ducks
It was an early Sunday morning in June
A man I a rowing boat stealing ducks in the lake,
who thought he was there to feed them,
bagged two before the others got the message,
this was not a nice man with a bag of breadcrumbs.
Two mighty swans didn't like this they swam to
the boat pulled the man out and held him under
the water till he stopped struggling.
Empty rowboat in the lake a mystery, his body
was found next day; an accident they concluded
but didn't mention the dead ducks.

Serious now

A man
Knocked on my door
He was
Collecting
Laughter.
Mournful
He was when leaving
Without a smile
On his face.

The shop
at the corner of my childhood
has stopped selling Danish pastry
and coco macrons
milk and cheese.
The room is bare
The cheese cutter is no longer there
And the old-fashioned weight
Doesn’t pling.
There is no butter
And no one asks why?
The bell that rang when opening
The shop's door
Doesn’t ring anymore
The shop is overtaken by time.
Perhaps someone will buy the shop
Make a wine bar
Making us into middle-class alcoholics
I have sudden hunger for Danish pastry.

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.

A story of love

Eva Braun was a Greenland seal who lived in an aquarium
Herr ****** liked animals; dogs adored him.
in childhood, his call for love denied him
his dream was sitting by the fireside stroking a dog
and feeding Eva in her aquarium.
In the country, I lived on many tiny islands
bridges built; the islands no longer feel like islands.
Nevertheless, we stood at the gangway of a ferry
that was going to an island that didn’t have a bridge
I knew you were not coming back, pleaded with
you gave me a phone number when I tried to call
it sounded as was dipped into a fish tank
I heard repressed laughter; it must have been
fun to joke with a man you no longer found useful.
C'est la vie…

The slow killing of a Nation

Women's rights are at a crossroad the right to be
educated work for a corporation sitting at a table
making decisions that are useful for a firm but unsafe
for the society. They have been conned, we all have
been tricked into thinking that this is the future.

The highest accolade a person can win is to
give birth to new life bring them up to be sound
and kind member of the society only a woman
can do that but they have forgotten what is
important…new life.

Every woman should have at least five offspring
or the civilisation, we live in will die out.
Instead, we vilify single mothers for giving birth
We have to pay for when we should put them
on a pedestal for bringing life into the world.

Abortion is killing the nations in Europe, but
we have yet to understand its implications
before we end up as a minority and a culture
alien to us. Women who have done their job
are vigorous enough to run a country.

Meeting friends

I am not a nice person I have little time
for meaningless natters and tend to be grumpy
and often I can be rude, and I'm not too fond of pomposity.
I{m unfailingly friendly with people who have fallen
on a hard time, there is a musician who came to Portugal he had
A job playing the guitar at a restaurant than the pandemic struck
and musicians were the first to go.
He prefers to eat outside well aware people think he is a *****.
He has like me have travelled much, and we have a lot to talk about
I would not dream of giving money it would be offensive.
My other new-found friend is a man who looks like a retired diplomat
he had been to Sweden and Norway and was critical how Norway
had become too reliant on oil at the expense of other industries
such as shipping, fishery and farming
He asked me one day for twenty cents I gave him 50 cents.
No, he said I only need twenty to buy lactose-free milk.
He is slightly eccentric but very learned.
In the street where I live there are many new; rich people and
as such, snobbish and often intolerable beings.
But I have two friends, and it makes it interesting leaving the house
even if it is for a short time during the day.

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.

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.

Morning sun


Sat on the terrace
the sun came up
hit me with youthful
arrogance.
Friendly clouds
came to my rescue
a filter
between me and the sun.
I could sit in peace
watching
the town, waking up.

A rare moment
it was in the winter I tried to fasten
my skates to my boots
A girl about 14 came
Helped me.
She said we had the same father
And was therefore
Sister and brother.
She gave me a hug
And half a chocolate bar
And ate the other half she ate.
A rare moment
I felt safe sitting there
Another sister
Who didn’t tease me?
A little boy, so full of wonder.

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.

Another sleepless night

A went back in time litany of failures
What I wanted to do I never did
My happiest time was when living alone
In the interior of Algarve
I walked with my dogs in the woods had
Learned conversation with an oak
While the dog chased rabbits.
Six happy years what more can a man ask.
Turbulent water ahead I drank too much
The dog died, and my loneliness became a burden
Pressing me into apathy.
Well, life became tolerable again,
but my contentment was never the same.
My old house is standing there unsold
It is my life raft should the hard time arrive and
The ship sinks in a storm cast.
I live in another town it will do for now and
I’m too tired to move again, I know from experience
Wherever I go, I will meet myself in the doorway.

