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

Senryu

A year is a breath
A trivial cosmic moment
For me it is life

Life is not a plateau
But a stormy uphill struggle
The upland is a dream

He stopped dreaming
In the middle of the night
Death fell soft as rain.

Gaza women  
  
Mothers
Of Palestine
With heavy heart
You sacrifice
Your children
In the name of freedom
I kiss
The earth you walk on
Your hatred
For the enemy
Runs deep
As do your love for your children
You will cry
Yet you do this
For a high course
I'm with you
All the way
To freedom

Frank Sinatra

I saw a program of him when he was
an athletic young man till he was old and grumpy
with a low hanging belly.
I didn't like him much although he had a wonderful
voice with a clear diction
in reality, he was a small man who liked the company of gangsters
he had bodyguards and liked to be a man of the town
a tough guy who got into fights his guards had to pull him
out off because he was puny.
Since the internet is down I'm reading “The Senility of Vladimir P”
by Michael Honing. A dystopian novel that is also funny.
Vladimir too liked to be tough and was, on his younger days,
mind, he still is. The only thing Vladimir and Frank had in common
was their modest stature. So the moral is, never make fun
of men not as tall as you.

The story of love

Tash Mahal built by a prince
for a wife, he loved despite having many spouses.
A beautiful palace admired for its architecture
and reduced to mere splendour.
On a narrow road going uphill, I came across
a clumsily built cement block
made by a boy who loved Maria Emilia
Thorny bushes overgrew his work.
Yet, it was here I sat down and cried for lost love.

The Anguish

An old memory inhabits the shadowland
she had a headache, doctors made tests, yes, her case was fatal
After the funeral, her sister arranged coffee and cakes
and sandwiches.
Relatives eyed the furniture and her many dresses
since most of the things in the flat had belonged to the departed
some of the stuff would fall to them.
I found this distressing and hoped the wake would be over
they did leave and left me to do the washing up.
Her presence was strong, she filled my thoughts was as
I could hear her talk.
Gradually she let go and got her golden memory of love.

The Lovesong
  I woke up early in a good mood thinking of writing a love poem to my wife.
looking at the YouTube, I came across
“The three tenors,” couldn't resist their beautiful voices.
I was going to find “I believe in angels” by Abba
but first the famous tenors.
Wife woke up told me to turn it off she couldn't sleep.
I remembered Lorenzo Marcus 1964 I was on a ship
unloading cargo destined for Rhodesia.
Everything has changed now LM is now Maputo
and Rhodesia is Zimbabwe, and it was a good time
for a white person.
So I didn't play the Abba song as the lyric is banal
and I was no longer in a loving mood

The amber moon

Super moon last night saw it from my terrace
18% brighter and 20% nearer, said the meteorologist
How unromantic can you get?
Hugh yellow and beautiful, so close I could reach
The moon with my broom, I felt the pull levitated
And dared to dream big.
Beauty should be shared till it becomes
A memory pooled by lovers, but you were not there.
This was a night of the vague nearness of the one you love.
I walked on a sandy lane thinking of your absence.

Against Official Truth  

Let me throw this firebomb at you and tell you
there is no such thing as world catastrophe caused by Man-
Made pollution. Yes, we get ***** air to breath,
and fish have plastic residues in their stomachs but
this is not the main cause
the truth is that we are in the cycle of climate change
once there were palm trees in Greenland, but too
come nearer our time the Viking were cattle farmers
have you ever tasted a juicy Viking beef?
But we have to clean up our planet for our own sake
our children, and so on, the new ice age will come
and in time will adjust to this new weather system.

Tanka

“Straws bends with the wind
That will uproot you, old oak,”
A yellow stalk said  
“Look behind you, the tree said
The farmer carries a scythe”

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.

