Hospital workers

It has been another busy day a lot of driving
the destination is yet another hospital that smells of despair.
Busy fat auxiliary nurse, you can hear the friction of sweaty thighs
and the smell of their vaginas.
I’m not surprised the canteen sell mostly sweet cakes and drinks
and low paid, they have no other chances.
The doctors are mostly good at their trade, but some of them
would be happier as car mechanics, if it hadn´t been
for pushy mothers wanting a son with a title.
They are jolly, the nurses on a sugar high, I think.
I sit in the waiting room, the endless waiting for more tests.
My doctor is female, she talks to me softly, but there is steel
in her voice, telling me what to do and eat.
After a shouting match I lost, I gave her one of my books.
Mollified, she forgave my outburst. Yes, she is an angel.

Hemingway and I
I don't want to reinvent myself, I would, however,
like to go back to the days before domestic demands
I had to work hard to support a family of children
not mine, sometimes I sat in the garage looked at the car,
wondered if I should run away.
Once, my mates and I climbed tree I told them I should
be a writer; now that I'm old I have a chance, but too
much innocence has run into silt,
I will never be a Heming way of letters.

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.

Strange summer

This has been a curious summer
few insects around and the bees have disappeared too.
It didn't use to be like this I had nets in all window
I could have saved the money this year.
Not that I'm fond of insects, but it is frightening should
they disappear altogether.
There is a small beehive in the backyard the hive
it is still there but looks like a poorly built house drying
out and pieces are falling off and is empty.
Without insect here I include the pesky dipterous there
will be no spring and no harvest.
I blame the Chemicals used on the land, and inside houses
it is poison; we must stop this attack, stop using chemical
and accept a smaller but healthy harvest.

The Autopsy

This is a good day cold but with sunshine
and hard soil which with a mechanical digger
is easy to open for a newly dead
When a patient dies, he/she is sent down
to the doctor in the basement who do the autopsy
he speaks into a mike takes pictures writes a report.
The doctor in question is obese, smoke cigarettes
when on his breaks, is straight out of a crime novel
written by Mike Spillane
This is a good day with sunlight and hard soil but
there will be no funeral today.

Hong Kong, the Paradise

Did you know that in this enclave?
one out of five lives in stark poverty.
This place has the highest property
Prices in the wold.
The owner of such a flat has to
Subdivide the flat until it becomes
Tiny boxes to be able to pay rent.
Those who started this mayhem
Possibly get help from outside
Sources who know there is no win
Except for embarrassing China.
Demonstration without a clear goal
Is futile, the students are taken
For a ride and their democrat
Credentials a historical footnote.

Cold weather front

A few good days fooled us the cold weather returned we thought it was
early spring. I worried if my almond tree had its buds been damaged
and will not bloom and strews petals on the lane,
the illusion of frost, the princes in the tower saw in the fairy tale.
The fire in the grate is exuding warmth the dog no one owns snoozes in a chair,
no, the heart to throw it out
I’m not a tree hugger, but give trees a friendly slap
a sucker for the down and out bought a chicken for a Roma women
begging outside, the guard said, “you must not feed
them” like they should be vermin.
I love my almond tree reminded me of my mother when she was old,
so sweet her face in her frailty.

Sailing

I will be here
Waiting for you
In the bay of peace.
When becalmed
Your sails grey
Days of glory over
I will be there
In the tranquil bay
Waiting for you.
Our anchors
Will be our wedding ring
De-rigged
Side by side
At last, my love.

Minimum wage

The olive trees in the landscape
near the village,
Have working-class trunks
and no illusion
Of becoming middle-class trees.
They refuse to grow
in a plant- nursery and be tampered with
by botanists.
They do not envy tall palm trees.
Good luck to those who see the world
through an elevated height.
Good soil and water the plebian olive tree wants
it has deep roots and will not fall
in a storm.

