The occupiers

Faro is a beautiful coastal town with a marina
and wonderful blue waters, it is an old city with
historic buildings and an inner wall where
the army and rich merchants lived, but there is a problem
you can hear it like swarm bees long before you
see them; rats are building a city in the ancient
the sewer system and get sunlight through
the storm drains, not to forget they a have an army to,
vermin come ashore from long boats, established
a colony thrived and married into the local rats.
At night thousands of them come over ground
and clean the city of waste, the sanitation dep,
has little to do in a town with no litter, but how
long will it takes before the vermin are strong
and ready to expel the humans?

PS. This scribbling was never meant to have political
Connotation.

She finally left

She has left her premiership
This ungainly woman displaying her diabetes
On her arm like a diamond-studded decoration.
She has wrecked the consensus in Britain
And that was the plan, everything to make life
Bearable for Jeremy Coburn.
The working classes used the referendum as a protest
Against austerity, the rich leavers for opportunism.
The Tory party has done everything they can
Stopping Britain becoming a socialist party that
Will take transport, water, gas and oil back to
The people and give NHS founding to treat the sick
In our society, and equal society where no one is
Left behind and sleep in the streets.
But suspect the conservative, and the rich will do
Anything to stop this madness they have much to lose
And no newspapers are telling you the truth.

The kiss

her lips had kissed many a man a butterfly
Fragrant and vivid like a spring day in May
Yet not to the point of pollination.
She waited for a kiss that tasted of wealth
She dreamed of a castle and ballgown if silk
Sailing down the river on a boat made
Of a swans’ feather sewn by silky threads.
She met him and when they embraced,
It was as wonderous as when earth and
Heaven became one and nothing counted
At last fertilisation and deep was their love.
At dawn she awoke he had gone, Nine
a month later she gave birth to a golden son,
Her lover is a poet living inside his dream.

The very rich woman

Once at a meeting, I met a lady
Dripping of riches belonging to a posh family in Ireland.
She didn’t have her Bently it was being repaired
I drove her home in my Fiat.
We sat on her sofa kissing and cuddling and ended
Up in bed, she wanted ******* with her on top
And I found myself
With my head in her crotch, when she had an ******
It was like being hit by a bucket of warm water.
There were other positions with her on top too and in
In the end, she fell asleep.
In the morning she asked me to make her breakfast
Which I did, and then she planned my day
Apparently, I should mow the lawn and trim the roses
She spoke to me like I was her servant.
I said I had no time, but stay away tomorrow I have
Guests, that was ok, I had no intention returning.
She rang a few times but I always found an excuse
She lost her temper said I didn’t belong to her class
And she could have made me wealthy, me, I rather
Be poor and free.

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.

The failed writer
For twenty years he has written down
what came to his mind, in the end, many books
with his name on a bookshelf.
There they reminded unsold, unloved collecting
the dust of time.
He tried to sell his books on Amazon and in shops
when that failed he gave books away to people
too polite to say no.
He danced a summer night declaring he would
be a writer his girlfriend laughed and laughed
till he put her head under a lake, walked home
and wrote some more.
They will never catch him now his name
is erased by the longitude of sad past.

Ancient battle

Beautiful field blood-red poppies
ringed with delicate dandelions.
Once a battlefield
the righteous, in blue uniforms
shiny golden buttons.
The terrorists of the time
were farmers and shepherds.
The revolutionaries lost the battle
and many more.
In the end, the rebels won
got their land back.
When the field is ploughed
human skull appears
rebel or soldiers, who knows?
Rusty buttons surface too
not of gold, after all.

MY uncle

My uncle gave me a fire truck as a Christmas gift
it was made of wood and had wooden wheels
that fell off after one hour of play.
When I lived at a farm, he came and visited me
helped the farmer get in dray hay.
He stayed at the farm for a week, and when
he left I was sitting behind a stone on the outer field
feeling miserable, he could have stayed
A few weeks more.
He had to go, found a job in a town called
Porsgrunn to stoke the flames of industry.
Worst of all, he got married had several sons
Why did have to do this?
That is the problem with adults they always
let you down.

When Mossad came to town

It is many years ago now when Mossad
sent a group of assassins to a small town in Norway
at the only hotel where a “terrorist” worked
as a waiter. When the servant walked home in the snow
they followed and killed him.
The assassins checked out (2 in the morning) walked to
the railway station, the only way out, trying to look inconspicuous,
it didn't work they were arrested.
When the news broke, it was the biggest thing that
had happened in Norway since the war.
They, the killers had the best defence nevertheless they got
Several years in jail.
Mossad is better at it now, and Norway woke up from
her slumber she had become a player in a murderous game.

