Home invasion

IKEA, the Swedish furniture giant
Is invading your home
Wherever you go homes look the same
all in pine and is a blend of office
and living room
A mother has put her daughter to bed
she sits by a computer and works
(No men in the IKEA world)
No books clutter the space, bookshelves
are for ornamental use a place for toys.
on the wall some friendly print
purposely abstract and tedious
There is no individual taste in a picture
of hygge, a unipolar world, will we drive
a Tesla next?

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

A princess and a lake

There is a green valley with a waterfall in the back
Ground, well you get the picture, it also had a castle
Where the princess cried and cried, because
The prince had an affair with the scullery maid
She only stopped crying when the maid was banned.
The princess's tears were not spilt a beautiful lake
Strewn with rose petals and full of dreams.
It was free for all to fish, but you were stuck with
The dream you caught.
A variety of dreams, sweet, sour, unmentionable
Vanity dreams and everything in between.
Dreams have consequences; mine was to meet
A scullery maid and when I did, we had to leave
This happy valley.

One flag one country

in the beginning, there was hope it was agreed upon
That a turkey was a big chicken and it wouldn’t offend anyone
as the two fowls had no say and didn’t they had a name.
Around the conference table, there was a spontaneous applause
So little had gone right for them the chairman suggested
In the spur of the moment to find a common name for
Palestinians and Jews referring to the group Lapwejs, there
Was a long silence, but the idea was sound only the name
Lapwejs didn’t have a melodious tone; a comity was formed to
Study the idea if they succeed the people of that part
Of the world would end discrimination s everyone was equal
Of course, they had to come up with a new flag on that
Look like Greek copy, but had several warm friendly colours.
No one would be call anti-Lapwejs or something similar.

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.

The long life

The knowledge of living forever is already here
all one has to do is renew the old cells for new ones
once a year starting when forty or thereabout when
a person is self-sufficient.
It is also possible to renew cells so often on regress
to infancy and looked after by your son who is unable
to grasp he is changing his father’s *****.
Longevity has its own risk of how to live you can alight
from the Garston, bus nr 9 and be knocked down
by a car, the autopsy will show the person was not forty
But 110.
The best way to get old is to **** someone in Oklahoma
get 200 years in a padded cell be fed by a slot in the wall
and when the conviction comes to an end
refuse to leave the prison, your home on earth.

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 Phantom of Genoa

Along the docks of Genoa, a man with bent shoulder walks
he is thin and pale like he hides under his winter coat
it can be very cold in Genoa, for him the winter is everlasting.
Few people recognize him, those who do to avoid him
of this huddled figure of cowardice; they see in him themselves
the humiliation of weakness buried deep within their soul.
Once he had been a popular captain on a cruise liner, he
failed, shamed by his nation and worst of all himself.
“Vada a Bordo Cazzo.” Rings in his ears.
Shouted in his whenever he appears in public.
Unforgiven he walks the street night street; he is our ghost.

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

The Dolphin and I.

I think it was in 1967 when the Junta of Greek coronels
took power, I was in Piraeus on holiday
the water on the stretch is calm, and one day I met a dolphin
we swam side by side and when I got tired I hold around
her she was helping me ashore.
We had a platonic affair kissing and cuddling like lovers
beautiful days and she was always there waiting for me.
It came to an abrupt end when one evening I criticized
the junta which consist of four rather dim officers and
for good measure had a go at the Orthodox priests,
who looked like they were eating a cow a day.
I blame the ouzo.
I had been overheard and the police. came drove me
to the airport and there was no time to say goodbye.
It must have been disheartening for the dolphin it must
have waited for a day, we were lovers torn apart by politic.
There was another coup, and the colonels were exiled to an
an island that had an asylum were, they became orderlies
which they liked so much that when they were forgiven
stayed on because the mad did as they were told.
But I cannot forgive them for destroying a beautiful love story

Page fifteen.
I have been looking at this page for hours
walked to the terrace and back still 15
went shopping bought thing I didn't
need, the page hadn’t budges
page 15, how to overcome this obstacle?
writing about the weather, so you are a meteorologist now.
Actually, am I can forecast rain with my knees and
a general feeling of discontent.
Page 15 can do its own things what do I care
there is always a page 16.
Are you sure?
At your age, the falcon of death might strike
any moment and the rest will be blank pages,
so am better off sticking with page 15.

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.

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?

An August evening

This afternoon I was writing a poem but it kept disappearing
a blank screen had words on but they faded away
erased by an inner logic of self-critic.
I like red roses but when I write about them it sounds banal
and a thousand songs about roses make me feel lethargic
wasting my time; Gertrude Stein said. A rose is a rose…
I have tried to write about Tulips and think of Amsterdam
I was there often when a ******.
I prefer *** plants now; they need watering but are safe
like dinner at five.
Lily is a flower in much demand in Copenhagen, don´t why?
All I know about Denmark is “Hygge” and “frikadeller.”
I look out of the window and see a tree-lined avenue and
notice the leaves are slowly yellowing it makes me feel sad.