Decline
The owner of my bar died
his widow opened windows wide
and life flooded in; sun light
in my corner of happy misery.
My glass of brandy paled in a flash
of naked light.
I escaped to the bar's loo,
but the cleaner was there
smelling disinfectant and soap.

There was nothing for it, but to face
the outside where the sky is molten lava
dripping heat.
Black dressed preachers of doom,
at last another bar, a twilight zone
with blinking neon light.

Shield me from the brutal day to a place
where men don't turn their head
when someone enters, but spend their time
following an echo of a dream
they once had.
I'm safe here and tomorrows will never come,
as I sail in on the sea
of make belief

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.

Cancel culture

They are coming our way barefoot, and red dust
we sink into apathy.
Churches made into dance halls and brothels.
Christianity is dead, our culture based on our faith
has been debased it, is called egalitarianism.
Banners and sword.
Heads roll down a hill into a blazing valley.
God has forsaken us.

A writers’ problem

The thing is this when you die; you can’t go back
and write about it.
Those, there are a few, who say they can are charlatans.
We can speculate about death or write a thesis about it
or we can write about near-death experiences
like if a bright light a choir singing soft songs to harp music.
The river of no return.
When driving on the long bridge on my way to Algarve
I think of the bridge falling, but it is always about survival
a story to tell, the one who got away.
Death is the ending of a book you read,
was the book a good read, or was it boring?

Domestic crime

The couple was nicely suntanned, but the woman had
a black eye, he was very courteous to her, tried to hold
her hand, she didn’t want to, he reddened in anger.
Well-dressed, the couple were on a way to a restaurant
meeting friends, no doubt a droll story would be told
how she got a black eye.
The men would believe the story, women exchange
because in the hapless woman's eyes they saw the truth.
They would find out-women talk- when at the ladies
powdering the noses.
The unlucky one would beg them not to say a word
he loves me but has a bad temper when I nag him
he slaps me; it is my fault for not understanding him.
He was very sorry for giving me a black eye, he cried
promised me not to hit me anymore.

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.

At the hospital

At the waiting sit my wife is in with her doctor
In front of me to comely women sit one wears
A big bun in the back of her hair, the other one
A smaller bun.
I speculate if this bun difference manifests  
Itself in their nether regions. My moral self,
steps in: don’t think like that the Me-too will
come after you, and that is scary,
A woman in a wheelchair throws up in a bag
Compose herself put lipstick on and wink
At me. No, thank you. I'm not wheeling you around
Anytime soon.
My wife is leaving the consulting room a big smile
In her African face, no, she has not got cancer
Only need knee surgery.
She is a colourful sight wear many rings and
Bracelets, today she is dressed in red and green
And lit up the landscape.
We drink coffee in the canteen while she tells
Me about her pains in her knee.

The Seeker

“Go silent go Deep” a title of a film he saw of Curd Jürgen
an actor who got manly roles and looked good in **** uniform,
but somehow was a hero who did the right things.

Alone in the house, he tries to go silent and deep into his mind
pieces of shrapnel of a bombed out U-boat, dead sailors
floating about until a creature takes pity and eats them.

It is semi-dark down here, the bottom is filled by un-digested
words and deleted poems, but he is trying to find his true self
a rare fish not seen by anyone since childhood.

He swims in the shallow picks up small ***** easier to write
about, with tiny claws, they try to bite his fingers, puts them
down and see them seeking shelter.

He sighs, at eighty he still don't know who he is, other than
           he is not embittered, has a sense of irony and often laughs
at himself on his journey to infinity.

Endurance

Sat on the terrace
Waited for stars.
It was overcast
Delayed a bit longer.
Then it was morning
And rain fell.
Big drops
In each one
I saw
An echo of stars
Too tiny
To see
by the naked eye.

The wake


I can't cope with this everything is arranged
the women in my house are talking about handbags
that much not match the dress.
Or is it the other way around
I tried my suit it was too small I'm wearing a black trouser
with a suitable jacket.
The casket will be open, but we can't stand too near
I Don't want to see his cold face.
He has been in the morgue for days, waiting for
the money from his boss in Congo
if the money does not arrive on time, we have to wait
a bit longer.
I have saved, but it was meant for my funeral,
everything else is arranged they are playing AVE Maria
which will reduce me to tears.
My wife will shush me to tell me to pull myself together
and hand me a serviette.
After the burial, we will go and get something to eat
I like to get drunk, but my wife will stop me.
You see he was my friend and I will never get a new one.