Once when  
I lived in the deep countryside
Of Algarve come spring
And knew of every tiny village
When seeing me, the dwellers waved
The strange foreigner is here
It will be summer after all.
I had many friends back then and drank
Coffee with sturdy farmhands.
I will not be there this year, will they miss me?
Perhaps at dusk, someone will say
They saw me riding by and take it as
A good omen

A fine day in Cascais

A beautiful spring day in Cascais, the centre full of people
which I found a little disturbing.
We moved slowly on old legs like weather bitten barges
in a sea of jubilant racing boats.
It was warm, down by the sea, and we were overdressed.
My wife’s niece had the patience of an angle adjusted her
strides to our gaits, not easy I’m sure she is a picture of
healthy living.
We had lunch, theirs was fish, I settled for a Greek salad
no wine though knows from experience unless you by
a full bottle, the wine served individually in glasses tend
to be inferior to the residue of bottled wine of dubious taste.
We drank beer, and the healthy niece stuck to water.

A solution?
as the slaughter of
Palestinian’s
continues.
We must look
to Israel
and see
if there is
general protest
against this
brutality
and demand
a policy change
towards
their neighbours
Knowing many Jews
they must be
appalled  
By the sitting
Israeli governments
political failures.
If not they are
victims
of the Zionists

Houseguests

The two domestic lizards I thought had died in the winter
are back, and I leave them alone as they live on insects and
avoid my food; but why are they not breeding?
Could it be they are of the same *** and may God, forbid gay?
Not that I care as long as they do not make love on
the kitchen table or behind the potted plant I hate but my wife
Is proud of. This made me think of small isolated villages in
Portugal where young men had little choice but to marry
a relative, naturally there many idiots at those places.
Israel which pursues a race clean stat might come regret this policy of purity, it is already showing when their soldiers
shoot small children and think it is funny, a clear mark of advanced madness.
So gay or not I gladly share my house with two domestic lizards.

Metrology

The weather plays a big part in  me
When the sunshine and the wind is calm
I feel the lightness of being.
When storm blows and dark clouds  
My mind gets dark, and I think of suicide
However, I like to watch thunder and lightning
stay on the terrace and sing
“Hit me with your rhythmed stick” a bit of a song
I remember.
A full moon is depressing it is as it is trying to lure
me into the ocean it is the silvery glittering
that attracts me to do a daring thing like swimming
with wales or having fun with dolphins.

The Dark Heart

He sits in his cell can't read newspaper or use the internet,
the centre of his mind is the coldest place on earth, and
so much of him is us.
He committed an unspeakable crime killing children,
his mother died for his sins; his father hopes his son will
Will have the sense to commit suicide.
His cell is frosty blue; those who feed him avoid eye contact,
no one reaches out to touch him and former friends,
Even those in sympathy with his fascism have forsaken him.
He cannot hear this he will not hear, he is king of
his mind – a prisoner- and must not stray from his path.
Cosmic Loneliness, if he wakes up from his slumber of
self-delusion and sees how grotesque he is,
there will be no one who will embrace him and give succour

Haiku
Drunk I was last night
Today my wife doesn't speak to me
I'm sad and lonely

Haiku
I've stopped smoking
Time hangs heavy in the air
In the smoke-filled pub  

Haiku
New Year’s resolutions
Bring out the worst in people
Makes them boring

Enticement

The girl in the bar that had floors made of stranded schooners
came and sat by us
Many sailors had drowned in her eyes.
On the way to the Saragossa Sea, their blood
ran down cracks on the floor,
Dripped into the sea below the colour of crimson.
Looked into her eyes an evil goddess with green eyes
I followed her to a room in the back
She laughed when she caught me.

The deep state
It is not a good thing to know too much
of the private life of the powerful
when things go wrong and the powerful
are threatened they do as the mafia,
**** with extreme effectiveness.
It has happened many times before, but
a good example is Robert Maxwell and
Now Epstein. The next one in their sight
is Julian Assange who is slowly being
poisoned breaking down his healthiness
What can they prosecute him for?
Telling the truth about the criminality
they have been engaged in and the myriad
Of lies, to feed the stupid public with.
Death is the best option in the vacuum
they can pile it up with more lies.

To my child

In the morning born
rosy cheeks, caused by a fever
as the autumnal sun arose.

In the cradle a smile
of wisdom old,
never cried, the child

When the first snowflakes
softly covered the soil,
a soul went back home.

