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.

Midnight train
  
The lake we swam was man-made,
not a big lake it consisted mainly of rainwater.
The lake had no undercurrent and lacked profundity
It was blue in May, but when little rain fell
it turned muddy and in fall it was brown as the leaves
on my almond tree.
Spring is a good time for love, Trine and I used to sit
by its shore and talk about our future.
Her future didn´t include me and I was full of rage.
Trine disappeared one day it was assumed she had
taken the midnight train to the main city.
Little rain fell that winter, the lake turned to dust
and became a landfill for our expanding town.

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.

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.

A horse blanket
Is better than
A sheet of silk
When feeling cold.
I pondered this
And came to the conclusion
It was self-evident
Dismissed
My words of wisdom.

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.

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.

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

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!!!

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.

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

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

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?

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.

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.

Drugs


I never showed my dogs any tricks that appear to please
people she grew from a puppy to an adult, mind I sometimes
patted her and she had the habit of using my feet as a pillow
when I was watching TV. when she got older, she got a bit
grumpy when I moved my feet.
Today I watched how they killed Pablo Escobar, a drug trader
a murderous gangster, all his costumers, live in the USA.
As usual in this cases, someone else took over and it will
continue and this how capitalism work.
there is a hallowed family selling ***** in large scale they
by bribing doctors to push this wonder medicine that
that made people addicted, well ***** is addictive whatever
name you to put on the label.
this family still flogs their wonder pills I will not use the name
but they have killed more people than Escobar.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Resistance

When the German occupation of Norway ended
in April 1945, those who had willingly worked for
the occupation power was arrested.
Most of them were middle-class people and they
were sent to farms to do menial work.
(One has to add the farmers too was willing to sell
Their products to the enemy.)
Only a handful of Nazis were shot among them
Was Quisling and a few others.
There was no mass- shooting of the enemy and
the traitors, on the whole, it was rather a mild affair.
For the workers the new peace meant redundancy
as all construction works the occupants had undertaken
came to an abrupt halt.
I write this because there is in the national psyche
of the Norwegian to be a bit right-wing and haters
of foreigners especially those of Arabic heritage
Furthermore, Norway has never faced up to the past of a war
where only a few resisted.
The people with a fascistic mindset are in power today
It is sad but what can a sailor do?
The only exception is the merchant ******
every ten of them died during the conflict, and when
they came home were told how lucky they had been
avoiding the war.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Not of Café Material

I walked into a café, asked the man behind the counter
for a pork sandwich
Wait he, said I´m plucking a chicken.
You can pluck that chicken later after giving me what I asked.
Ok, said and grumbled about difficult old men.
You have to clean your hands, they are feathery, I came here
for a sandwich without chicken fluffs.
I ate, mainly because I was hungry, paid and left.
At the door, I said you better get a job at a chicken factory,
as it is the café business will shut by lack of consumers.
Angrily he threw several bratwursts after me I ducked
like Bush did when a shoe was thrown in his direction,
and the street dogs had a feast.

inland waterway



I joined the rowing boat in the middle of the dry lake
when a dust storm came whirling around screaming nasty words
and the shoreline disappeared.
The captain came down from the bridge wanted his lunch
but he had to wait till the wind stopped which it did
in the afternoon.
I walked ashore, at the cafe, they knew about the order
the captain had sent a text message.
I eat the food here, and I said no point wrapping it up-
Driving home helicopters were using my lake as a training ground
no, there would not be an inland waterway here
no matter how much it rains the lake will only be a soggy hole
but how to explain this to the captain.

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.

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.

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.

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

The day of reckoning

A bird with an enormous wingspan darkened the sky
it was a night of horror in the Middle East.
A new country born in sin and filched land arose
blood ran in ancient, narrow cobblestoned roads.
The people fled over a broken bridge, now live far
from the homeland, the dream of returning is alive.
Young men living in squalor are attracted to Islamists
the grim head cutting people, who know no mercy
know they will win one day, and more blood will flow
Into sand and time.
When everything is forgotten, walls erased, the losers
will flock back to Europa, whence they came.

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 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.

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.

How far is far?

To travel on horse and cart from Algarve
To Lisbon took days, but there were Inns
For a traveller to rest and stable the horses.
Not that many trekked from Algarve
seen as a throwback
From the days of the Muslims and poverty.
It was the British ex. Colonials, in the dwindling
Empire, who settled here; the Algarve is now
famous as a tourist destination.
I drove around, before motorways, with my dog
Portugal is a beautiful country.
On the motorway, there is nothing to see
Except for the rush of destination,
And Portugal is smaller than it used to be.

The Builders

A team of architects blew a big hole
on a mountainside and built a housing block
of 14 floors tall.
The country had a northerly wind often called
Stalin´s revenge, it even made summertime chilly.
The block faced southward and had big windows
and a mirror system giving light in all rooms.
The edifice was given a name, Joe Biden and it is
a matter of time he is given a Nobel peace medal
Not for what he has done, but since he is not Trump
and Facebook has made him a saint.
There is always a but a mountain is not a dray it drips
And the mountain´s hole was damp, the white building
Turned mouldy and green and not a place for the asthma
sufferer became ill the air-conditioning had to be on
all-day, that is expensive and didn´t live up the belief,
The hope of a wonderful world.

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.

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.

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.

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 war

When war breaks out
Possible when Iran is attacked
By the USA for a light on its pride
Going back forty years,
When the USA embassy was invaded.
Every country will suffer in its shadow
There will be hunger
There will be a need
There will be deaths
Israel, in suicidal mood, has been in the forefront
For this war, that might possible destroy
Israel as a nation.
Who are those fanatical people who wish death?
Upon millions of people for revenge  
or the glory of power to reign over a destroyed
The world that is only advantageous for ravens.
Where heat has made magnificent diamonds for blind eyes
The stillness when gunpower has cleared
Will be the silence of nothingness.

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.

Short verses.

Hurriedness is a sin
Against art and nature
Slow down time.

The valley awakes
Brush strokes of crimson
Rabbits in the field.

Beautiful May
Your rare flowers didn’t last long
Soon it will be June.

A field of oats
Wild and strew around
Mine? Surely not.