Equus ferrous

There is a storm blowing when blue waves crash ashore
white horses with flying mane gallop up, blocking the road.
The stallions become a river, pushing useless cars aside
to drown in their futility.
The town below is a lake, rats escaping the sewers runs
up to the third-floor frightening people with their anger
eat babies’ eyes.
A new generation of the unseeing kind, the previous one
could see but didn´t understand busy
as they were playing with the cell phones taking selfies.
Everything ends, calm sea the wild white horse went back
to the bay, and the rats moved back to the sewers

Once a Christmas

The sun was blood red looked like a big wound
on the flank of an elephant shot by poachers.
Dripped blood on white, wholly cloud which slowly
turns red as the bandage of a fatally shot soldier
who slowly dies of his wounds?
His eyes turned into a mirror of the cold sky.
In the air is torn into puffs of powder an ambulance
comes to an abrupt halt, a man on the ***** floor
surrounded by presents for his family, his eyes
reflects the absurdity of a Yule decorated supermarket.
His wife will get a voucher.
As I drive home, a bag of night opens and strews its
soothing darkness over the land, but nearby
an anguished elephant has its tusks sawn off by a dentist.

The intervention


It was four in the morning when I awoke sitting in front
of TV that was off; again I had ended up in a middle-class
the neighbourhood in, a close with suitable trees.
I shared a fence with a police inspector who wore a tie
when mowing the lawn, he had two silly daughters and a wife
so fine she never let the wind pass her through her narrow ***.
I family who thought they had reached the pinnacle of civil living.
I have so easily been seduced by nice houses and people who
speak posh coming from poverty it impresses me.
I went to work; my wife was still sleeping, when I came home
A group of people were, it was called an intervention they
was trying to convert me to sober living, while they were
talking I mixed a gin and tonic, some of the men licked lips.
Told them I drank because they were so ****** boring,
being drunk, was the only way I could tolerate them.
I rang a travel agency, took a plane to Algarve for a holiday
It has cost me a divorce – pleased by that- and my house
that I didn't like, and the holidays continues.

Morning in Wonderland


Beautiful rain I had a shower
used rose petals as soap and hibiscus as a towel,
                       while three black crows sat on the fence
crafting giggling commentaries on how I looked
An illusionist came walking up the lane, and
the crows took refuge under his cape.
The mist came rolling in they disappeared
left me wondering about the prestidigitator.
He didn't need to entertain me as I was busy
dancing and singing in the rain.

The blue
  
I saw a fish
Very small
It looked parrot
think about this,
but I remember the surgeon.
Blue
It took my hook
Fished it up
Its colors faded
A dead fish
Not enough
For a meal.

Tears at night

I heard a child crying in the night
Why are you crying son, my father said?
I feel so sad, why are you weeping?
I long for the old days when livening near
The forest where my dog and I walked.
I wish to return.
You are too old now, my father said, think
Of your struggle carry firewood and water
The hills are steep.
I had dreams back then of being famous
it has come to nothing.
If you believe in yourself, it is all you need,
My father said.
A sigh from the son that went louder and
Louder and ended in anguish holler.
Both father and son fell asleep and soon
It will be morning.

The Mouser          
            
I friend of mine has an old moggy she says
help her to write successful books about suburban life,
big gardens and flowers; envious I tried to find
A cat had seen one outside the apartment building.
grabbed it and scratched but when I hit the pus
over the head with a stone until it lies still in my hands.
Next morning I fed it and gave it water the tabby had
left a pile on my Persian rug, while cleaning the mess
The feline sent an email to the protection of animals
and signed it with a paw, this incensed me so much
I threw the cat out.
A knock on my door it was the cat people about an email
I have no cat; they sniffed around not convinced, left.
In the evening a scratching on my door I knew it was
the ****** moggy, people knock on doors, opened it
slightly told it to *******, you said on me!
The cat said it was hungry and had nowhere to sleep,
but shut the door in its face I heard it take the lift down.
Next day I found the cat sleeping in a card box in
the garage I reversed the car to scare it, but it ran out
spat: “I will report you, you heartless brute.”