Pre-dawn
No wind blows
Stillness
From the bakery
Nearby
The aroma
Of fresh bread
Light is probing
                       Morning
                       I hear the rumbling
                      Streetcleaners
Some get up
Early
Wear yellow vests
Voices
Morning
Has arrived
The smell of coffee
Wafts
Through the building.

Obsession
Autism in the likes of Julian Assange
And Greta Thunberg is a force for good
But their passion can be tragic for them
As they go to any length to follow
The mania that rules their life.

I had a tailless dog, who had a mania looking
For its tail, circled till it got dizzy.


Obsessive people can be tiresome but they  
Have great courage and suffer for their beliefs
They are heroes for their quest for honesty
For what we should be grateful.

The old soldiers Café

We went to my favoured restaurant it is no longer so,
on a table near us sat a group of Ukrainians eating plenty
of meat with sausage and the server said there was no more left
so we lunched on a dish I wasn't keen on.
Eight of them men with brutal faces and as the wine flowed
they spoke about the war and killing Russians.
Two of them looked like assassins, those with long knives
who **** silently in the night, eating the food I wanted.
My wife said I was fantasising they were workmen who
had left their country to seek employment elsewhere I was not sure.
My food didn’t look as good as theirs, so we left early and
I didn't eat my food left the glass of wine untouched in a futile
attempt to show my dislike, but no one noticed.

Appreciative
  
Six o'clock
In the morning
Is the best time
To get up when it is summer
Stay on the terrace
Inhale the air
Before it gets hot
Make a coffee
Just being alive
Elderliness is to be grateful
For little things

Small fry

Fingerlings are playing among seagrass in shallow water
they stop when the big shadow of an adult passes overhead
sometimes they play is so exciting they forget
and end swallowed whole by a fish that knows no mercy.
Alas, the tiny fry has a short memory and soon leave
the seagrass attracted by shiny pebbles shines like nuggets
of gold on a summer day.
The play stops as it just like old school friends drift apart
to other seas and too smart to anyone bearing false bait.
There are no promises for elderly fish when finally caught
a fishmonger awaits them or the supermarket’s frozen
counter displayed in all their faded glory

The Dawn

I have voyaged far, crossed many oceans
I have seen the unseen, the grotesque.
We are cable of, but I have also met kind
people, I never sank into the abyss of cynicism.

I have seen flowers no botanist has, but I keep
it, a secret the nameless will be hidden.

I rejoice, for I have found my modest me
obliquely I was not here nor there confused.
as semi-transparent waiters passing my table
erased me from their memories.

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.

Edith Lived here

Black & white photo
A house where
Edith Piaf lived
Casting a long shadow
On a summer street.
Blank windows
The house is unpainted
As always
Edith has gone
Her voice lives on
She had no regrets.

**** and his cat
I was in the deep depth of youth
sitting in a library struggling through
**** Whittington and his cat.
Looked the fable up on Wikipedia
and was disappointed,
**** and his cat were different
from my recollection
I had the cat and **** walking
to London
In my fantasy world, the story was
much richer, so I will stick
to my version

The problem of a misfit

The problem with being a ******
is when you come home you have fewer friends,
and those friends you meet are often who were
lost within themselves.
One day I found myself on a park bench drinking
brandy from a bottle that was passed from man to man,
this struck me as a shame to have sunk so low
I got up left them with the bottle had paid for and
walked away, my life was not here.
I left the town for England for a while it was interesting
but couldn't understand the class divide, I had to
find a place of peace, and I saw it in the interior
of Portugal and have lived here ever since.

The Intemperate  

Alcoholism is an irredeemable illness
often compared with diabetes which is also incurable
however, with diabetes, it is possible to reduce it by
taking insulin and avoiding certain foods.
However, you can't cure intemperance by drinking beer!
He was a well- known actor had everything to live for
When in Algarve the old discredited counsellor
tried to get him to go to AA.
He blankly refused said he didn’t want to live
since his wife had died of cancer, which turned
out to be eight years ago.
One day he met him struggling to get up a hilly street,
He stopped offering a lift, but the actor in his cups
told him to “**** up”. Later that night he came to offer
his apologies threw up on the kitchen floor the old man
got him into bed.
In the morning he had raided to fridge for beer know
he wanted a proper drink, and he was driven home.
There was nothing the old therapist could but hope.
The news came he had died at 56 killed by *****.