The royal sport

A racehorse died
it had given more
then its heart could endure.
Many racehorses die
every year
the difference with this horse
its trainer
sat on the dead horse
and smiled.
But horses like racing,
true but at its own pace
not made to run faster than it can
But the British are animal lovers
unquestionable,
but they love betting more.
Racing horses
is a commodity
if they can´t take the pace and win
the abattoir
is the final stop

Officers and Gentlemen

I think this was the name of the movie I saw a romantic love story
of an officer aspirant and his girlfriend who worked in a factory.
When he passed his exam, he walked into the factory claiming
his trophy.
It was ever so romantic, brought tears to many eyes, it raised
a social class issue here, the movie was made before the woke
mentality and Me-Too took hold.
His friend who also studied to become an officer had a girlfriend
whose dream was marrying an officer.
He was not that keen to be one, broke off the study and told her
they could get married now buy a house and have kids
A sulk walked across the girl’s face, and her dream was crushed
She didn´t love him, but the illusion.
She refused to marry a mere civilian.
Devasted, he understood she had not loved him, her words
of love was fantasy walking down the high-street, arm in arm
With an officer.
The young man felt betrayed and lied to boked into a hotel
got a room and, later that day hung himself.

a slip of a girl

Her body is enticing
Like a bud not yet a flower
Unashamedly in the shortest of short
Clinging to her plummy ***
Dance into my cafe.
Soon she will be a beautiful
Woman bursting with poise
She will get much attention
Some unwanted
Then one day she will
Fall into a man
A flower in his lapel
She doesn’t know that this
Her adolescence  
Will be the best days of her life

Sighting

Far out the on the Pacific ocean
I saw a ship sailing upside down
A fata morgana, a mirror from another
Dimension sailing on the outside
Of the horizon.
The explanation given was trite
I preferred to believe in a world outside
Our horizon that is limitless.
Everything is true, and everything is false
The keel of the phantom ship was held
Up by blues clouds.

Sunday Forenoon

She is listening to the Catholic mass
On TV and I’m banned from the living room
She takes her religion serious
And will be spared of any sarcastic remarks
About how the Padres are dressed and me
Wondering aloud if they believe what
They say.
We are going out for lunch, the sermon has
Made her hungry and we will have chicken
Killed in Jesus’s name, fried to perfection.
Me! I prefer Portuguese bacalao burgers
Fried to perfection, with a salad and later
drive along the promenade people watching.

Unsentimental

Overcast this Saturday the clouds are light grey
letting in light on the dark water.
Only one ship anchored in a bay this morning
It is high in the water, waiting for a birth to fill
the cargo holds with stuff from one port to another.
The ship has a black funnel with two red rings
she is elderly and needs a lick of paint, probably
from my time in the merchant navy.
I was not a good sailor, was impatient to reach a port
any port would do, as long as I got ashore
away from the floating gossiping village, freedom!
Settled in my old age, I see the futility of sea life.

The canasta

We played canasta, club 7 was missing lie on the floor,
but the rules where you couldn’t pick it up invented by lawmakers
who had decided that one part should lose the game of power?
Millions of people protested their concern was not hidden as the system
was rigged to favour one and the missing card became irrelevant
or buried in page number five as a joke.
The card was picked up anyway and used as proof of false performance
since the man who picked up the 7th card was profoundly
argumentative he was wrong until proven right, they continued playing
with a missing card ignoring the consequences.
The rule is quite clear you can´t play canasta with a missing card.

not what you think



as the ship was docked or hidden instead in a small bay
if mother had she known refused to see me go on board
. Along it railing a group of scowling men passing the time by spitting into the water.
In the galley, I met the cook who knew the rudimentary of cooking he was cleaning dirt from under his fingernails using a fish knife — a giant of a man few dared to cross him, a friend for life.
With a crew of murderous ruffians and a million cockroaches
I had to live, yet we wore bandana of grey, and they had as I the pallid skin of poverty no soap can wash away,
in a way I felt a kinship with them and I was accepted.
When the ship birthed in Genoa, I noticed some of
the lads smelling of perfume, the cook told me they were
going to meet older men, who gave them dinner,
a little money and shiny objects, it took me a bit before
I too understood. Not to forget the evil twins who went to
Public loo to beat up gays, the cook would not let them come
Near the galley, they boasted of having put a gay man ‘s head
Down a toilet full of **** and they didn't let go before the man
Stopped resisting. But homosexuality raised its ugly head
a *** was patted someone told the captain and the ****
was arrested and thrown into an empty cabin, in the morning
he was not there, and the captain who was judge and jury said he drowned.

Writing and movies

In my mind exist, people, I have not met
they are a friendly lot not giving to dispense advice
points to me to write that floats into my mind
even if it is not deeply intellectual.
Trash is the **** of writing, without it how else
can a movie be made?
Look what happened to Hemingway´s book of a poor fisher
who caught a big fish only to have it eaten by a shark?
They made a movie out of the book
an overweight actor got the job.
Trash, seen and admired by millions.
Take Dan Brown, he is the trashiest writer I know
the movie industry does him a favour making
his books into movies seen by millions of adoring fans.
The people in my head only point the anomaly out
not for them to be critical.