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 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?

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.

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.

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.

Broken Dreams


Tonight I´m happy and sorrowful
I refuse to cry over lost friends
I´m drunk as well.
It feels good to up the anchor of sobriety
let alcohol give wind to my sails.
A clipper buying tea in China
not useless plastic toys.
Sleek, the line and the women admired me.
Let the clipper sail.
I don´t care; I shall stay and make love to you.
I´m sorry I left my Liverpool girl
I went to Brazil to harvest coffee beans.
Guatemala, I got there by chance
a beach and moonlight.
I have not forgotten my promises
one day more, just one more day.
The clipper sailed to other shores
I never got to write
The poem of my life

Basket case

There is a smudge on my computer screen trying to clean it with spit,
but no, perhaps it is finger marks left behind by the strange people
Who sits in the back of the computer shop?
Their diet is cola and chocolate; they are thin, bald and weedy looking
I must whisper to them, or they shrink away.
They sulk if I disagree with their diagnosis, it will take time to get
my computer back.
When the owner closes the shop, they climb into toolboxes, the ones with
the helpful drawing of a screwdriver, maybe the smudge is a camera
watching me
when I have a drink tonight, I’ll pour it in the bedroom then go into
the bathroom and smoke a cigarette
buy a can of coke a bar of chocolate, eat and drink in front of the screen
and they will say, look, he is a basket-case like us.

In the heat of summer
It was nice to bath in the river
Ten minutes away
A great place to cool off
And not crowded by tourists
Cigano boys bronzed and
Physically perfect
Jumped from the bridge
Of the warming of the planet
I know nothing, only this
The river is dry in May and has
Been so the last five years
But old people tell me it has
Happened before, the river
Was dry for years in the fifties

Reflection on Wednesday


The bay of Cascais looks beautiful today
calm blue sea and sky a rare summer appearance in December.
A big bulk-carrier is waiting for the pilot, as a red-cross helicopter comes onto view landing on the deck of the bulk-carrier one
of her crew is ill.
When the noise of the chopper dies down, I think
of yesterday when I wrote two poems which left
me feeling sad and tired, these poems were
probably the best I would ever write, but they will
be read by the few and vanish in the dust of time.

Haiku
  The rose of yesterday
  Has lost allure
Since it was put in a vase

A cypress unwraps
When someone expires
Says the legend

A tulip sways in Dutch pasture
Before being cut
Wrapped in cellophane and sold

Tomorrow is the near future.

I live near a stream that has been running dry for years
there used to be a winter lake too, now drained
as a landing pad for military helicopters
trees around get dusty like tired soldiers on the western front.
There is edginess in Europa, many years of peace the monster,
that lurks in mankind awakes.
We think we know the enemy, as usual, we are wrong
when listening to the voice of antagonism.
A new page of history written we don’t know which
side to choose, when millions of people killed
and the last bomb dropped, then it doesn’t matter which
sides we choose.
Poets will write for peace; few will listen to their warnings.
The new peace can last, but only so long, because the human mind
is bent on war; this is our tragedy the voice for peace is a child cry
in the symphony of the battlefield.

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.

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

Bards and society

Poets are gentle people who like to form a group for writers
with an eccentric title, “a thousand poets against war.”
Poetry is only useful for dictators and those who like to demonstrate how literal they are.
Dictators find them valuable if they extoll the regime
If not, you are exiled or jailed.
Poets are subjected to flattery, the lucky one gets a medal before they die
of consumption.
I was thinking of this when lost in a city, with many statues of generals riding an iron horse.
And a bust of the sensible poet in the entrance of a downtrodden hotel.

Israel, the failed state
Israel is a modern state
Where people suffer much anxiety
Surrounded by enemies
They think violence is the only answer
To find peace.
Remorselessly the continue down
The path of oblivion when they for a short time
Was winning it was destroyed by arrogance
An unwillingness to show charity
Defending the downtrodden.
Israel is an oddity in the sea of the Arab world
When they finally see this, there will be
a clamour to find a haven in Europe
Where they came from as few Jews can trace them
Ancestry back to biblical times.

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.

India

I looked it up on the map, India
it is a big country, and I know absolutely nothing
about its interior.
I once was in Calcutta's airport but this
doesn't make me an expert.
I wrote a poem about the last Bengali tiger,
but know little of its fauna,
I didn't like when Prime Minister Modi eradicated
the smallest currency of rupee it was not fair for
the small traders.
Then again he might have had a good reason
as I know next to nothing about India other than
it is the world's biggest democracy,
which I find surprising and have my doubts if it
is possible to practise democracy in such diverse
a country, like several states, hammered into one.

