlands, I drove his stuff up
to his farmhouse and he never paid me, and that is way
they are successful living in the middle of Europe and
somehow voiding paying tax.

The beginning
When I went to school, it was only on religion
Christianity! Jesus with his cross and Danial fighting
a giant ogre, none of the pupils, believed any of this
yet it was entertaining stuff while we wait for
the school term to end so we could jump on our bikes
and play cowboy and Indians.
But what though as a child sticks lately, I have been
thinking of the origin of religion it must go back
thousands of years long before Christianity is there
a beginning, or is it all man’s fear of death?
Perhaps not, once a word was spoken but mankind
forgot, the memory persisted, and we have been
looking for the truth ever since.

Cold is the wind in Europe
It is a stormy evening brown leaves flying in the storm, they a
re dank and slimy tore from the tree with no home to call
their own. I'm thinking of Macron, the president of France
He is extolling globalisation, I'm a nationalist I come from
a country that has naturally evolved has its own culture and
an unspoken agreement on how people should perform.
We don't want a global nation with one culture one language,
one thought as dictated by a newspaper owned by the globalists.
It has been tried before under the dictatorship of Stalin.
Macron is, in the words of Oscar Wilde:” Deep down he is
a shallow thinker.”
Migrants are welcomed in my country if the can blend be as us
and not a confused mob demanding changes in the way
we have accepted the system as it is.
Mass migration is a manufactured phenomenon it could
be avoided by investing in the countries they hail from and
is political to sow discord in Europe.
We see how the USA a beacon democracy, has been turned
into a semi- tyranny helped by the opaque forces of Zionism
they want globalisation to serve their end that is  to enslave
and bend us to their will.
The working class in Britain get it and the ditto Germans
to see the way their countries are going and protests
because of the know if this is not stopped a new war will
begin a war that can only benefit the Zionists.

The song of resignation

Memories are not crystal clear, a broken mirror on which the sun shines
The residue of the imagined, what ensued or will happen of equal interest
as time doesn’t, a time within does.
Past and future are the same pains me; I shall not see my savannah again.
No pictures, as a proof it existed, in the tall grass, see no wildebeest
my motorbike is sold, I can no longer pretend to be an adventurer.
What I do remember, through a haze, is my enduring remote happiness
perhaps that was an illusion too.
A vision of human disappointment, to try but never succeed.

A Greek poem


We were walking uphill the mule and I it was hot
and we stopped by a spring trickling down the mountain
there was open barrel for animals to drink.
The beast drank and drank; when I looked it was big as an elephant
and since the track we walked on was narrow it lost its balance
fell to the bottom of the hill.
When I came down it was ok if a bit hazed and we began to walk
uphill again.

The drunk

When drunk he is expansive tell jokes
Others find insulting give vent for his opinions
That is not asked for; suddenly he is offended
With what someone said and with drunken
Dignity leaves.
When he is sober, he much regrets what
He had said the day before and walk
In streets strange in the hope of not meeting
Anyone he knows they will see him for what
he is a rather modest, shy man who never
Grasps it is what people prefer, his likeability
and not the opinionated drunk with a bottle
of beer in his hands.

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.

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

When the time was a trial

Woke up, the bedroom was cold under the duvet snugness
I burrowed deeper enjoying the freedom of sleeping late.
Life was hard, getting up at five and preparing breakfasts for
grumpy seafarers smoking, the first cigarette of the day.
The breaking of the fast was endlessly tedious, something
with eggs and fatty meat.
Sometimes when there was a gap between feeding times,
say, dinner at twelve, I tried to write; my hands stank of chip fat.
On hundreds of pages, “I’m a life I’m a life”.
I pretended I was a robot, what the body was going through
the motion was not my concern; free to dream.
When peeling potatoes one morning, I was suddenly awake
Between fake brown gravy and spuds; there were no robots
me all along
the bed is warm, nothing can touch me now,
touch me now!!!!

The Optimist
It will all be alright one day you will see
When we have eradicated greed, economic wars
Seen off people who works against  
The common good of man but preaches a religion
Of superiority and blood lust
They will disappear from the earth's surface as
Will other religions also their true nature exposed
Take our freedom and enslave us
When the hallowed word democracy means equality
For all and not a way of the smart to exploit
Those without economic fortitude but prefer to walk
In an enchanted garden and dream of Utopia which
If those who think they have been privileged by
A deity invented by a scribe would let go of their
Sense of injustice and hatred against the world
Yes this has been a good day and all will alright
One day, it truly will

The ending

A **** heap collapsed with the speed of a Mercedes
with two batteries hurtling down a motorway in
an industrial landscape, grey as a Vera’s lonely life
amid crime and poverty.
On a night like this, how is it possible not to despair
battling a mass of sluggish dreams of endless harms
in a world bent on nuclear destruction.

somewhere

It is a beautiful morning in Cascais tourists are still asleep, as is my wife
A police car hastens through the Avenida and the young officers
who likes to drive fast through the empty streets?
Yesterday was a great day in Moscow, so many beautiful uniforms,
blue and gold
When young, I wanted to be a general but being petrified of things
like bullets flying through the air, I donned a white apron.
My days as a recruit in the royal navy were not a success: I do not
handle being given orders without protest.
So long time ago, now I sit on the terrace a seagull lands sit on
the railing and shrieks let it be nosy at it, wants, bravely I ignored
It demands of me not to sit where I sit.