Fishing boat

A man bought an old fishing vessel
it had a steering house, but the door was rotten
he got a new door a painted it sea green.
Sometimes he forgot to close the door and a sea lime wave
swept him on to the deck, when tried to find the handle
a flounder hang on it he slipped hit his head on the ladder
on the step leading into the steering room.
He painted the door black but when he after navigating
rough sea he turned and found the colour ominous, so he
painted the door in rainbow colours, this made the head spin he opened
the door, but the emerald sea came in.
washed him back on the deck.
And I have no idea how to end this story ends, but his boat
was full of tunny fish.

Rainbow alliance

On a barbed wire fence between Chile and Argentine
hangs thousands of plastic bags, some of the bags from top shops
London, New York, Paris and Bonn.
Here are Japanese, Swedish bags, Arabic bags, and occasionally
bags from North Korea.
The fence between the two countries is an international garbage
collector, it is also an eerily beautiful place like a sad rainbow
overshadowed by neon light.
There used to be skeletons here that also had broken bones
as dropped from planes; the corpses have been removed, but if
you are lucky you might find a skull or a thigh bone cleaned
By the wind; the plastic rattle drowns the call of the condor

The racial question

There is a black female politician
says Portugal is not black enough her liking
I find this preposterous.
The Portuguese who settled in Africa to make
their wealth mixed freely with the local black
population, as a result, blackness seeped in
and blended with Muslim blood.
Algarve was once a Muslim province
to the extent, the Iberians have a laid back
attitude to time.
The female politician may get her to wish fulfilled
with a shrinking white population
and black people from former colonies arriving
I think the day will come in the near future
the Africanization of Portugal.

The woman who comes and clean the house
once a week, has a voice like a foghorn, she speaks with
a Gypsy accent I have to guess what she says,
anyway she ignores me when I say: no need to water the plants
there will be rain tomorrow; well, it is morrow now.
Now rain has fallen seraph-like clouds drift about as they should
have a day off and decide to have a lazy day.
The sun is up to modest now in October, tries to make up for
the summer when it forced me indoors for two months.
The cleaner has tremendous energy, up at dawn and works all day,
my wife has given her a lot of clothes which she and her
husband, a used car dealer, sells at the market on Sundays
When hearing her voice – and don't I hear- she brightens up my day
like sunlight on a grumpy day, and I think she's blessed.

A moment of fear

Typhoon in the Pacific Ocean
I saw the tall watery mountain
bearing down on the ship
thought I was done for.
But the old ship had another idea
she rose and rose to the top
and plunged down to the other side.
Wave after wave she took
each time she shook like a wet dog.
But the old girl made it.
Next day the ocean was just choppy,
we made it to Kobe.

The debate


Jordan Petersen the famous Canadian Professor debates
Slavoj Zizek, the equally famous philosopher, is facing off.
The Canadian is dressed in a blue three-piece suit that is too tight
he wears expensive leather boots, looks calm, but his voice crackles.
He thinks capitalism is for good, and I think of Ayn Rand,
he is a formidable debater but has inner anger of something
unsolved on his mind.
Slavoj looks like someone homeless, T-shirt and tennis shoes
He doesn´t belong to any group but thinks Hegel is excellent and often
refer to his saying; Slavoj´s mind is sharp and he jumps from subject
with the greatest of ease.
Jordan is very much a junior in this debate that is about Marx and
the nature of love.
Jordan gives his opinion of Marx but is constrained by his thesis
of capitalism, Slavoj picks his opinion apart; there is a tremble
in Jordan’s voice when he disagrees.
When debating the nature of love, he vax lyrical, Slavoj does not believe
in this at all, he compares lovers’ *** as mutual *******, (often it is)
but sees no wrong in this. Jordan is a one-dimensional professor, while
Slavoj has a world view that encompasses everything  
the world has to offer, he is, in my opinion, a generous genius with
a sense of rude jokes and laughter.

Hinterland

It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism  
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects **** insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.

Another morning
I have been trying to stave off old age
by avoiding old men in the park who ask me to guess
their age, empty gums looks like a burnt down
village in Syria, a war that the west has yet to understand
and by dressing young, artistic like with a big scarf
hiding my turtle throat.
It is a losing fight like leaking ***** in Holland with holes,
to stick fingers in them won’t last long. Therefore
I will embrace the day and talk to the old men in the park.