The Catering life

It is sunny and warm on the terrace.
I sit with my face facing the sun. It is supposed to be healthy
vitamin D, and so on.
I'm not so sure, I have had skin cancer twice.
Once, I was a chef at a restaurant, and it was in the days when food was a simple affair,
a set menu and so on.
The restaurant on the first floor of the building (Pandemic closed)
they sell solid Portuguese food, not expensive, and suitable for the Fado
I like this place as it has big tables.
We don’t make food anymore. We ring and get it delivered
from a small café run by a Palestine couple, they also serve vegetarian food.
I tried it once but preferred meat with vegetables.
I sit indoors and think that all cooks are ghostly pale because
they are indoors and slave over steaming pots and pans.
I ended my career as a cook. It was boring and hot and badly paid.

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.

The schooner

On the flatland between the vales, I could see the sea
I had walked uphill for a long time, after the downhill
and the way to the coast, it was easy, but it was
getting cold, I wore a light navy uniform (Furlough)
I saw a protest house of worship on its own no other
Houses nearby this place would do.
I fell asleep, awoke and heard ***** music, the church
full of matelotes singing psalms; the paster spoke
of redemption and the glory of God.
I saw a superb sunrise continued my walk to the coast.
In the morning an open café, I told the girl behind the
counter, where I had slept, she looked confused as far
as she knew the church had been torn down, it was
built of planks when of a schooner ran aground with
the loss of all hands.

Who Tell lies?

“Hey, this is the internet everybody lies.”
this was a throwaway sentence in a TV program
forgotten by the one who spoke the line or when
it sounded right.
It made me think is the world less honest now we have internet?
If this is so is it because we don´t see the people we lie to.
What about me do I tell lies?
Yes, at times when intrusive people ask questions
I find no ground to answer. I´m also a writer and use things I have
heard or read what happened in my and others live to tell a story.  
but in my private life, I'm scrupulously honest and take a dim
view of lies told to make the teller bigger
to borrow money because they have fallen on a temporary
a hard time when in fact they try to use people.

The War Poets

The First World War wasn't a world war but
a war of dominance in Europe chiefly by the Franc, British and Germany.
World War 2 included most country it was a nasty war
millions of people died, but strangely this war is partly forgotten.
It changed the map and brought forward Israel, which became a torn
for lasting peace in the Middle East.
But the war brought us great American writers like Theodore Dreiser,
Ezra Pound (poet)Ernst Hemingway and many others great writers.
The savagery of that world didn't include so many poets as
the dispute in Europe also called a world war did,
the reason we remember it so well is thanks to Wilfred Owens and
his intimate friend Frederic Sassoon who ploughed deep furrows
in our mind and did away with flowering poetry, gritty realism
was and still is what poets should strive for.

The Aquanaut

The ship sank two survivors on a raft
the Japanese and me.
On the first two days, sharks circled the raft
but they lost interest and disappeared
The Asian man shook my hand and said goodbye
jumped overboard and swam to
the land of the rising sun.
I was rescued by a fishing vessel the next day
thinking the Japanese had drowned didn't
think more about him, till I met him in Tokyo
where he made a living as a swimming instructor.

Long-legged ruminant

So, you think a camel is an ugly animal
with kissable lips and the eyes of
Marilyn Monroe, and yield low-fat milk
I bet you didn’t know this.
When four wheels stop in the sand of Sahara
the camel with padded feet trudges along
The beast smelled like hell, but who cares
when it brings to an oasis.
Sweet dates, cold water and languor under
palm trees, a dream come true
It was the trusted camel who found the way.
Have you ever tasted camel cheese?

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.

Getting old



Reading the papers this morning
was a sad affair, so many of the famous stars of yesteryear
had succumbed to old age.

They were as I´m in their eighties and I felt their death
as a sting in my heart, soon it will be my time to go
I accept this, but will not sink into depression.

Of everything that has happened in my life I feel no guilt
hindsight is a waste of time, my lack of success is a bonus
I have no laurel to rest on and can do as I please.

What is noticeable is my lack of understanding
of a language that has changed it is more lose now and
that is good, but it takes some effort.

The river of words I bathed in, flows slower now it is
a struggle to find the right expression, I feel as I´m
learning to swim in colder water.

Living in Portugal as I do is fine they are gentler here
and has patience when I struggle for words in shops
I have to resort to poetic expressions.

They smile broadly and think what a funny old man
I don´t mind, my wife leans heavily on her crutch,
and she gets first in line. We try to look decrepit.

