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

the pharma
We must say one thing clear the pandemic is running us
we try to reduce its influence by wanting people sitting in weeks in and weeks out
sooner or later, we have to be let out
and since we by sitting in we have no defensive are like the Indian meeting the flu
for the first time, and many more people succumb to this pest.
The vaccine has a field day.
The vaccine might help as long get an ejection twice a year a gift packed
For the pharma- an industry we have been addicted to yet another vaccine telling
we need
Pill taking and injections are the norm we a walking medicine cabinet
but they want us to live - dead people no medicine take-since death has been banished
we live in a fog of legal poison.

Snow 1956

Snowy night, streets were covered in a calm,
carpet of white and since it was Sunday morning,
with few cars about, the grubby town looked as
beautiful as a fairy tale; till Monday, when traffic
would churn snow into yellow, ***** slush and
people, in black or drab grey, would have mist
coming out of their mouths as they moaned about
the weather. In the park, the snow would last for
days and I could make my footprints large by
subbing my feet on white ground land contrasting
black trees and pale sky made for stark beauty; in
front of park benches where old men sat, talking
ships. Tobacco spittle. Winter 1956, colours only
appeared in comic strips, and in western movies.

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.

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

True Liberty


Freedom is hard work for most of us
We have to stop believing in fairy tales
Like religion; piety is a form of slavery.
The ******* we live with is fear of death.

Restriction, restriction
The world is getting mad, and the police patrol cruises the street
if you are caught without a mask heavy fine awaits.
I see some schools are open, but some are not, there has been an outbreak
of the pest in some of them.
Happy days for parents whose children are at school it is good
to be rid of the little blighters for a few hours.
In Norway, you can go to any restaurant or pub
but you can´t by alcohol- mine is 7up, cola for my friend-
Only in Norway can they do this.
But we have been here before when the Christian- party ruled.
When a left-leaning party came to power, the beer taps were opened,
but you had to eat a sandwich first.
And since no one was eating the bread the same sandwich went in and out of the kitchen
a hundred times; and when someone took a bite out of one,
it was usually full of burnt-out matchsticks.
Cest la vie!!!

Journalism

The tellers of the truth
Those who take this to heart
End up working
In underground newspapers
Alternatively, the internet.
Some journalists think they
are intellectuals
Few of them are.
So many journos in the big press
Follow the press
Faithfully write about
The brief they have been giving
Also, do not bother to look behind the screen.
For them, it is a job
That pays well thinking deep is not for them
They tow the line and are respected.
This clique of men and women feed off each
Other in a narrowing world.
Contempt for them is the right word
So, don’t think reporting is journalism.

across the seas


the Pacific Ocean was like an undulating mirror
that day the ship was on its way to Nagasaki
which for the young crew onboard meant nothing
it is incredible how quickly a war is forgotten.
Under the ocean, there were hundreds of sunken ships
there must have been much suffering and deaths
and many books were written on how successful America
had been beating the enemy into submission.
Nagasaki was like building site the Phoenix was rising
up from the ashes shinier than before.
I came across a neglected Portuguese Cemetery of mostly
young men who had succumbed to pestilence long
before Japan became a modern state
the only visible place that told of deaths the rest was
face masks because of building dust and beer.
I looked at the faces in the street this was not an oppressed
people, the war was behind them they looked at the future.

My Serengeti

I have neglected to visit my “Africa”, the flatland between
two hills that appear like a young mother's *******.
I know the trees and bushes, used to drive there to say hello.
Time changes I have no motorbike.
On the road driving to the shop, I can see the valley, yellow digger
And blue tractors near the wadi where I once saw a brown crocodile
waiting for rain.
Once I saw a tiger leisurely walking across the lane.
A hyena laughed and said it was not here.
They are building a new Algarve type village with swimming pools
and an ambitious golf course.
But not for you and me.
No, I will not look at how work progress let my dream be intact.
But I do wish a tsunami would come and wash it all away.
Alas, nothing stays the same like the olive tree at the entrance of my driveway.
I have lost my kaleidoscope

It could be true

I often wonder if there is a secret plot.
If the virus was human-made to reduce the number
of people living in poverty, and the old?
The minorities who live in inadequate cold housing have
high risk of catching the pest.
How can the poor keep the distance when living?
In tiny flats they cannot move, a lousy diet makes them vulnerable.
They die in record-high numbers.
It was like smearing the virus in liquid for on doors
and wait.
But the hidden elite was surprised who quickly the virus spread.
It affected their own, even a prime minister,
But he was known for having a loose moral and probably
Got it from a scullery maid, in his circle of toffs it is normal
Sleeping with a maid.
When a sufficient number had died of the vaccine was introduced
They had held back for many months it is free, and we are thankful.
And think not of revolution.