Cop26

To Glasgow, they came the high, mighty and the good
tarmacs full of private planes.
They all agreed we have to rescue the world
But first, we have to sell oil and coal
We can´t rely on windmills alone it is cold up north
Norway is set to have zero emissions in a few years.
Norway will still export oil; they have to have an income.
Brazil will stop logging the forest but not right now
Perhaps in 2150 or sixty at a stretch 70.
I was not there at the meeting, but it appears no one
spoke of the benefit of trains reliable prized.
As it is train tickets – since trains are privatized;
cost more than taking a short-haul plane ticket.
I don´t believe that anything they said is possible,
That is because we live in a capitalist thought- sets
grows and income is more important than flooding
and the disappearance of smaller island states.
Nothing will change before we sit fishing for cod
At the slopes of Himalaya.

Mass Immigration

Once upon a time, there was a mass emigration
from Northern Europe to America, caused by social injustice
and bitter poverty.
46%n of the population in Norway immigrated to the USA,
the immigrants settled mainly in places like Minnesota and
another northern state as farmers as the land was easy to come by.
Few of them came back to Norway, those who did were
to show off their wealth such as a big car,
having a car was beyond reach for ordinary people even up to
the ninety fifties.
No sane Scandinavian goes to America anymore, this because
politically the USA didn´t evolve but in many ways regressed
into boneheaded conservationism.
Yet for many, say, Latin America where people have suffered
under various dictatorships, North America still offers hope
of work and food on the table.

seasons
The day is young
Doesn’t know it will?
Be old gray and die
And the long night
Shall be the ruler.
But unlike humans
The day will be reborn
Be young again
And hear bird songs

What’s the time?

The dictator is obsessed with time
he has thousands of wrist-watches and wall clocks
showing the time in different time zones.
At noon, he checks the time zones if it is ten o’clock
Somewhere else, he adjusts his star-studded Rolex
In his mind, he has gained two extra hours.
The time is a must for the dictator, he is getting old
and fear the breath of the dead and the power.
He spends too much time alone, only seeing people
on the screen, political helpers consist of faces
Suspicious by nature, he tries to read if the faces
are treacherous trying to unseat him he needs total
loyalty to feel secure, he knows he is right they are
plotting against by fighting his war timidly yet know
if he falls, they will perish too.

Losing Paris

The village has been enveloped by fog for days.
The world is shrinking; all I see is our apartment.
And the misery of prisoners of the pandemic.
We are sinking into abjection, and we can´t run.
Do you remember Paris ten years ago, she says?
Well, vaguely I murmured, then she told me of us
travelling there on a bus that took forever.
She had visited family and friend, visited her
brother grave and enjoyed herself.
I had read poetry at a venue and met with silence.
I had gone to a theatre showing a modern play
falling asleep drunk and farting loudly.
I walked the streets, drank in a bar told an arrogant
waiter to *******; thrown out.
God, I hated Paris it, was not like meeting Hemingway.
I was 80 years too late.
In the morning I was ill, had to go to a hospital
they stuck a tube up my ***** so I could ***, and now
I sat in the kitchen agreeing with my wife it had been
a great trip; it had been an accumulation of misery
caused by myself, you see, I couldn’t find
the Paris of my dreams

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

The race for life

Once I was a spore trying to reach the ovaries
I ran fast (must have been athletic) and won the race
to be a living breathing human.
Had the spore lost it would not make, any difference
for a spore.
As it is, I have seen the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean
mountains high and rabbits in the woods never loved
by a woman, nor the glorious hurt of rejection
The softness of her skin, the colour of her eyes
When I swam in the lake of enchantment and walked
near the waterfall where lovers cry.
All this because I was lucky, the victor of a race where
millions of spores

The Abortion

Morning broke in the Sea of Japan
the rainbow was off-colour
A day was born.
Incomprehensible
thought it had power
to charm us
When it was a reflector of the weather.
The rainbow couldn´t hang there
but it was erased by an invisible hand.
the day aborted
into hate and ignorance.
She was in hospital
there was nothing he could do.
The night was bleak.