The poem we can't write

Make it clear poetry is redundant
poets write verses packed in wool
only other poets can understand,
they are usually about love and peace
but no one is listening.
There are of course nationalistic poets
who advocates war they are listening to
and often recited by politicians.
***** spiritual music called the blues
are the poetry of the oppressed the rest of
us write pedestrian poems are forgotten.
So forget that you can write poetry
that is not based on the suffering of the soul.

The Invisible

I'm the old man walking his dog passed your shop.
People see me and they don't I’m a part of the street scene.
For you, I pause outside to see you looking into the big mirror
adjusting your hair.
You dally a bit, hope someone will come fill your time,
lives alone, no one needs you at home.
Finally, you switch off the light, except the one at
your window display.
You walk passed me see me not, cause I'm
the old man out walking his dog.

The king of seagulls sat by the window sill
It had only one leg the other lost in battles
Years ago, no it looks scruffy old age had
Taken its toll and shrieking seagulls above
Sensed its weakness and had no mercy
Towards the elderly, it was seen as in us
Society, as useless taking up space.
I opened a tin of sardines and fed its content
To the old gull, I opened another tine and
The early bird looked stronger.
It became a ritual the bird landed on the sill
Also, I fed it sardines in oil.
One day it wasn’t there it had disappeared
Into the blue wonder.
I eat sardines every day now, (had to) after
Buying so many tins.

Obituary of a cook
A famous French cook has passed away
this is sad of course, but it shows how the world of catering
has changed character.
From an unshaven backroom man to a leader but only
a leader in his restaurant for cooks holds no other power.
I enjoyed that he once threw a plate of spaghetti
after Chef Ramsey for not making ravioli right, mind
with a master like that no wonder George Ramsey swears a lot.
But hang on a bit, if we elevate cooks to the status
of world leaders of great importance then we should stop
and think of the millions of women who cook for their
family and do so by being economical with their food so
it can be used the next day.
Of course, there are millions of women in our modern
society for whom the sight of a carrot or a potato leaves them flabbergasted,
but as the fairy tale says
need makes a naked woman knit a blouse.

As the wind blows

I knew of a man who could see the wind
As it came in from the sea, a mass of air
Bluer than the sky and he also knew when
it ended getting paler and blowing like
a zephyr inland.
There is always a wind blowing
somewhere on the planet this to circulate
the air we breathe to make it light and clean
and free of pollution and methane gas
of cows in Holland.
Sail ships needed the wind to trade
Overseas and to explore new continents
Now we have windmills that circulate air
But otherwise are an eyesore, a blot
On the landscape.
If you are in doubt ask Nietzsche.

Gunplay

The confused inner city kid
had a gun.
Another boy didn't show him respect,
so he shot him dead.
The gun-boy fled into a park,
under a bush hid.
He is a hero by younger boys.
Sirens and voices, they have got him now,
one bullet left,
wished he was back home with his mum.
Thought of his option
to be a hero for all time?

Summertime

When I was young, and it was summer
we went to the beach with a bulky gramophone
a stack of vinyl records and a bag of beer.
We drank and sang the modern tunes of the day
of the type, the elderly scoffed at and we
had to keep an eye on the police as it was
forbidden to drink beer at the coastline
(In Norway back then most things was banned)
In the night when the grown-up had left
we made love, and it was not needed to force
the girls they too came for *** and to choose
the man they wanted to marry and did.
I was a ****** then and when I came back
my most of the gang was married there were
only two left we didn't bother with the music
but brought three bags of beer and talking about
how lucky we had been avoiding the marriage
trap, but knew in our hearts we were losers.

Cats
  
This morning I went into the outhouse to retrieve something
there was movement between my sacks of stuff, fearing it was a rat
I took flight but out came a cat, and it wasn't frightened by me
apparently, the cat had taking abode there.
“Little cat you can't stay here I will be moving soon.”
The pus took no notice.
I thought of being tough finding a broom and scare it stiff,
but I don't know where my wife keeps her mean of transportation
so I opened up a tin of tuna fish instead, but sternly told it
there will be no more food.
Cats are opportunists they take a look at me and think
“He is a soft touch.” And before I know it they
sleep on top of my bookshelf or interfere with my keyboard.
Once my neighbour a nurse went to Africa for a year she placed
The cat with a friend of hers, but the cat didn't like it moved in with me
for the duration, and when the nurse she came back the pus left me without
as much as a thank you.

