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 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

Rumblings in the night

I was trying to write the words on the screen turned
into spatter of blood, darkness descended
A woollen mass pressing me down, I screamed
Of fear and my brother came and laid beside me.
A young woman. who had been thrown out of her?
Uncle’s house came with a tray of bacon & eggs
I grabbed a piece of bacon, but the woman said
It was not for me but my brother because
He had been dead for many years and therefore
Must be hungry.
I went into a Chinese restaurant where the owner
Shouted “table for one” I don’t want a table like
To see the men” no need he said it is all the same
With different sauces “Table for one!”
I couldn’t find my way out; there were many doors
leading into coolers where cooks had committed
Suicide in memory of Anthony Bourdon.
Finally, I found a door out the led me to freedom
Where nature was unworldly and my brother
Said: did you know if you are on a spacecraft and
Pass all the planets behind you. The emptiness
Will turn into a purple fog and before you know it
Will you be back to your living room?
Table for one, the owner of the Chinese shouted.

The time gone

Do not spill my blood.
On wasteland
Do not bury my last scream
In a grave.
I will walk softly
Across the screen
Leave no trace.
Only a whisper.
In the years to come
You will hear an echo
Recalling my name.

Was it, Trieste?

An odd place half dour Russian and half lively Italian
I sat in café drinking beer and waiting for a tall American woman
she smoked cigarettes, which back then was a novelty
for a lady to smoke outdoors.
I had never met her but was sure she was a spy.
I was told she was at the railway station when I got there
the train had gone, but there was a picture of a lady smoking
A cigarette called “Monte Carlo”.
Walking around I saw a small lady carrying a heavy suitcase
I offered to help her thinking she lived nearby.
We walked and walked the road was muddy and the ****** luggage
heavy, we walked out of town Trieste was behind us when the little lady
stopped outside a house said she lived there and invited me in.
By now I was sweaty, tired and fed up, said no thank you and walked
back to Trieste. Later someone said she was a famous actress like I should care
The suitcase was so ******* heavy, and perhaps she was a spy.
Back in Trieste, I sat drinking beer when a ******* came and sat down
she was telling hilarious jokes about the men she had met in her life it
was funny but not flattering for the men.
We had something to eat and switched from beer to wine when a man
came and talked to her and she had to leave for business.
She asked me to wait for her which I didn´t do the thought of her
having had *** disturbed my sensibility, I drank the rest of the wine
and found my way back to the hotel

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.

the malefactor

I had a thieving dog
she stole eggs, one at the time
kept it in her mouth she wanted to give it to me.
I took the egg, just as the hen-lady came
screaming said the dog and I worked in tandem.
I gave the lady back her egg
she refused to take it, not surprising,
so I paid for the egg.
A dog doesn´t know human morality it has to be thought
to leave the neighbours thing alone.

A dirge

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

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.

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.

Roses are not blue

The world as one is a grey blanket of nothing
The same language, the same culture (consumerism)
A haze foul of jollity and hollow laughter.
Lost minds save the elephant and waterholes

Life is self-indulgent rush into the arms of self
And movies of no consequence.

Roses are blue it is the only colour today
Oxalating hamburger, beans in tomato sauce
Sesame seed for breakfast, lunch and dinner
Eunuchs are ruling welcome to globalisation.

Acting class
When I went to get the last vaccine
my wife came with me, alone I get into a muddle and lose my temper.
The people at the centre treated us like we were made of glass there was a long line of people
but we were ushered in first.
I´m not that helpless and can sit on a chair all by myself
except, I'm an actor at heart, act vague and befuddled and hesitant
when answering questions.
When leaving the guard, at the centre called us a taxi
and let us sit in the shade; when we came home, I jumped out of the taxi
I helped my wife out, my feet didn´t sub along the pavement.

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.

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.