A bluebottle’s tale.
Flies, dark a biblical curse flew, over Alexandria
darkened the sky and hummed hell´s song.
This was not butterflies, in a summer glade.
A bluebottle got to a small hole in the window
they were bringing profanity upon the world.
I looked into its intelligent eyes a soldier drafted
to bring wars and hunger to the world,
(No, not a locust plaque that for its own sake
headless exists.)
to make wars and split nations into many pieces.
God had fated humans should remove each other,
he had made the error given humanity free will
and refused to be held responsible for this fault.
Since we are at the foothill of doom
His will be done.
A new breed of mankind, with small brains and no imagination.
of a Zarathustra or Jung, to give us the idea that we deserved
a better way to find harmony and everlasting niceness.

the passing of time
When I left my country I first went to Liverpool, met a woman and married.
I tried my handwriting but the woman thought it was stupid, so I stopped writing opened up a café that was ok for some time.
We were both working-class I had been a ****** and used my spare time reading
world literature and had time to see and think, she was not so lucky, she had been
an auxiliary nurse and had no interest in the movies or books.
With time I come to dislike the English way the pub and occasionally a trip
to Alton Towers (entertainment centre) too banal for my taste.
I sold the café took the plane to Portugal it was like coming home, of course
she hated it and it ended in divorce.
For the first time in my life, I could write what I wanted without receiving ironic
remarks. This is how I spend my time now that I’m old writing and reading give the pleasure I need little else matter I never liked throngs of people.
My new wife never interferes with my writing
Only says if I sit doing nothing around, go write something, of course with her being
Congolese She speaks Portuguese and French but not
Much English shall I call this a blessing?

Alfred and the wilderness  

Alfred, who with the greatest of ease tells, me he is not my father
and Olga, he had a brief affair with In Belgrade, is not my mother
we went for a walk across a green field.
Alfred who is a musician and never ventures out in the landscape
saw some grazing sheep and wondered if they were dangerous,
no, I said they are sheep and born friendly
as God created them, to this Alfred called me a crypto-Christian.
A little Lamb came up to my father, it was so sweet,
as only a lamb can be. he lifted it up which the ewe disliked,
and it butted him in the rear.
Alfred was shocked, got up and demanded I bring him to safety
in the nearest town; never trust animals they are all out
to get us he said while limping to safer ground.

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!!!!

Do we live too long?

I have been listening to a program on TV BBC about Health service
which in Britain is said to be too costly because we are living longer?
Longevity should be celebrated and not seen as a burden
like the old should be guilty of being aged.
Portugal which a relatively poor country, take the Health service
for granted, but of course, it is a country where the timeworn are respected
When I collapsed at home in Portugal, it took the ambulance
twenty minutes to get here just in time to get my heart started again
I was fitted with a pacemaker, and it didn't cost anything.
In Britain, the ambulance would not have been in haste, and I shudder
to think what it would have cost had I lived in the US.
We should be grateful for the National Health Service in Europe.
It is the young and the rich, who want to privatise the service,
the young because they can't imagine getting old, the rich
because they will not pay more taxes and use private health service
of the posh kind with soft seat and no waiting line.
I'm glad I live in a civilised world where illness and cost do not include compere
where saving lives are the mark of culture.

Of men and plants


The endless growing of new leaves
of my indoor plants, shedding the excess
all over the floor, as disregarded dreams
getting in the way of the day.

Female hyenas are good mothers teaching
their litter is how to scare off lions.


Restless minds are not sound as leaders
who overthink everything and have nervous breakdowns?
Sit shaking in the corner on the bridge of warships
excellent, dancers in the ballroom of peace.