Local Memorial Service

Outside the funeral agency two employees
dressed for their job, stood smoking, by the pavement
a hearse with coffin inside stood waiting.
finally, they threw the butts in the gutter started
The car to take to the church where the casket would
be decorated with flowers and then with a cortège
of mourners followed behind led by the local padre.
There were no many men among the marchers, they
thronged the bar on the way and only joined
in the last minutes.
The padre did the rituals and packed up and left
the mourners cried and there were many handshakes
among the people and talk about the dead person
who apparently had been a bit of a ******* cheating
in cards and not to be trusted.
Of course, nothing of this was uttered at the cemetery
it was later in the bar the person of ill-repute was mentioned

The ****** Brexit

It should have been so simple
There was a referendum
People voted leave
And Britain should have withdrawn
In an orderly fashion; but no.
The remainders wouldn’t here
Of it and the spectacle become undignified.
One would think the UK didn’t exist
Before the EU it did.
Boris Johnson is an opportunist he is
Not remotely interested either way
He wants power
And the American why of health service
The leavers should not entertain him
But continue their fight to let Britain
Go its own way.

When time is right

When re balloons float upside
Down and green snow whirls up
From ground


When the moon drips silver snot
And stars are moths eating holes
In mammy’s tapestry

When preacher of gloom stalk
Streets of fear and people hide
In tear-stained caves

When the skeletal finger of my past
Claws at my conscience, then I
Know it is time for a glass of wine.

A new home

Waiting to go home to my house in Algarve, 30 years after
the Berlin wall fell with the blessing of Russia, in case you forgot.
In the meantime, more walls were constructed mainly in Israel,
stopping Palestinians wanting to home, we dislike talking about
This is because of the political Holocaust.
The wall between the house and me, old to age, to live life deep
in the Paradis.
The Chinse wall is a tourist attraction, the ugly Israel walls will
one day is building material.
There are many unseen walls among classes the rich build walls
so, they can avoid seeing what is the result of their wealth?
The hope is to tear down all walls whiles we wait.

Failed States
So they killed Gadhafi to free Libya and
got the Western world to help them. Alas the rebels
only fought for what they could get,
and now Libya is a failed state. They have tried –rebels-
to get rid of Assad with the help of USA, the country is
on its knees, but some nations are seeing through this charade
and are willing to keep Assad in power, for the time being.
It will not be easy the Americans and the Israelis
are doing their best to turn Syria too into a failed state.
it is up to us to stop them

The Ruin

There is a ruin only a few metres away
from my back terrace, once it was a ruin that could
be repaired, and I looked inside it had once been white
I could see the mark where the cross had been,
but it also had a well in the middle of the floor, it was
too small for my needs I didn't buy it.
Now the roof has fallen in and it beyond repair, yet
it has a dignified charm of the utterly fallen.
Once it had been some one’s home children had
been born here and they had played outside, now it
will be torn down and there will be a space
and it will only be remembered by me and by elderly
people who will only recall when the house is no more.

The Evening Light

I ought to take an interest in death
But I no longer find it an interesting subject
It has to do with acceptance
Which I find comforting since I’m not religious
But has a strong spiritual streak
I believe in the mystic
What we fail to understand in normal life
I have second sight
I can see the near future only I suspect it is
Caused by experience
I believe in ghost by those who have not
Accepted death they are generally unhappy
And totally powerless they can't call up
The devil since he does not exist
I have seen my dead dog on several occasions
She lives in my mind, but I do not dream of her
As I used to and now she is in black & white
Demise is in a way a monotonous subject
There is no future in it, here I manly laugh
Look at my watch I will have drink at eight swim
In ocean of mild intoxication

**** is real

I have an intimate connection with effluence
or **** of the animal kind.
I could, by aroma alone, which animal
had passed the track.
Most animal dung smell sweet, except for dogs
they have lived so long among us
they crap like us,
Dogs love their excrement and eat it.
A horse evacuation is like rare wine you promise
yourself to buy a horse when you have a garden
Vines that have been fertilized by a foals
morning *** is divine.
If your hands have been in the muck
nothing in the world can offend you.