Remembering a dog


When I was young and for us not rich there was
navy academia you could learn engineering, navigation
and catering, with my eyesight I settled for catering
After going through the grades, I got a certificate that I was
a chief steward. a job which consisted of telling the cook what
to make, buying the food needed and to do the books.
The big tank ship, oh so beautiful, sailed from oil port to to
another oil terminal and boredom set in, I left the great ship
in Antwerp and after a week ashore I got a job
on an old freighter going into every port, you could think of
I was in my element; this was a perfect ship.
The officers were not going anywhere, no one wore uniforms
and bothered with titles.
On a French island, I have forgotten its name, a dog came onboard
unseen and since the storeroom was open it hid there
and I didn´t see it before we were on the open sea.
I took the dog up to the old-man he liked the dog it had a home.
Months later, when I was on another ship my old ship was
******* in front of us, the old-man was retiring taking the dog home,
the new captain didn´t care for dogs.
The dog remembered me, and there was a lot of kisses and cuddles.
I'm sure the little dog had a long and happy life seeing
green grass and trees.

Deserted by Alfred


It was not my fault I had no shoes
And the police stopped and asked and since it was none of their business
I naturally told them to *******.
was handcuffed and put in a police car, which was more cooling than
the asphalt, after all, it was October in Albufeira.
I thought this is a perfect movement when a father defends his son
but Alfred who refuses to be my father had gone home
I was left to explain this ridiculous case, but luckily the Portuguese
police force felt sorry for me and let me go.
Next day I bought a pair of sneakers in a Chinese shop and my father
who refuses to be my father was wearing my leather uppers?

Memorials

They have gone, not a trace left, but memories
leaves are getting yellow. No denying fall is here
Me, a sole survivor, standing on a plateau
of nothingness where the dust of years blows.
It was those years who supported you here,
I shall not climb the outside pf the Eifel tower
honours the army of welders; forgotten now
Eifel tower lives, but the man lost his glory crown
when trying to build the Panama Canal.
This long way so, many doors to open and close
he sees shadows the welders are here
perhaps Eifel also lurks behind a locked door.

Sunday morning
Quiet as a shut church
Closed for lack of parishioners
And the padre hangs
From the bell tower.
I will go outside and holler
Open up the church
You sinners, it is after eight
Wake up your dogs
Let them bark at nothing
To create a sound
That doesn’t drip of stillness
Bur brings life, a promise
That you are not chained
Forever, there will be a day
Of freedom and the laughter
Of a child once more heard.

Brussel

I dream of a river clear
As a nun’s tears
In a landscape of flowers.
Bees, don´t sting
Nestles is banned.
Honeysuckles
Is a dulcet word.
I think of a woman
who came to my village?
Years ago.
Her smile lingers
Her laughter
Alentejo wine
Not the supermarket type
With plastic top
And fake labelling.
The river of love
Runs to Brussel.
This is odd, Brussel  
Is a rain heavy place
And little else.
Except
For wonderful chocolate
And tasty beer.

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 night I died
I was not asleep, this was not a nightmare
my eyes were open as I struggled to wake up
from the deep hole of sleep.
I had sunk into a sinkhole of sleep
that could only end in unconsciousness drifting into death
helpless as an autumnal leaf falling off an oak.
With all my might with every fibre of my aged body
I heaved myself to the surface.
I landed on the wooden floor
tried to get my breathing under control
My wife came running, asked what happened?
Nothing dear, nothing at all.
I was looking for a coin that fell out of my pocket
when *******.
My head was still fuzzy by unwanted sleep.
I had died, but it was untimely
my heroic leap out of bed had saved me.

Epigram 5

Self-awareness must not be confused
With self-consciousness which can be
Devastating for people with fragile egos  
You cannot be as good as your inner self.

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.

Pandemic Morning

It has been raining in the night
the haar lingers in the bay, but I can see
clouds breaking up,
the sky hides the nascent sun.
Morning coffee is a must.
The air is chilly
he leaves the terrace.
He looks out of the window
in his study and looks at a subdued street
suffering under the pandemic.
It is a sad moment of the day
like it was hesitant to begin.
Then he sees green shoots on a tree
and knows he will live
and love a bit longer.