Our Collaboration

When sympathy reach its limit?
Day after day we see on the TV screen
war and wanton killing, the temptation is to turn
the TV off or find a channel with funny cartoons.
How many children were killed in Yemen or
Syria becomes a political debate, the children
a statistic; and we say how people can be so cruel
as to **** children. Don't sit too comfortable
in your easy chair, ask the question who gave them
the weaponry to make their killing…we did.
Without our complicity, there would have been
no wars to speak of, but we prefer not to know.
But we can march and hold our government
and other arms dealer to account, if we shout long enough,
we will be heard.
Do that before you sit in the comfortable chair your conscience
is clear and you have saved many children’s life

Old man swims

The old man had been persuaded to go to the beach
and since it was late September and tourists had gone home
He reluctantly agreed. He waded out waist deep and
then swam out to the bottomless part; suddenly the sea
had goose pimples which he took as a warning and swam
back to shore as fast as he could, this is not very fast for
an eighty years old man. As he reached the shore, he sensed
someone was trying to bite him, a tear in his swimsuit,
told his wife he had been attacked by a shark, she said the rip
had been there before, but he preferred his version.
Every time he tells the story the shark gets bigger and
he had wrestled with the ugly beast.

Alfred on an Island

I got a phone call a rusty voice said he was Alfred,
But you are dead!
I know, I know the voice told like it meant nothing
I'm at the Saragossa Island you said to me about it is nice
Here but a bit damp and foggy, hence my rusty voice.
a lifeboat that drifted ashore had a ship to shore radio
that is how I'm able to talk to you now.
But how do you get along with rough sailors, and their
salty language, not too bad as you know I play the violin
and they sing shanties and do a jig, I miss the piano though
but it would only rust here and I can't find a tuner.
I miss you, Alfred, of course, you do I thought how to be cultured
and in a way I'm your father, the real one abandoned you
The voice faded radio interference, but he said he missed too.
He had made my day he remembered me.

A Country destroyed

And all nations
Want their fair share.
France
Britain
USA
Israel
Norway
Poland
Want their lucre.
That is why
Kaddafi
Was handed over
To the murderous thugs
Of Bengasi
Who killed him?
And now we have ISIS.
Could it be the oil?

The Muir

As a child living on a farm during the war
had a pond on peatland, the pond’s water
was fenny and dark.
Slow swimming trout that tasted of mud
Swam, near the surface of the pond.
My friend and I built a boat with sails,
It sunk, I clung to the mast, Peter swam
didn’t make it, screamed before being
dragged under by something atrocious.
The adults came running, they didn’t find
Peter, the pond had endless silt, lukewarm
infinite, its foundation in the maelstrom
of conflicting horrors.

Epiphany

It was an incredible summer in 1950 the war was over things were getting
back to normal, mother's new boyfriend who worked at a factory had
a rowboat and paid holiday leave. A Sunday early we rowed to a small island
in the bay, mother had brought a blanket, sandwiches in brown paper bags
mostly jam I think and two bottles of soft drink, water and cold milk that soon
was off, and a thermos flask of coffee. The boyfriend gave me a line with
a hook on told me to go fishing- telling me what to do is not easy not even for me-
in the shallow water near the pier as bait, I found a worm under a stone thread
the living thing on the fishhook.
the water was crystal clear had tiny fishes that looked like rainbows swimming
about I saw the sky I was in a trance thought I was what I saw took a step
forward and landed in the water people came running helping me up back I was
in real-time mother came running to shout at me as mothers do and worried
about my delicate health. Rowing back into town again the boyfriend was grumpy
and suggested I had fallen into the water to get the attention I said little in my defence
how could I explain for a moment I had understood everything, but on the other hand, he could have been right, how is a boy supposed to know

broken mirror

The ship has gone sailed without me,
alone in a hotel room
I sweat and try to stop my hands
from trembling; where are
all my friends that drank with me in the bar.