A view of the fifties

lifebuoy, A soap a remember well on ships
there was no other soap it had a strong masculine scent
for those who didn't use Floyd aftershave.
We ****** were a clean race always a shower after work
and those who did not were soon persuaded to shower
and keep clean or, they had to take their food outside.
When going ashore in seaports in Britain, it was grey and
it appeared colour had not been invented.
The pubs closed early and were thick of cigarette smoke.
We usually ended up in a fish& chips shop, some of them
had tables made of Formica and not too clean.
What made life bearable was the many women, not prostitutes
but not sparing with what they had to offer.
Since there was nowhere to go, the loving was done in a dark
alleyway standing up leaning against a **** soaked wall.
Going back onboard to a well-lit ship and warm bunk was heavenly.

A better time

We bought a Christmas tree it has snow on
and is a very green tree, greener than the real ones
like those in the forest lit up by trivial stars and
waiting for snow.
With our new tree, you switch on a button and there will be light.
There was a time my father went into the forest and chopped a tree
and took it home on his bike.
The forest was near before now it is miles away.
Tiny candles placed on the outer branches we had to keep an eye on them.
It was a busy night for the fire- department.
Our tree took fire, my father threw it out of the wind
it landed root first and continued to burn to look festive on a dark night.
My little tree on the table in the living room looks pathetic
But will do on a time of the pandemic.

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.

Palestinian Chaos  
The dream interrupted
By the people of darkness.
Ramallah
A pink cloud appeared
God came out eating an apple.
The soldiers
Fell on their knees and
Dropped their weapon.
One soldier gave an old man
Ice cream
The old man had a brain freeze.
Mike Pence came declared
Palestine a Christian nation
Including
The province of Israel.
The pope moved from
The Vatican set up residence  
In Jerusalem.
Netanyahu
Was declared the snake
In Paradise.
Meanwhile the Islamic  
Kept being Muslims
Christianity
And Judaism
Was not their problem.

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

A notion
It begins with an idea
Something read that becomes a sentence
Written down a chain of words
That takes traction a little story is a result.
Other thoughts enter, make corrections
Suggest another ending
No, let it stand as it is perhaps a comma
Here and there, ok.

The exile
    No matter how far
    To the other side of the moon
     if you like
    Sadness follows an exile.
    Never at ease
    Thinking of what is forsaken
    Finding it impossible
    To find the way back home.

*******
I like ******* in my infancy I didn’t get
To cling them, the mother was ill and I was sent
To home run by the salvation army.
I stretched my tiny arms up to touch them
But they hastily withdrew.
In my young years, I suckled man abrest
Some of them liked it.
I was never a ***** man for me it was just
A damp hole to discharge my desire.
Big bums are nice too especially when on a bed.
Given a chance I can suckle wrinkled, low hanging
*******, even small ones. I no longer care
Brests are best, those without one are of little
Interest although they look good in a bikini.

When old sailors go

A ****** sees death as an ocean of tranquillity
no storm will upset his raft he can safely sleep
Through the ages of time, fish can swim, whales
Blow a rainbow fine, and sharks can **** seals
It does not bother him; the course is set
For the Island of Saragossa where his friends wait
to say: halloo old man, remember us?
And they will help him make his raft into
a beach hut where there is always sunset and
the whisky bottle never gets empty.
He sighs, home from the sea at last.

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.

A lesson learnt
    
The ship I saw in the bay and thought a princess of the seas
came back this afternoon when the sky was murky, she was sad
the cook was fired, and the crew was sorrowful.
Nothing wrong with the new cook, but as good as the old one
The cook had read too much Hemingway and wanted to be like him.
He took to calling the ship “el Pilar” and drinking whisky in the morning.
Forgetting to put yeast in the dough when baking bread.
It was all too much the cook had to go or stop reading Hemingway.
He did neither.
When he sobered up trying to find a new job, he regretted
his fondness of the famous writer.
His predicament is a solitary lesson for every reader, do not believe
what the author writes he is just telling a story.

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.

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.

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.

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.

To know and not know.