Once  upon a time

I was, it seems like 100 years ago,
on an old fashion cargo ship, the carried all sorts
from potatoes, flour, machine parts, plastic flowers,
and tinned fruit, meat, and hats for the wife of the president
in Honduras.
For some reason, there was a door in my store room
it led into a cargo hold I filled the larder till it looked
like a corner shop. My task was to keep the cost of living down,
and the captain got a telegram from the company complimenting
me on keeping the cost down.
When the ship birthed in some obscure port, the unloading
took a long time and there was time to go ashore
have a bit of fun and a good steak with wine at a restaurant.
I was twenty-five and had a hell of a time, but nothing
lasts forever, the ship was sold to a Greek shipping company
and we all had to go home.

A Life
My life has three stages, I was young once
it didn't last so long, and the downturned came
in my middle thirties, I sank into a gloom which
now is called depression, everything terrible happened
in quick succession divorce, ***** and lose women.
I sought company with people who were my inferiors
and they took advantage of my need to be liked.
It took a long time to get out of this fog I never got the help
I needed all I heard was “pull yourself together.”
But dawn came into my life I went to live in Portugal
I discovered the joy of writing and the pleasure of silence.
I have lived a wonderful life for thirty years and let
go of my ego, to enjoy the day I have the freedom to do nothing
And feel good about it. Today I have been listening to music
on you tube until the strange cat that lives on the terrace
protested; well” the three tenors” sing loudly.
There is much poverty among the old also in Portugal should
I feel guilty because my life is good? No, I will not have slept
on a park bench I have been through the mill, and it was luck
that got me out of it, so I go on living as long as it lasts

Happy family
When I was 51 I had an affair with dancer
She didn't want the baby and gave it to me.
Can you imagine? The village women rallied around
A thought is how to change nappies.
I also had to take in a dog no one wanted because it was
aggressive, not a bit of it she had a purpose in life
protecting me and the baby.
Years passed and when she was six she began school
I drove her there but had to sit outside so she could
see me, later that day we drove into town to buy
suitable clothes what I picked out she didn't like
so I left her to it.
I heard a scream; she was in a panic I was not there
picked her up she clung to me and said: daddy never
leave me. We were a happy little family the doom-struck
her mother came back and claimed the child there
was little could do, so dog went behind the sofa sulking
I sat on the sofa drinking wine.
Life goes on the dog and I went for walks that got shorter
and shorter as she was quite elderly had a white snout
and sagging stomach and was grumpy in the morning.
One day I went into town when coming back she had died.
I borrowed a ***** to dig a hole but had no strength
But I saw two big sandstones leaning toward each other
Forming a grotto I put her in there.
As I said year’s passes when I was 71 I needed surgery
Think it is called a bypass, sitting there with a tube in my stomach
There was a knock on the door and in came my daughter
Cried as I have never cried before, she was studying
to become a doctor. When I was feeling better I wanted
to take the bus home. She would hear nothing of it
And arranged for an ambulance, she was in charge
a right bossy little madam,  of course, she had a job in Faro
but she visited me every other day, telling me what to do.
Then she got a posting in Cascais and with my new wife, we moved there. Her mother had said she was not
my real daughter like I should care she is my
nothing can separate us, but I wish she hadn't been so bossy.

The Killing of Floyd

So, the policeman who Killed Floyd by pressing his
knee on his neck, the sentence was ******, but was it?
The police officer accidentally killed Floyd as he was trained to do.
The why police are learning their dubious craft has to come
into focus, the whole police department has to be scrutinized,
and the new “servants” of the people must be accentuated.
To concentrate on one man who is insensitive and stupid does
Not solve the problem of the American police.
First of all, the poorly trained officer must understand a gun
It is not for shooting people who are fleeing, but the weapon is a defence
Only used when attacked directly.
I cannot understand why a single police officer has to bear
The burden of guilt that is pervasive in the American society
is by its nature, overly fascistic and too dependent on the GUN.
The victory (political) can be a pyrrhic one if some people can disregard
Law and order.

The boy on the bridge.