They fired me threw me ashore
the *******;
dignified
Walking down the gangway,
Cheap suitcase
******* in the air hiding
My tears
I have to leave this room,
must walk tall, I’m tough
that right, butut first
I need a little drink or two

Poets and intellectuals

A big white screen I look at it and type a few words,
utter banalities about a washing machine, the brain has nowhere to go
but to think of the near things.
There was a time when I sat on top of a mountain feet dangling high
above ground when I thought if I tried could fly; everything was possible
now I’m dead inside. Death starts when the mind goes numb
and you forget your childhood, was I a Child? I don't know wish I was
a giraffe and could see life from a lofty height.
The TV bores me, I was never the poet I wanted to be I don't want
tomorrow to happen it is too difficult to write anything sensible.
The thing is to break new ground plough pristine earth and produce
something that doesn’t look like carrots.
But up from the earth sprout old clichés written over and over again
by respected intellectuals and famous poets, except for Oscar Wilde
they are just boring old ******* dressing up their ordinariness in
words we had to look up the dictionary to understand, but it is still trite.
But their reputation a great thinker follows them into perpetuity.

Icarus

I have been so fascinated by Icarus my dream was to fly closer to
the sun than man or god dared.
I had the good fortune of meeting a mad scientist at a wine tasting
contest, where our capacity for the wine was appreciated.
He had a type of wax that could withstand intense heat.
I did not hesitate to order a pair of wings.
I flew higher than any god had done before, but the heat
was so intense the wax began to melt.
Like a rocket, I dived back to earth hoping to meet water.
Splashed down into the Barents ocean.
My body, now covered in wax kept me afloat and tolerably warm
till some Russian fishermen picked me up.
They kept me warm and snug till I sat there in my boiler suit
gave me a warm coat taking me into Vladivostok if I remember rightly.
Pravda, the Russian newspaper, got hold of my exploit and printed
my story on the first page, but who reads Pravda?
The local TV also interviewed me, but who looks at Russian TV?
I´m a hero in Russia but ignored by the rest of the world,
this happens when politics get in the way of a heroic deed.

The boy in the drain

A boy of five years played in a field
noticed a hole in the ground worth exploring
a hiding place to show other children.
He fell and fell like forever before the falling stopped.
It was dark and cold he wanted to go was home.
The boy cried out they would come and save him
I must stay strong; he was strong falling asleep
and waking up, stay strong, stay strong.
five days is a long time for a boy of five.
So, easy to succumb to the long sweet dream.
The evening of the fifth day, the rescuers
reached him, but it was too late.
Morocco is mourning.
For many of us, it was as hope for the future
had vanished words do not cover our despair.

The colourblind scientist
He was from Pakistan, always wore a blue suit
we were walking away from a ship that sank.
So, I said, what are you doing for a living?
I´m a mathematician, he said currently I'm trying to make
brown into green by using a math formula, so far
I have got grey colours but lack funds to continue.
We came to a park and sat down, I pointed to the grass
said it was green.
That is the problem, he said, why is it green?
If I could find a mathematical formula, I could make
the whole world green, and there would be equality.
He was lost in thought for a while and spoke;
can´t you picture it as a green Himalaya?
A pigeon came flying and sat on his head I fed it breadcrumbs.
The scientist thanked me, got up and left.

Argentinian Tango

The night had been crying of icy tears on the window glass
I kissed the glass a thousand guitars played in Buenos Aires
the night Eva Peron died.
From ignominy to a famous mistress, it takes a high-quality ****.
Sentimental fools had lost an icon, a dream, a fairytale princess
who would give the shirtless hope?
She ******* her way to the top and said, all right, Jack!
A grand mausoleum where we can walk around and spin into a golden calf.
In time, sanctified, and padres will tell of her of greatness
the pope will give her sainthood and include her in his prayers.

Silent grass clippers
Why must lawn movers make such a noise?
Why do people with a garden seek to make an outdoor carpet?
Why people seek to make lawns look like an arrested childhood?
We can understand football stadiums, the ball runs faster
and the players do not stub their delicate feet on mature grass.
One day grass will give up growing turn into sand pits a place
For children to build sandcastles.
as big signs telling us not to walk on the grass?
This is not nature but humans trying to tame the natural world.