Red moss, crimson blood of a slaughtered calf
I knew seen it before but could not recall
where and when.
Like seeing a landscape painting in a valley
of cobblers where children ran barefoot on
summer grass and scents of wildflowers.
Unpasteurized milk had laughter in the breeze
I know this to be true but do not know why.
I think of raindeers, will they eat red moss
used as they are of the grey variety?
The sun keeps shining like a Spanish orange
so full of juice ready to burst.
The good earth is dry waits for rain, plenty
the red moss is forgotten as a love affair
if I sit still enough, perhaps I will remember

Flanders

In the dawn over Flanders
Wounded horses move no more
And dead soldiers look small.
The stillness is fragile beautiful.

Soldiers in dugouts smoke
Eat from cans
Waits for another the fighting
To commence.

God sighs deeply
He had given us a free will
He had been rash
Regrets his frivolities.

The end of an affair

a long maybe ten years relation with poem site
it has got a new editor who is critical of my work
finds it too brutal, left-wing and not sweet.
My work is being blocked out, and this is sad as there
is no point sending in poems that are no published?
Everything must come to, and end ends in death or
divorce, pity I have many friends there
and are used to send poetry a day.
Yes, my work is not for the faint heart it is about
a truth no one likes to hear.
I have though the content mattered
and it up to the reader to decide
So Farewell I will not be sending any work to
“Write out Loud”

Unseen danger

He was fifty- five living alone in a cottage
but how is it possible to explain how he came to fall in love
with a woman of forty and lose his dignity.
We must take a break trying to understand the human heart
or the circumstances of wished for the repellent.
He was a ship navigating without a gyro-compass
in the sea of deceit, this foolish dance of a human borboleta.
When he kissed her, his whole soul was absorbed by her like falling into a cave of endless pleasure.
His anchor got lost in the outer seas.
Suddenly it was over like a dream that ends at frostbitten dawn
a locked door, there was some else in her embrace.
Rejected, he pleaded with the unseemly nativity, had she relented
enrolment would never be the same.
He took his dog and drove up north had wanted to see
the autumn colours.
After a week, he drove home and began his life like starting
all over again, walks in the woods of sanity.

A new head
I walked on a hard earth track, but the earth shook
And turned into the silt, I sank into the mum only me
Head was above ground, after some time the raven
Came and gouged out my eyes, much later the fox came
Ate my lips and ears. They were chased away by the boar
Who ate the whole head.
As the soil hardened I was able to get up and as you know
We have two brains one is in the stomach and is
Rudimentary but well enough to guide me home, my neighbor
was astonished, “Have you lost your head’
He drove me to the hospital where I was fitted to the head
Of a newly dead person, and his thoughts were pornographic
And foul.  I shave this face every morning and tries to
Alter its brain waves, which is a bit of a job as he often falls
Back to his old behavior and swear at people.
Not tell people to ******* because they haven’t what you
Asked for, here the other day the waiter said he had
Only octopus with rice and ate it, went blind for
Half an hour while telling my new brain that too
Much starch is bad for diabetes and it tries do not follow
Its instinct, but adjust his food intake, of course sometimes
It forgets gets gluttonous and eats chocolate cakes.

No pilot
The ships in the bay of Cascais
Are waiting for a pilot to take them to port.
They have been there long
A strike by the dock workers take time
In the meantime, the ****** do a little work
Painting here and there but mostly
Sitting in the sun getting a tan.
The cook is worried he needs a supply of food
No more vegetable left except the canned stuff.
He has frozen meat, but not enough of it
Should the strike last.
He sighs and drinks another coffee

Warped tree, kinked man

Today, I will not argue with Walter on Facebook or Twitter.
I was reading poems from my last collection and was surprised
to find an internal rhythm.
To my horror, I find Walter has unfriended me my friendly thoughts
burned into insignificance.
When I had a motorbike, I often visited the crooked tree
I said:” you look better today, my friend.”
The roots of the tree curled in bashfulness.
At the entrance of the village, an old olive tree they came with an axe
wanted to cut it down, replace it with a signpost.
I protested, so did the other villagers.
The tree is perhaps 500 years old, and we are not
brutish settlers.
But someday, people with no sense of beauty will axe it.