At the hospital, I woke up in the night
got up, walked into a hall I didn’t recognize
A nurse came and told me to go back to bed
“My father told me to stay here,” I said
I knew it was in a dream, a poem I had read
many years ago, when I could remember
with clarity what I read.
In the morning, waiting for breakfast,
coffee and a scone, a nurse was busy
sticking needles into me.
I tried to remember the title of the poem
“The boy on the burning bridge?.”

Mystic dwelling
The house
I live in an old house
That likes
The quiet time.
At ten it slams doors
A sign that
It wants to sleep
So turn off the telly.
It gets up early
Groans and creaks
Till breakfast is over
If I go out
I leave a light on
It doesn't like
Being in the dark
It gets resentful
And pictures fall of walls

People I met on and off the screen

I like to watch a TV program, Father Brown
the actors are like old friends I know what they are thinking
one of the most charming figures is the police inspector
he naturally gets everything wrong from the start
and is very rude to Father Brown.
Of course, I see them as actors in real life they are totally
different if I meet one of them in the street
I would have said, look at him he seems like an actor
I have seen on TV and walked on.
I once met Cliff Richards in a paper shop he was buying
the Telegraph ( a rightwing paper)
He was a small man and pleased that I didn't fawn all
over him. We had lunch together, at a little place that had
few tourists, and with some wine, he was good company
relaxed too away from the fans.
When in Algarve I met many actors and found them
to be kind and thoughtful people, and not the way the often
are portrait in the "Sun" and other ****** papers.

Town Life


walking around Cascais
which consist of cobblestones
asphalted road and mad traffic
How I long to tread on the soft grass
rest under a tree, sit on a ******
warmed by the sun

to see wildflowers again
and not trite blooms in a *** or vase.
Inhale the air of the land
not sullied by diesel fume
the spring is passing me by, who knows
it might be the last one

set me frees to fly and not dally more
back to the rural Algarve where I was born
for the second time.
my feet are sore pavements too hard
and the cacophony of blaring horns
makes my head confused.

Deserted by Alfred


It was not my fault I had no shoes
And the police stopped and asked and since it was none of their business
I naturally told them to *******.
was handcuffed and put in a police car,- which was more cooling than
the asphalt, after all, it was October in Albufeira.
I thought this is a perfect movement when a father defends his son
but Alfred who refuses to be my father had gone home
I was left to explain this ridiculous case, but luckily the Portuguese
police force felt sorry for me and let me go.
Next day I bought a pair of sneakers in a Chinse shop and my father
who refuses to be my father was wearing my leather uppers.

The Heat elsewhere
  
It is hot think of switching the air-condition on
but I think of the refugees from Syria waiting for a gate to open
Israel will not want to become a nation of ******.
Jordan like ways has a million refuge and political problems
but if Europe pays them enough can take in some more.
The refugees are sweltering in the hot sun many have not
tents and there is no shade in this no man’s land hell,
I hope the Red Crescent and Doctors without Borders have
the courage to help, all I can do is send money and
not switch on the air-conditioning.

Weekend in Cascais
On Cascais glittering Saturday bay, slowly rides a rust stripped
bulk-carrier, sailors on the deck look at the town and think it
is Paradise, from the soot hallooed green stacks, whispering
smoke dissolves their dream of ever going home.
Tourists, fishermen and drunks, the eager and the weary and
the sad eyed mills about.
A blind woman sits on a folding chair sings Fado, Portugal's blues.
her voice is cracked, but full of soul, she keeps score with a tiny triangle the little plink a feint echo above the crowd.
When footsteps fade its faint sound becomes cymbals
clasped together by men of steel, her voice a storm which
cleanse streets clean.
Every morning Cascais is reborn, a wet pearl arisen from
the green seas, before sandaled feet descend and drown
the day in a cacophony of disharmony.

The outdoors

Once, I walked on newly fallen snow
It was sobering,
but then it got cold, and feet froze
enough of sobering.
Thick, woollen socks and boots
I’m not an outdoor man
Traversing the North Pole is not
For me, I’m not a penguin.
I like to stay by the window when
it snows look romantic, festive too
thinking of yuletide of yore.