The phone conversation
Late in the evening, my daughter brought me an apparat
that made it possible to talk to the dead.
The first on the line was an electrician complaining
I hadn’t paid him; sure, how could I pay you when
You died before I had money ready?
You could have bought flowers and visited the funeral.
You are right I could but omitted to do so
Because I had no money and it was raining that day.
You could use an umbrella. I haven’t got one,
No self-respecting ****** will be seen alive with one.
Besides I was on a ship near the Azores when you died.
This man always complaining, static noise and other
Voices disturbed the talk.
I thought some people never stop moaning however
Long they have been dead.

The Flash

When the is thunder and lightning fall to earth
let us call the lightning “Flash” when hitting the ocean
it does not die but sinks to the sea like a bubble
waiting in a cataleptic slumber.
When the call came, they rose from the shaking sea
upwards and behind the clouds.
The meteorological conditions had taken a turn for
the worse, clouds were running out of flashes.
The vain Thor, with his hammer, striking an anvil was
not effective only produced small glimmers that
didn’t reach the earth.
Thus, fortified clouds were ready for the winter.

I could see the smoke coming.
                      from the attic
the thing is the house of dolls
was not on fire
only the figures that once was cherished.
I put the ashes of someone’s childhood
in a box of wood.
One with golden handles.
Later did I realised that all must go
even those nearest to our heart.

Hot water crisis

Suddenly no hot water
We didn’t have hot water in my childhood
We had to boil water on a kettle
Pour it into a bowl, add cold water and wash
The vital parts.
It was when it was a communal bath, I discovered
Hot water in a shower and clean towels.
I wonderful moment.
Talking about water, there is not so much of it now
The summer lake near the houses is a hole covered with
Thistles and the river are a stony track.
Where I live now the water from the faucet is not potable
We have to buy it at the local shop, and it adds to
The household expensive.
I drink about two litres per day, and it cost more than cheap wine.
I refuse to drink the nasty, the residue of an empty, wine sold inboxes.
A cold glass of water in the morning is aa
Nectar, no one should be denied.

A morning moment

The owner of a black cat
Sits on a chair by the open door, on the shady side of the road
Reading yesterday’s paper.
The moggy opens its eyes they are like a creamy zabaglione
When I walk past.
The feline sees me then closes its eyes again.
The owner of the cat gets up with tail *****
Marches into the house
The door closes
The man starts up his scooter drive off in a haze of sunlight.

Asymmetric war
Saudi Arabia has more weaponry they can handle
A small country with a few drones crippled them
And the USA sends more weapon and troops
That is useless in this type of warfare.
The armament industry has been fed and
the weapon looks shinning on the tarmac along
line of tanks going nowhere and remarkable planes
that has no purpose and only a few pilots who bomb
from a great height in case they should be hit, then
comes a few drones from the enemy and upset
the oil production in this country that has little
of value other than oil.
They know they know they can’t obliterate anyone
The Houthi runs a ring around them so much so
The Saudi are so vulnerable they seek a deal despite
the US protest, you can’t fight an asymmetric
war the unseen that might strike when it is least
expected as there is no battlefield.
The Saudi’s are running scared without oil it
A land of dunes.

Lunch on a park bench

I had bought two hamburgers
Each had a lettuce and sliced tomato.
When she showed up the burgers were cold
and the lettuce had lost it crispness
the tomato had mould
The whole thing tasted of a paper bag.
She relished her burger and ate mine too
The one I have saved for the ducks.
We shared a can of soft drinks then she
had to go back to the office.
So that was it the greedy woman only
seeing me for the food
When she rang the next day, I didn't answer the phone.

The Attack from the West


There had been a revolt by people infused
by the west’s propaganda.
They, the western countries, bombed and bombed and flattened
many cities, but the army fought on.
The goal. I think was to unseat the president and make
that country into a new Libya; that is called democracy.
A third-country, not a westerly one, came to the rescue
the bombing has almost stopped.
A small and historically insignificant country took a piece
which it eventually has to return.
Thousands of inhabitants fled, not from the ruler of the country
they fled from the terror of the bombs, and the traitors who wanted
the power for themselves.
Today there is an election that can only have one winner
for the time being this war-torn country can´t cope with more.
Denmark is sending home those who sought refuge there
the logic is it is a safe country to return to

Baku


In Baku ( the then Soviet Union)
I found the individual Russians a friendly people
we drank white wine which was a bit sweet
but otherwise tasted good.
The restaurant looked like 1930 had white table cloths
of course, Lenin and Stalin were looking at us
either as a bust or a picture.
The suits the men wore was also 1930ish but so what
we didn´t have to pay.
The Russians liked to hear theirs was a wonderful country
as I indeed did in, say, Texas wonderful state
and was told the blacks were all communists
Strangely enough, I was more frightened in Texas, so many
guns in holsters.
The individual Texans were polite, well-armed men often are
and we drank lone star beer served cold.
The British took years before serving cold lager.
I live in Portugal now, a good place but I wouldn't say I like the unholy alliance between politicians and the business class.