Writing on the internet

Before the internet killed off small poetry magazine
he often sent poetry around and was thrilled when
a poem was accepted it was indeed printed on paper,
a little book to read and collect.
Poetry/short stories are not the same on a computer
the work disappear in the big maze never to be seen
that is why he prints on paper what he has written.
When he switches off the computer, it is all gone like it
never existed what's left is a blank screen with dust on.

The Fluidity of war

We live in a strange and relative time.
Russia doesn’t want war; Putin has made his mark
we respect him; the USA understand his concern
If you cast your mind back to the Cuba crisis in 1962
when the Soviets had bases in Cuba, the USA demanded
the Soviets removed the nuclear weaponry and the bases.
The USA has internal problems so serious it can split the union;
border conflict is of little interest.
Ukraine doesn’t want war, asks Europe not to meddle.
NATO has proven it has gone a base too far and should
be dismantled for the sake of peace.
Britain is recalcitrant bang, a big drum, no listens.
What interests the USA today, China is spreading?
its wings across the pacific that’s a pressing concern.

Facebook
Are we too uncritical
on Facebook
also helpful and ultimately dull.
I’m not thinking of baby pictures
and cute Facebook
Are we too uncritical
on Facebook
also helpful and ultimately dull.
I’m not thinking of baby pictures
and cute puppies,
but of opinions, I disagree with
not voicing these objections.
Is the facebook a place for mutual
self-congratulation a display of
achievement, however, banal.

Rainy Belgique  

I will invest in Belgium near Brussel
14% increase in two years, pine tree I think
inferior with a bad reputation.
They make good clogs in Belgium, I thought
clogs were a Dutch affair.
There is not much these between these countries
full of canals and old wind-mills
The tree itself has the appearance of an addict
without an umbrella.
Anyway, Belgium is too small and rainy for a forest
I will collect bad poems and use them to decorate
The out-door loo, the cowshed and other places
Of disinterest

The death of comedy
Freddy Starr is dead they say it was because
He smoked too many cigarettes, no one asked to ask why?
He was accused of making lewd remarks
To a young girl in i974, the case was dropped.
But unwisely Freddy sought redress in court, men often
Loses in cases that involve ***.
Freddy sold his house and moved to Spain he paid
Some of the million own but he was not that rich
And the gold digger was after more.
now they wanted his little house in Spain,
And as we know the too crowd know no mercy
Men are guilty by their masculinity, which is seen as a sin
In our times, so he died alone with his kitten and
The MEtoo harridans gloat.

My Days

I’m trying to remember every day of my life
Even before I stopped believing in religion
And Santa Claus I have to start from the bottom
And work my way up.
It is a herculean task, so many days are hazy
I have to break through this fog to see
Decisions I took and understood why.
My insecurities have to be examined as
My tendency to volcanic anger and out way
And how my personality immerged to what
I’m today.
I want my days to be crystal clear like
An uncut diamond polished by time.
To do this, I must be ruthless and don’t find
Excuses and omission to be totally honest
May not be possible, but I will try.

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.

The ancient regime
  
I was in Shanghai once during the cultural revolution
everyone mostly young people wore the same grey clothes
half military cut, not a colour in sight except for the flag.
And the book they gave everyone called “Mao´s little red book.”
where words the new China was printed, those
who argued had to confess in public and sent to a camp,
or farm this to learn to be a worker.
Of course, in this socialist paradise, we were not allowed
to go ashore and the was a guard by the gangway to be sure
we didn´t run away.
It didn´t strike anyone; it was the last thing we would do.
It couldn´t last slowly colours crept in, and women dressed
even if grey dresses, with feminist style
Today China is a state capitalist country and is doing
very well, thanks to American outsourcing (wages) making
the Midwest into a wasteland.

Pluto, the forgotten planet

Mars is a stony planet, too big for its own good
those who go there have to live indoors as it has no air to breath
life for the brave must be tedious looking a reddish stones
and the occasionally a yellow dust storm is living up.
One by one the will commit suicide venturing out and explode.
Pluto, on the other hand, is a small planet and it has green vegetation.
A place to grow potatoes and cabbage
it has fruit too not like
here on earth but nevertheless they are tasty
except for the blue lemon that is poisonous
The fauna is full of odd-looking animals that are so friendly
no one wants to **** them becoming vegetarians instead.
Take the enormous flightless fowl they lay eggs that can serve a battalion for breakfast. There is no tobacco
on the planet, but it has big leaves which
when rolled together makes people happy and laughing, on earth
we call it marijuana an odd name for a delicate plant.
There is no snow on Pluto, no clouds but the sun can be a little off-putting as it is smoky brow.
So why is no one going there, say, on holiday for later to live
there permanently, but forget your snowboard and skis.