The USA election

Election fraud
Is running through my mind
august newspapers say there might have been
irregularity but not enough to make any difference
of the election outcome
Trump lost.
A little thieving is ok as long as it´s not a big heist.
Some dirt remains, more people voted for Trump,
in this election than in 2016.
It is all for the best a beast fell by the wayside.
And we say good riddance.
We have got Joe Biden now, and he is unsullied.
And he will usher in changes, or perhaps not!

When I’m eighty-five

Once upon a time, when I was sixty-five
my hair turned grey, bought hair dye.
Blue rinsed looked like a stern teacher
of the type of women doing good work
among the poor.
She said she loved me, remembered
a song “when I’m sixty-five.”
We are old, take our love for granted
she calls me darling I call her sweetheart.
I will sing you a song when I’m eighty-five
full of cakes and ale.
I bet someone will say, who was the Beetles?

The vaccine is here

The day took a long time coming
the night persisted and only moved across the sea
heading for Northern Norway where the night
lasts for months.
The day was grey and in a bad mood showering
streets with rain making dead leaves slippery.
Every café, restaurants are closed, and the local
supermarket closes at one so, if you have not
bought food for Saturday and Sunday bully for you.
If people stay at home, it will reduce contagiousness
but the COVID-19 is not going away when
the lockdown is over it will, like the unseen wind,
go on the attack again.
Russia has a good vaccine as China has, but the big
pharma industries are against it, and they are more
powerful than a mere government.
For us, we just have to sit and wait.

Set sail in the Sunset

When the world was big
and the ship I was onboard left Trinidad
sailed to the Panama Canal.
We crossed the Pacific Ocean, and we were alone
in a world so big.
Then the Indian Ocean, the world was endless
finding an island, a needle in a haystack.
It was long ago, long before Apollo made the world
into a small planet in the vast universe
and the moon was a balloon, as David Niven said.
Our world has shrunk, it is a tiny place, yet we fight
for religion or some silly political views.

The Foreigner

What does one do when your pension is small?
He lived in an industrial town in England not green and pleasant.
Rows of brick houses, a tiny front yard too narrow for a car.
He could not thrive here; going back to Sweden was out
too expensive he would need help from the state to hand him accommodation.
He settled in Portugal, a country he knew little about
low wages, and he could get by with his modest pension.
He bought a ruin, fixed it up, and had a home of his own.
He never learned the language, can go to a café, no need to speak.
He had planned to live out in his house, but elderliness and illness
stopped this dream.
He sold his house moved in with his partner,
she has a big flat
and he helps pay the bills.
Life is good, but when he closes his eyes, his thoughts go back
to his small house and a dog, he had.

The hummock

There is a hill behind the houses round and soft,
I call it a mother hill it welcomes you and murmur
How do you do?” and let you sit on a boulder
to enjoy the peace.
If you sit too long enjoying your sentimentality,
it wakes, the boulder gets cold and hard to sit on.
The wind suddenly blows, has a fragrance of Siberia and *****.
So, you walk around to keep warm and see wildflowers
hiding behind big stones.
You cannot pick them if you do? They will wizen and bring rain.
Walk gently now the aroma of spring is in the grass.
Behind the knoll, it is October grey and out of sight where no trees grow.
It is the mother´s hill burden concealed from the world.