They are coming to take you away, aha.

I hate corners know he will be standing there
A Parisian Apache, one leg resting on a wall
Of a closed-down factory.
Smoking Gitane a cigarette.
Sharpening his stiletto, cleaning his fingernails.
Or a farmer, stony ground fed up, takes his *****
and cut my throat,
A geyser of blood that will fertilize the floor
it could also happen walking home after an evening
at the pub, falling face down in a puddle where yellow welly floats.
It could be so banal, as falling when going to the loo
with a broken nose, no one hears the muffled screams
dying and not saying anything divine.
I have to buy a coffin it must be wide, sleep in it every night
wake up in the morning dead, with sunlight on my pale face.

The poetry well

The boy in the throng was demonstrating
legally on his land against the oppressive
neighbour country when he was shot dead by a ******.
This is the new policy, shoot children and
hope the parents can stop them doing what is right.
The well of poetry is full of dead children murdered
by a state that knows no limit to their cruelty
a country that has lost it moral compass and I also feel
sorry for the young soldiers who have to partake in this slaughter?
It will come back and haunt them.
We are so silent; we report what is happening but refrain
from saying anything. I ask how long we are going to say nothing.

Distant country


The flat was on the third floor, flights of wooden stairs
deep groves from generations of people going up and down
in the living room, I sat down, had been away too long.
The autumn wind blew, the house swayed and creaked
like an old schooner meeting the Atlantic swells.

The room was simple, a few pictures and an Amateur
painting of a rowboat in a fiord, a boathouse and blue sky
afar the silhouette of a mountain range, the painting was
ominous by its deadness; got up went down the same stairs
I entered; the past and those I knew had gone.

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

The Nordic Pyramid

Up north, where I was born
there is a mountain in the shape of a pyramid
of course, it is much bigger
dwarfing the Egyptian´ones.
It is snow-capped looks desolate
but every year I have noticed the snow crown
is getting smaller
now it is the size of a French beret.
Soon the snow will disappear and
the mountain will look like a pyramid.
A testament that once the human race lived here,
but they like the Tasmanian tiger
disappeared from the planet.
They will never come back again.

In the absence of hatred

This man called Anders, a mass murderer, sits in his cell
a gigantic spider spinning a web of curiosity
we get entangled in.
We ask questions he cannot answer; if he could, we would
perhaps not care for the answers.
Learned men will write weighty books that will create
more questions are no valid answers, but abstract theories
why did this cataclysm happen?
Forget him as you forgot last winter.
Let him disappear into the labyrinth of the criminally insane.
When he dies, sooner than you think, do not make
big headlines of his demise.

Walking by the sea

Walked along the sea-shore
The breeze from the sea filled my lungs with goodness
The pavement was flat and smooth.
I walked for an hour, only stopping to inhale the air.
Alone and free of squabbling women, I felt at ease.
I feel invigorated, but I need a car to drive there.
When the womenfolk rules I find myself in the centre
Waiting as they go in and out of shops.
The sea a bit restless today smashed against rocks and
The air was filled with ozone; to my surprise there
Others had the same idea; they didn’t
Work sat their cars with windows open, and that is ok.
I saw a yellow flower among coarse grass
A hardy soul braving the wind and since I’m not
A botanist I didn’t bother to give it a name.

Antique village

Houses around me are emptying the old, reaching the age of dying.
A timeworn man went missing on Monday, was found miles away,
the local constabulary drove him back home.
He had tried to flee, didn’t to where he had no money.
Behind closed doors in dark rooms, he tries to stave off the fated.
Sunlight unbearable reminds him of the sunrises he will not see.
When a car stops outside his house, he trembles in fear, is a hearse
coming for him?
Voices of children are like the scorn of his elderliness, he longs for peace
but fears death’s endless cruelty.