The Occupiers

Outside, the only road in my village
a horde of carts pulled by skinny horses full of furniture and children
demanded access.
Our great grandfathers built this house we have
the right of return.
I contemplated giving them the shed but knowing they would
demand a larger part of the house, thought it best to resist
my thought of being kind.
The people outside were of Roman ancestry and had lived
in this area for hundreds of years and had been harassed wherever they went
It was time to take back the village and the right to defend ourselves
I rang the police, fifty officers came and disbursed the crowd
and a guard post erected at the entrance.
I normally have a liberal heart, but in this case, I had no empathy
by those who tried to make me homeless

dance like no other

Ghana had declared independence from the tyranny of British rule, and much was at stake.
As the building of a dam project, gold and diamonds.
The Russians had been trying to use the situation to their advantage; something had to be done.
The English queen flew to Ghana and met the new president.
In the evening, he asked her up to dance, and they were a perfect match.
In his strong muscular body, she melted and became
A warm, willing woman.
A waltz of gods.
When coming back to Britain, her husband, prince Philip got a surprise
and nine-month later, a new prince called Andrew was born.
Alas, he was a spoilt prince but was protected by his mother
she had her memories.
Andrew is now a neglected prince who, middle-aged and fat,
roams the castle but is for now protected.
It was a pity the fire in her ***** could only produce an utter failure.

Limelight

Once I had to go on stage
reading my poetry, I was a nervous wreck
but when up there bathed in light
that shone just for me I was in my element.
Each poet had read three poems, but I was unstoppable
until the arranger of the festival dragged off stage.
The audience consisted of 50 people who are not
who are not afraid of a poetry reading.
I was afire and wanted to read poetry everywhere
but my wife got me to go to bed before the fool
in me took over.

White Eagle

On my walk, I saw a big, white eagle with an enormous
wingspan, flying low and in circles as it was looking for
Something in the bush landscape. It the steadfast
the gaze of a seraph that had to judge angst ridden souls
which claimed the meant no harm when they had sinned,
it had been with humour and fairness.
It flew higher and in wider circles till it disappeared and
blended in with the afternoon sky.

Back home I told Ernesto I had seen a white eagle, he had
never seen one, though it was a pity I didn't have a rifle
to shoot it, His Maria, was more severe, said I had seen an angel,
crossed herself, wore a shawl over a greying hair and
Went to mass. Ernesto and I went to the bar; he told regulars
I had seen an angel; they kidded me greatly

At home, in the night, sitting by the fire – spring evening
can be chilly- where I live, seeing the flapping fire wings
of burning aromatic olive wood, I said to myself; wouldn’t
be nice if Maria was right?

The visit

My mother and went to visit her uncle and his family
they lived in the outskirt of the town what we thought of as posh
we took the bus.
Mother’s uncle was a foreman at an abattoir, therefore middle-class
in his wife’s eye.
When he came home from work his family, had two children
They had dinner in the kitchen, we sat in the living room
mother was given a cup of coffee I got a glass of milk.
When dinner was over her uncle came into the living room
I thought his hands were dripping with blood,
I think he gave her some money when his wife did the dishes.
We left, I was feeling angry without knowing why in the hall,
I said, have you got cats, no, his wife said? Odd I can smell cat ****.
Outside mother, scolded me for being so rude, but she smiled.
I never saw her uncle again nor his snobbish wife.
They never visited us, we lived on the wrong side of the town.

The old man sings the blues

Early morning the day had died
a wall of grey nothingness death without grief.
The night had been dreamless had there been any night or had been erased,
life and death have merged this the end
of what I will see.  
Is my bed a coffin I have been let out of?
So I could see what the world was like when
it was colourless, an insipid oblivion, this
apart we see in hues is an illusion  to spare
us the reality the world does not exist
we are dreams within the imagined
and life is an invention.

A time called Noel

It is a cold morning, soon it will Christmas
and people of good-will are going out in the night
to feed the poor, the homeless and other  
victims, of our capitalist system.
Glowing in goodness, they think not the poor
need shelter and food every day.
The traffic in downtown Cascais was intense on roads
not built for this onslaught, we ended up at
the biggest supermarket the one that sells to among
other useless ****, plastic bicycles
Millions of these bikes toys end up in the ocean
and it is a fair bet fish don't use them, I rather
see an ocean of wisely used condoms.
The supermarket was so full I panicked had to run
to my car, waited until my wife rang she had
a trolley full of stuff, but luckily no bike.
I got a fire- engine for Christmas as a child, it had
wooden wheels that soon fell off, I lost interest.
I think it ended up in the wood fire so one can say
it was useful to the end.