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 great change
I have a mask made of plestic glass covers the whole
face to avoid touching my face, of the type dogs, were
not to scratch their ears.
Surgical gloves are must when going to the shop, there
is nowhere else to go.
I don’t think the virus is going away this year or next
we have to ignore it and walk in the park.
Go to the beach swim a little and sit in the warm sand
drinking a beer and hotly kiss a girl.
Either that or sit naked on the terrace waving my **** around
no that it will scare anyone, **** and *** into the town.
I can sing “they are coming to take me away” until the police
knock down the door and take me away.
A smooth cell and no ****** mask “are you feeling better.”
Aa white-coated man asks, they now I’m diabetic and prone
to an angry outburst, but he has a needle for that.
Once there was a law not hiding your face in public, now
It is the other way around.
Many things have changed the padre stand in an empty
Church, there is not an altar boy to ******, he lifts
up his cassock and ******* in front of the statue of Christ.

August in Athens is always confusing
I spent the evening looking at a white wall the moon had lit up,
waiting for the movie to start.
Staggered into a church where bearded priests handed out bags
of yesterday’s cake.
The elderly lady behind me got none, it was her second time
she had been in the line
I gave her my bag and felt good about my act of charity.
In the deep shadows of the park, I found a grotto displaying
Jesus in he looked like a sleeping angel, one painted by Caravaggio.
The painted Jesus opened his eyes smiled like an urchin selling himself to a paederast.
Behind two nuns giggled and I fled this religious horror.
Came to a lone bar run by a horse that had fled a Russian circus.
As Alice Walker said,” horses make the landscape more beautiful.”
I drank ouzo, she had hay.
At midnight we rode through the summer night.

The Wish

I dream of sleeping in a bed of rose petals like an Indian potentate
who waits for his favourite concubine to come to join him in his bed?
I know I have to wait long till the petals are squashed and cling
to my body itch my bed will smell of degeneration.
I drive a motorbike across the Alps but can’t smell the edelweiss
for petrol fume; cows go on grazing unaware of my presence.
If I swim in the Ganges, it will be among the corpses floating down
to a heavenly ocean.
There is a temple in India dedicated to rats; I will go there, seek
a cure for my fears of vermin
Jasmine flowers are enchanting like virgins open up late at night
but I will not swap any of them for my sweet almond tree.

It is a plant’s life.

Up in the continuous night, I saw a streak of light
a dying comet’s last hurrah.
Bedroom in darkness couldn’t sleep too much death
for one night.
Got up and read a book about plants speaking
to each other.
Warning, “heavy-footed human coming your way.”
“Duck, a lawnmower is going amok.”
Amputated roses and tulips chafes in a vase kept
alive for a few days, admire the agony of flowers.
Carrots scream when pulled up from the soil,
good for your health the dietician says.
Everything we do hurts someone, especially plants
except a few that can poison you.
Is my dentist a gardener of my teeth?

Shakespeare& C0

6-7 years ago, I was in Paris for a wedding and reading poetry,
the reading was met with protests by the public who protested again
my anti-Israel and pro-Palestinian poems.
The day after walking about I was trying to find the Paris of Dos Passos
and Ernest Hemingway, found a city overpriced looking like any others.
I happened to walk past a bookshop “Shakespeare & co” I walked in
met by a million of books.
I had two slim volumes of my own effort, and naively asked if I could place
them here? The answer was yes, I filled out a form with my address,
and that was it. It was only later I realized my tiny books were the company with
the greatest poets and writer in the western world.
I never contacted the bookshop again, but often wonder if anyone has browsed
through my work and liked what I had written.

The acting lark
Since I was not going to be a George Ramsay of cooking
I decided to become an actor, paid my money and went
to the relevant studio, which situated in an old building
in Liverpool.
Up a rickety floor that had a lift conductor for a reason
that escaped me since he stood the and I had to press
the button for the third floor.
The hallway into the centre of learning was lined with
former actors I didn´t know.
The lessons began.
My teacher was a beautiful woman with a magnificent voice
she taught me to speak clearer, louder and confidently.
When the theatre in Chester needed an actor in minor, I applied
but was turned down.
I didn´t mind as I had lost interest in this artform pretending
to be someone else.
My next step was to learn public speaking, this I failed since
there were more than five people in the room, and I fainted.