The failed Revolution

In my childhood´s town, there was a blue neon sign
On top of a five-level building, “Jesus Saves”.
I asked my mother what “saves mean.
Souls, she said without looking up as she was reading
the communist manifesto dreamed of the day when workers would take over the factories
and throw the obese capitalists into prison.
She tried to emigrate to the Soviet Union. but she was turned down
she had no skills other than putting sardines into tins.
Mother made gruel that day, and I was allowed to scrape the brown sticky residue in the ***.
A famous over-rich capitalist sits in jail in Siberia
He has the internet and can talk to his friends. I wonder what
my mother would have thought of this.
He had been found guilty of stealing his oil
to avoid taxation.
No, not, the revolution mother was dreaming of.

Thoughts of Death

Death is a foreign country
I wish not to go there as I'm only used to life
despite we do our best to destroy our planet.
The aboriginals in Australia call death
dream time, there are times when I ask if life
is dream time and death is a reality.
To meet souls who cannot dream floating about
as dust in a landscape of oblivion.

Den's dawn

The smoke filled pub Curtains
could not shut out the light
of a ghostly dawn.
A place full of overflowing
ashtrays and empty chairs,
and the shadow of the lonely by the bar.
Broken talk and broken dreams.
Soon cleaner will come
with perfumed chemicals
and **** yesterday.
The shadows will be back their loneliness
is the only thing that will not leave.

The artificial islet

There is an island in the sea
ten feet deep it has a mountain to
of baby diapers which fertilise
the layers of sand blown by the wind.
Some birds lay eggs there
the hatchlings have plastic wings
but cannot fly.
This island is man creation and has
no worth other than a warning for
for shipping in the vicinity.

The collapse

They built an edifice
On a shining hill and
A sandcastle
Here the truth was
Spoken hubristic
One can say
However, they believed in
In the illusion
A man came and stepped
On the castle, it crumbled
Lies and shenanigans
Toppled out for all to see
It was just sand.
The hatred turned to
The truth-teller
He was called a traitor
Rots in a tiny prison cell.

Going to School
  
My school days was not a happy one,
although history and writing was interesting
I wrote that my father had a herd of camels
in Morocco, but math eluded me.
Something like, a baker who has two eggs and flour
how many cakes does he make? Who the hell is
am I supposed to know.
The after school was more interesting I biked
around pretending to be an explorer and
played detective with scant success.
When not doing that the local library was my plank
from the triteness every day of poverty.
They knew me well at the library I can still smell
the books and the world they brought me.
Alas, the one I used has been closed down the politicians
of today always save money for the wrong thing.

The bees with wings

The bees are dying out
for someone who gets stung
it is not to gloat over,
but a matter of survival
for humankind and the fauna
around us.
There are four big trees outside
the apartment building
birds come there to rest
In the evening,
but they are not the destroyer of bees
pesticide is and
we keep glad-handing
this stuff over field and plants.
humanity in the quest to
produce better crops will in the end
**** us all.
When evening comes to the birds
make a racket like
A Japanese train station at five,
stressed people are killing themselves
so stop blaming the bees.

the tragedy of 1948

Israel declared statehood the west was happy
the Jews had suffered much and deserved a state
the fact that 700 thousand Palestinians lost
their homeland was overlooked.
We were all pro- Israel back then and thought
the region would usher in peace and prosperity.
It was not to be.
Instead, we see that the land of promise has
turned violent wanting all of Palestine and part of Syria
and Jordan too, they appear unstoppable.
The only group holding them back a little is the Hezbollah
who we call a terrorist, but they are a bulwark
the brutal regime in Israel who has nothing to offer but
a war against anyone opposing their quest for total power.
But the Palestinians are not forgotten the scale fell
from our eyes, we see what is happening.
Israel as a state should be boycotted, we in the west
should treat the country as an abomination it is.
By curtailing Israel, we will, in the long run, help its survival.
Force it back to the agreed borders, declare Palestine
a sovereign state, and send NATO troops to secure the perimeter
of Palestine and give financial help to her malign people.

The notion

I have an idea, but what to do about it?
The problem with ideas they ebb and flow
then disappear into the lake of amnesia.
In life, you can't escape love and death, its
demise is sure to love is not, it flows in
a river all by itself, the lucky ones get to
bath in it and are blessed.
Often there is an erroneous type of love
it brings sorrow and deceit and the one
sits alone in despair but fail to look at
the truth, the river doesn't wait.
We learn as we live and go on trying
one day it happens where we have not
looked this time it is real.
What about your idea? What idea?