Counsellor
  
  He was an independent therapist
  for people who thought they were drinking too much.
His first question was: why do you drink so copious?
The answers were varied; he asked them to address
their problems, and desist from alcohol for six months,
Sometimes it did the trick.
Those who could not see he sent to A.A.
He had experience from working at a private clinic
where the religious aspect played a vital role.
The expert rejected his system, lost his licence
to practise his amateurish an uneducated views.
He has met people who thanked him for finding
they were not alcoholics and by those he had
directed to A. A.

The mist makes you see far.

Driving home, it was late after a clinic visit
the mist hung heavy over the valley that looked like a different landscape.
I might as well drive in Bhutan, a place where mad royals live.
At the dinner table, the prince excused himself, returned with a machine gun
and shot them all, a truly Shakespearian moment.
The prince was declared mentally unfit sent to a secure place
but since he was now a king, he can walk around and be free of relatives, sits in the throne-room
wears a crown and nothing can be done about it.
The French got rid of their royals but not totally some of them still walk around calling themselves
duke or baron, but politicians occupy their splendid castles.
I saw them, the royals of yore moving about in the mist, reminded me
of the ghosts on the island of Saragossa where blind old tars are forever trying to escape back to
the sea where they once were the princelings of the oceans.

What fame can do

Parked outside the local supermarket I saw a Rolls Royce
I straighten my shoulder and walked in with dignity.
The staff looked tense like an Imam had visited a church sermon.
Then I saw him, a tall elegant man deeply tanned, I can´t say black
anymore, but my wife comes from Kinshasa.
He walked around the shop looking at things unnerving us,
finally, he bought an apple, ate it on his way to the rolls,
Threw the apple core away entered (open-topped)
And drove away.
The staff was relieved, told me he was a famous actor,
It is not every day such an elevated personality visited our shop.

When the Dance stops

So now the party in Singapore is over
pacts are signed, and the show of lies is over in the meantime,
I have been looking at pretty flowers FB, which inspired me
to go for a walk, the blooms on the terrace are
past their glory, they are pale shadows waiting for a new spring,
only my cacti are flowering it has nevertheless with by my
ignorance and little water thrived and have bell-like red flowers.
The sheep on the field eat the pretty flowers first
before eating grass, I think they are colour blind
or think beauty must be consumed before it pales.
Meanwhile, the two dancers in Singapore smiled better than a crocodile would and we cynics wait for the next step.

People and horses

The Newmarket was the oldest market in town
farmers came here selling potatoes and other greenery
Their women-folk sold thick, long underwear
winter can be cold when the North-west blows.
Horse manure was quickly scooped up the town’s housewives
good for the rosebushes.
Horse **** gave off a fragrance of time gone by.
Time changed, first slowly farmers had trucks
sold orange, tomatoes and exotic fruits never heard of before
and one day the horses to had gone.
Everybody was busy not time for a wee dram and a chat.
It was the horses that made the market pretty
oddly enough the iron ring on the railing is still here
Waiting for the warm breath of the workhorses.

The pay inequality

So Serena Williams had a meltdown
and in the furore called the umpire a thief
this meltdown was quite entertaining
but didn’t stir me into action.
What shocked me was learning
Randi Toksvik made forty % less than her
Pre- presenter, the odious Stephen Fry made at, the same program.
My mother fought tirelessly for the same pay for the same work
And slowly it has seeped in.
In the merchant navy, the equality has always been practised
it doesn't matter what job you have the payment is the same
for men and women.
In my nativity, I thought it was the same in the entertainment industry
this disparity in pay must be addressed and end.

pride

The water in the bay is deadly calm
Diamond encrusted angles mirror themselves
God is asleep if he knew he would frown
Upon such frivolity.
Yesterday I fainted blood sugar level too low
Banged my head on the mahogany table
Two men from the red cross came helped me up
Gave me an injection; oddly, I struggle
to keep the sugar in the blood from being too high
and suddenly it is too high.
Today I sit on the balcony admiring the sea view
Nursing my wounded pride.