Water shortage

In the deepest valley where the winter is short
summers long, sheep come home for safety
of bears and wolves, he bought an old house.
From a two hundred years house, a cane roof sprung
splendid isolation he lived the seasons fair.
Unknow to him and other dwellers of this Paradise
plans afoot to make the valley into a water reservoir
filling it with water to serve the city far away.
This ancient village, built stone by stone, drowned.
No, the dam didn’t burst lack of rain made it dry.
It was an eerie sight to see his home again
reminds him of a Paradise lost to development.

Too many roses

Those ****** roses, I **** in my garden
and around the house, but they keep coming.
The slightest crack in the pavement
up the roses spring, ruining the walkway.
Unstoppable blowing raspberry who tries
to stop their advance.
When a blue **** tries to find a sunny spot
they are replaced by roses.
History is written by red roses, for whom
A **** is a nuisance and should be cut in half.
Tiny hamlets are strangled by perfumed roses
The local weeds have to live up the hill.

Brooklyn

Salt beef with onion
sandwiches.
Goat cheese made
near the wailing wall
The waiter
is a scientist.

Intelligent eyes
behind thick-lensed glasses
do not dare to leave a tip.
The burden of my ancestors
weighed heavy on my mind.

The chicken soup was excellent
I shan´t return
Before
Palestine is a sovereign state

A dirge

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

The Island

There was an island where the fiord arms open and the     ocean begins
  it was a nice little island with trees and a strip of sand for the boy to play
  he had no interest in swimming, favoured to build dreamy sandcastles.
Not that the boy couldn´t swim, his father had thought him; he didn´t like it
the sea was cold, and monster might lurk in the unseen depth.
There was also a strong current further out depending on the way of the ocean, his father,
who was a strong swimmer, often swam where the current was strong; he called it fighting against the elements?
I saw him waving his arms; he waved back, another current took him around the island, he was still waving but looked distressed. he walked up to the cabin
and told his mother, who ran and loosened the rowing boat from its mooring
To find him, but he had disappeared. The coast guard came they were looking for him; he knew they
would not see him he had been eaten by a sea monster, but he said nothing
The stay on the island had been a happy one for his parents. She was pregnant and hoped for a
daughter, life was beautiful for them, and now this.
A motorboat came and took them back to town, families came, there were many tears,
he was asked why he hadn’t told his mother the first time he saw his father
Waving, a question he could not answer.
His mother gave birth to a beautiful baby everyone said she looked like her father
he didn´t think so, she was just beautiful. The daughter grew up and went off to university
So, it was only him and his mother left in the old house.
She took to drinking and, in her cups, hinted that had he called the first time,  He might be alive now;
he never answered.
His mother committed suicide drowning in her bath-tup.
The house was sold.
The daughter needed the money, and he became a wanderer voyaging across the many seas.
Always restless, the sense of guilt was always there.
Sometimes he dreamt he was the monster swallowing his father.
Now as he is an old man, he wrote a letter to his sister, he so much needed someone absolving him of guilt, there was never any answer.

Echography  

On a bed attached to many wires, my body was prodded
by female hands, at my age, it was not everyday people touch me.
My heart sounded like an old steam-ship battling the waves off Greenland
seeking calmer water; as for my pacemaker, it sounded like
a pump in need of repair.
I fell asleep, which caused laughter from the staff; it is not often
happen to a patient.
Then it was over. I thanked the staff, the finding if any, will be delivered
by my doctor next week, she can also take a look at the lump
In the middle of the chest, the last time I was operated
for this, it was called cancer.

Time lasts long in Portugal

Got up early had a shower and close shave
Put a white shirt on, bank people like it when
Their clients look prosperous.
My bank is in a nearby town I followed
The coast road has fewer cars a strict speed
The limit is vigorously enforced.
The bank was closed.
A man told me banks are shut on Sundays.

for contact: Jan Oskar. hansen@gmail.com

Forever lovey


The mannequin in the dark corner
of the shop shows bathing suits a la 1948.
She is beautiful in her own eyes
and made of Jade.
Dust on lips who cares?
Not a sultry type shows little interest in flirtation.
When the shop closes and she is alone
She secretly smiles and is forever 1948.