At the end of this month, I need a new driving license
I have spring in my steps, luckily my eyesight is good
and the heart and diabetes go unmentioned.

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.

The bombing of my school
    
    It was a winter night 1942 the British
    Bombed the school I was going to when older.
    the town was in darkness why the Bris      bombed the school
    was because they had been misinformed thinking
    it was the German military headquarter.
    Many surrounding houses burnt down and there was some causality.
   Other than sporadic bombing our town was
    a paradise for the enemy soldiers stationed there.
   Time is harder now we see Israeli bomb schools and children’s playground in Gaza.
    I write this because I got an email from boys I had (they are old now)
    gone to school with and it brought back memories
    of a time gone by.

The victim

I was in my fifties when women found me desirable
and I became a victim of their lust.
The wife of a friend of mine came in as I came out
of the bathroom starkers.
I'm a moral person, but this was a situation unavoidable
so we ended up in bed until she fainted.
Women talk, I got a call from a woman who had a swimming pool
in the back yard, I drove there, but she wanted more
and more she got until she exhausted fell asleep.
I drove home, and my old girlfriend was outside my house
she was drunk, wanted more wine, I gave it to her, and she demanded
***, happily she fell asleep when she awoke she thought
we had had ***, she had a shower and wanted white wine
before driving home kissing me warmly asked me if she was
good in bed reassured her she was the best.
It was as my *** life had reached a crescendo, a heart surgery
stabilized my emotional life, I should have taken the women
to court, I had only wanted to be friendly
and they used my goodness to their vantage, but it is too late
but I can complain to ME TOO movement

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 destroyer
We know the world has gone mad a chicken takes care of a puppy
while we drop bombs on children in Yemen
In Gaza, they celebrate Christmas with a rocket display from Israel.
we know there has been a turnaround we were afraid if Gestapo
while the Israeli are in full flow creating a new holocaust but of course
they will say they have the right to defend themselves
Hezbollah is bombed and shot at they are not shooting back for now
they will wait until Israel sink into abjection and the world will open
Its eyes and see what the murderous thugs have done.
And then it is time for Israel to drop the nuclear bomb the will
destroy themselves and all the evil they in a short time have created.

The Grave Stone

Many years ago I went to the cemetery to find
my brother's grave, but he had not been dead long
and had no stone. I was sent a picture, his stone is big
full name and in loving memory, the whole clan must have
chipped in it looked costly.
I felt slightly envious I can get a big stone too if I pay
for it now, the blue marble will be lovely.
I'm hesitant to invest in my stone, just in case I live
Longer than expected. You never know with people like me
I have all illnesses you can think of, but I keep waking up
In the morning, eat breakfast and take my medicine
and as usual, I'm grumpy, complaining I don't laugh much
but I'm here to everyone’s chagrin.

Happy Ever After
Dad, lit the Christmas tree used proper candles,
My mother complained about the fire- hazard, this annoyed my
dad who opened the window threw out the tree then peed on the flapping
curtains which, had caught fire.
The tree landed foot down and looked pretty in the snow.
The police came took dad away, they wished happy Christmas.
When the gin bottle was empty, mother sang,
“silent night” until neighbours knocked on the wall.
Dad, came home next day, he had a black eye I had a bike.
Next Christmas my dad bought electric light, mother
had joined the AA, but still, I had to visit my aunt.

The forenoon Show
There is a ship anchored close to the shore
in the bay, I wonder what the cook is doing now
perhaps he is chopping onions for frying
with a bit of meat from lunch or maybe he is
                      washing pots and pans while the officers who have
nothing to do play cards in the mess hall.
The crew stand by the railing looking at the shore
and the bright light, eyeing at their watches
when is the cook ready to serve them some grub?
I turn my thought to Julia apparently she was not
funny enough, a day time hostess has to be relentlessly
hilarious, facile, pretty and dumb.
I wonder how long she will last before a burnout
there many young females dying to get the job.
Exposure, the name in coloured magazines, the interview
by a sycophantic journalist who let the object prattle one
about their childhood which was hard, interfered with
by an uncle, endless is the navel-gazing, but the question
how they got there so fast is not mentioned whatever it was
it has little to do with talent.

The forest dog

A dog lived in the forest
I think it was a she
It avoided conteact with people
The forest was full of rabbits.
I sat on a stone in the glade
For a long time it ignored me,
But one deay it came near
I fed him a sandwich, later on
It let me pick ticks of its fur
Before backing into the bushes.
On my walks, I often sat on the stone
Sometimes the dog came and sat
Beside me for a while.
When the hunters came it disappeared
And stayed away for weeks.
One day I found the dog near the stone
In the glade, it had been killed.
Humanity is an ugly beast slay for
Pleasure and not for food

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?