The climate

Is an elephant on *****
Weaned off.
Going berserk
Throwing things around
Tearing the
Polaris into fragments.
Hurricanes
Storms
Flooding.
Scorching summers
Arctic winters
There is no end
To the elephants
Despair.
Slim the elephant
Normal food
It will soften
Its rampage
And trumpeting.

A Thought
  
My foolish heart its colour is blue
and my thoughts are rainbows which I ride
on to a mystical past and it is pastel hued.
Insecurities are blinking yellow.
The spectral takes me to the moon places
I will not go near.
It presses on to go deeper to the swam I’m
a bottom feeder eat trout in the raw
for its colour, I crave the light and lust for
The rainbow that stranded me in silver light
on a planet that has no history,
I was my face in the part of me that is unsullied
soon it will be morning.

Banana trees

Most of the jungles of Sumatra are uprooted
to plant banana trees the orangutans have been made homeless.
They try to sit in the banana trees, but it is too brittle for the animals
besides, they don´t care for this type of fruit, which gives them the runs.
It reminds me of Lisbon the Portuguese are proud of.
Moneyed people are coming from abroad to settle in the city,
a wonderful place to live.
The poor cannot afford the high rent when flats are modernized
to suit newcomers.
The unfortunates are pushed out to find a shack, if they are lucky
or failing that, live in tents;
many tents, in parks and sideroads while waiting to be housed.
There are many pretty banana trees in Lisbon, but they are expensive.
It has always been like this, the poor and the uncommunicative
must take the brunt when a town goes upmarket.

The Inland Algarve

The landscape so oddly shaped
Had once been a domestic landscape
Walking along narrow cart-wheel
Tracks I often come across the remnant
Of dwellings that once had housed
Poverty-stricken people who had
Ploughed small and reluctant fields
Olive trees had grown wild and tall
Bearing bitter fruit.
Sone walls had no purpose sinking
Back to earth becoming rocks again.
A haunted landscape in the inland
Algarve and no one saw it doomed
Beauty.
Rabbits and boars dominated in peace
And sheep grazed in the glooming.
Stillness yet I sensed voices that once
Had loved and lived struggling
Against poverty and early death.

The fox in the henhouse

The settlers are burning down Palestinians olive trees,
No main newspapers care to report the truth the settlers are conniving
With the Israeli government to do this unopposed.
What we a witnessing is the destruction of a people who had
their land was stolen and hounded to elimination by those who chose
to believe what a scribe said.
There have been many massacres over time like what happened
to the Albanians and other minorities such as the Rohingya people
In the hands of the Buddhists.
We have had the Holocaust, but it is the first time we are seeing
The oppressed are becoming oppressors, and they are so successful
That if we protest, they are calling us anti- Semitic.

Wine bottle

The old man's wine bottle is empty
he looks into the future
rippling through him like Goosebumps
on a lake,
he sighs get up to find another bottle

The gush

    The moon is full not completely round
but elongated and so near I can almost touch it.
A pity the moon only reflects the sun
it diminishes it somehow.

The Chines planted apple trees at the back
of the moon
if they bear fruit, it will be bitter and never harvested
it will cost too much to pick them.


The apples will fall by themselves
down to earth like bitter tears
this should teach us not to tamper with nature
it will take 154 years before a moon like this reappears

Our dogs
  
When dogs were wild and had a short lifespan
They had so many enemies, and they were rather clumsy
The sought refuge near man’s camp sights
And were fed by keeping other wild animals at bay.
A special bond between us grew closer when they
Discovered our needs to cuddle up to them and
We gave them safety from a cruel world where they
Other ways would not survive like wolves.
Does a dog feel love towards humans, I don’t think so?
They are used to us and what we have to offer.
For dogs the word love is meaningless they do know
What is best for them, but we will go on loving them

Winner and losers

The two boys
down they ran
to the town's pond

feeding the ducks
they had a bag each
one of them had
a mother who worked
in a cake shop.

The boy who came second
had been eating
cake crumbs
as he ran

didn't care if the first
one won,
his mother worked
in a cake shop.

Madness
Stood by the window, saw a man with a cane, walking
down the road, I waited for him to return I waited all day long
till I was so hungry that I rushed into the kitchen
grabbed an apple and continued my vigil waiting for
the man with a cane to return. Darkness comes the road has
no light I had a flashlight to lit up part of the road  
should I hear some noise? Two in the morning I heard him
he looked startled in the flashlight, this was the moment when I knew
I was truly mad.