Posted by the blog Friends of Palestine

The screen of inconsequence

The screen is blank waiting to be filled
with words, which become sentences
that can be good, or banal, mostly meaningless.
But I leave the sentences alone they have been
giving life and since everything is equal
I will not send any word into the dark
the underworld of delete.
When enough pages are completed
they will be an e. book that will
be read by no one,
here they can rest in peace undisturbed
by the outside world and its diverging voices

A dirge

He was not for me
He was not for you.
Stillness.
We miss his absence.

An ethical poem
A big crow and a sparrow which had painted itself
in the colour of a big bird to look masterful became friends
Both suffered from a bombastic belief they could
take on the elderly eagle and its brood.
A virtuoso war a million other birds killed who only happened
to be flying on peaceful errands.
The Sahara became rubicund from a distance looked like a carpet
for kings and potentates.  
From Eastern states, vultures came to feed and defend
to get the big crow and the preening sparrow off their territory.
The crow flew home, the sparrow took a bath to look common.
It did not help the sparrow it had done crow´s bidding
was shunned and had to fly from suburban gardens to another
and sleepless sit under a bush.

Meeting Van Gogh

The wheat field is blond as a German milkmaid.
Intense heat, in the shade of an olive tree
I saw a grumpy Van Gogh is glaring at me for
appearing in his painting.
My scooter is electric blue and doesn’t fit in.
Easy now, my painter, pretend it is a mule.
The vine, deep green or dark cerulean
soon bottles of liquid pleasure.
The road in your landscape is like a mamba
sneaking its way, killing rabbits blue.
The afternoon sun is fierce, sweat in my eyes
I fall among thistles, and Van Gogh smiles.

Denmark

There is a charming little country
it has no sharp stones or huge mountains to obstruct the view
In our heart, we loved this little land.
They even invented the word “HYGGE.”
The reality is quite different, as it turns out to be a den of spies.
they spied on the behalf of the USA; in other Scandinavian countries they even bugged the prime minister of Germany´s phone.
In shipping it has been noticed they get the best contracts.
Quid pro quid, I think the word is.
We in Norway have been half sceptical of this sugary land
We were ruled by them for 500 years.
But they make good beer.
It will take time before we trust the sweet little land again, and
The word “Hygge” has lost its cosy sense of brotherhood.

A New Planet
For me, it is too late
But had been young I would
Have done my utmost to find another planet
Liveable for humans.
Think of it a planet without border
Not carved up into countries and rivalries
And threats from states with big land.
Just one continent where anyone could travel
Where they wanted no passport controls
Or unsightly walls.
A planet without religion to upset the peace
And of course, no political parties
No rules set by the mighty, the authority
Who divert rivers without asking the people?
In short, a planet for the people and
Animals in the wilderness.
Alas, since humans are settlers.
they will take their flaws along
and in time ***** it up

The ****

Through paper thin walls we heard the mother
say, no stop, stop don't do this
but he did the eighteen-year-old son
***** his mother and we sat there trying not
to listening to this inequity.
In time it became a norm and their bed creaked,
we played the radio a bit louder, spoke with raised
voices, anything to drown the sin.
I was glad the day they moved away,
they were now a couple holding hands,
and there was nothing we could do,
in the end, they had to pay, or perhaps
not, as they were knee deep
in an obscenity ******, they call love.

The outing

It was a sunny Sunday we drove to a park
that has an old house in the middle selling paintings
some of them are good but mostly plenteous crap,
I know enough about art to see the difference.
Naturally, the place was closed since it was Sunday.
But going up a ramp to the park a driver buzzed his horn
they do that a lot in Portugal I told the driver what I thought
My wife said I was rude; she can be friendly
to everyone get waitresses to tell their banal sob story.
She- my wife-enjoyed herself thoroughly going in and out
of small shops selling things, she couldn't possibly afford.
On the terrace of a posh restaurant sat to women eating
Meat on skewer drinking white wine looking like expensive
prostitutes or solicitors, but they were not alone many suited
men drank too, and I wondered how the hell they can drive
after this.
I bought a pure hot dog but could the ******* get
it right, filled it with all sort of **** 6.50, please. *******, all
I wanted was a ****** hot dog at 2.50.
Sat on a wall waiting; finally, she declared it had been a fine
outing and I drove her home.

Epigram
It doesn’t matter how far you go
What height you climb to the top
You will always feel like an intruder
The stigma of poverty clings to you.