The transferable tourist

The old ship striped like a rusty zebra
one, that has survived the big storms and attacked
by sea monsters how she still floated was a mystery.
From one obscure port to another, her captain had
forgotten how it felt to be sober.

She was like an old horse that knew its way by instinct.
Offloading clandestine crates, rats in the cargo hold.
When did the vermin come, and what was their destiny?
Morning in La Plata, tonight we will go ashore
in Buenos Aires eat fresh meat and dance the tango

I never had a rocking-horse

Having read books of rich boys having one, I wanted one too.
I found the tail of a rocking horse, at home, I fastened the tail on the gate into the yard.
I sat on the gate swinging through and thro and for a moment
I was Hopalong Cassidy till the hinges broke and I fell off.
There was no witness to my ignominy.
I removed the tail, the gate had nothing to do with me.
The owner of the property swore said it was the work
of hooligans.
Years later, mother found the tail behind the wardrobe
by then I was nearly an adult and didn´t bother about childish things

The village

Why is the village so beautiful tonight?
Why do I find the old cottage across the road enchanting?
Telling a story of a life lived in contentment
even if the people who lived were poor just now that I'm
leaving and I will not be coming back.
My living room used to be a stable I can see the mule
smell it too, munching straws accepting its destiny.
Why should I long for the past I had no part of?
The village is a part of me it is ingrained can I ever
be happy anywhere else.
I will not give in to my sentimental feeling the new
life might be better although I can't see how
this is because I'm old want things to stay the same
but it is impossible, nevertheless my time here
will stay in my heart and I have the option to return

Autumnal air

The month of October in upper Algarve
with cooling evening and sunlight
begins to fade earlier every day.

Sky is still blue if a shade paler than
yesterday's And has white whispery
strands of clouds near its horizon.

Windless, this day birds on the roof have
flown for a short break in Africa but will
be back in March to start a family.

The man from the forest has delivered
winter wood gave him whisky and
wrote him a check.

Greek Summer

This dawn I was an Adam without a fig leaf seeing the sunrise, the sun looked a bit pale
like it has lost power, put on a shirt
one has to be careful about not catching a cold.
Now at nine in the more, it is getting warmer
if not as warm as yesterday.
I do like the sunlight, but lately, it has been
too intrusive and a bit of rain would be welcome
it freshens up the street and scents wonderfully
clean trees and fresh minds are a lovely combination.
But we humans are never satisfied when it is
******* down in October we look for the next summer.
But that how it is natural does what nature must?

The Singapore meeting

For those who sit and wait
for the Kim and Trump meeting
it is worth to remember the Stalin and ****** pact
people thought I meant peace.
Well, we know this ended with Germany invading Russia
Kim has no reason to believe Trump and Trump has
no right to trust Kim.
Are we looking at the possible invasion of North Korea?

While waiting

While I was waiting for the poem, I was going to write
to show up but I can't find the right words
starting the process, I have amused myself by
writing two smaller things. I look at my nails
they are too long but clean mainly because I do
the washing up after lunch by hand or rather
two hands I have never heard of a one-armed dishwasher.
Thought of the German philosopher who said
that God was dead, I ask; How can something not
Born be dead? The great poem I was going to write
is in hiding looking at the screen didn't help,
so it will have to wait and soon it will be morning.

A message

An angel sat on the window ledge
Wanted to come in which was understandable
It was a cold night. Walk through the window glass
for heaven’s sake, you are an angel
the angel refused it would ruffle its wings.
He opened the window and let it in and since it
was worried about its looks he took it to be a female.
The angle denied this insisted it was sexless, God
had sent her (he refused to call it It)
The message was.: It has come to my attention
that my son Jesus is an avid reader of your poems,
and as you know, he isn't well since the crucifixion
has become left winged (pardon the pun).
He forms his worldview according to what you write,
so be a good man and tone it down a bit or else!
God is your friend.
So why didn't he say so himself? Well she said
he doesn’t like to interfere with human affairs.

Body obsession

Naked, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror
and asked are you sure this is you?
I’m a fat man with ******* and a big stomach but legs
thin as twigs on the almond tree.
I have diabetes, but that is no excuse, somehow
I eat too much
90% of my food intake is vegetables, not potatoes
no rice or bread, no beer most of the time, so how
could it come to this when what I like is banned?
I like whisky mixed with cold water before bedtime
and now I wait for the health brigade to tell me
Whisky is fattening, bad for the liver and the heart
I will not believe you; too many lies have been told.
I’m body shaming myself. Pathetic!!!