Breakthrough

There have been between me and poetry a wall,
not a puny Israeli war that future Palestinians
will use as building material, I mean proper
Walls like the Chinese wall and now I’m nearing
a breakthrough.
Will a vista of beauty open up on the other side?
Of talking trees sweet-smelling flowers and
thorny bushes who ****** me sensually, apes
who I can converse with, or will a being tell me
what I have long suspected, you are not a poet
just a man who likes to write.
If I were a snake, I could leave myself behind
but it doesn't work that way, wherever I go,
what my mind see, can't be erased by a view
of a reborn person.

The warming planet

In the heat of summers
it was nice to bathe in the river
ten minutes from the houses.
A great place to cool off
Not crowded by tourists.
Cigano boys bronzed
And physically perfect
Diving from the branches
Of the generous oak.
Of the warming of the planet
I know little, only this
The river is dry as early as May
been so, for five years.
But old people, tell me
It has happened before.
The river, near the houses
Were dry for years
In the fifties.

Thought in the night

The wind was terrible, raced around the outside like
Drunken dervishes hollering in the night
When the wind tired of this needless validating
Of its masculinity it became quiet.
Now my thoughts and worries took over
Often idle should I have put the chicken soup in
The fridge or leave it out; this morning it was
Off I blame the wind.
Of course, the soup was a ruse to stop me thinking
About what worried me like my declining health
Nerve-pain makes it challenging to walk yet I struggle
Walk 45 minutes a day it is suitable for diabetes
As my doctor says and reluctantly, I must agree
But I am still annoyed with her insistence about
The ****** pills.
All this is a prelude my thoughts go to my death
Not that I mind not living anymore, will it be painful
Struggling to breathe, or will my death be a friend
Switching off the light of life while sleeping; but this
Brings on another problem I will not feel it coming
Why should I write about it anyway?
I get up, write a poem about a friend who is alone
At the hospital and the nurse's sleep.

The bird of omen
On the railing of the veranda
I sat a raven since I have never seen a white one
one can assume it was black.
It had yellow eyes but not from the Far East.
It flew into my living room walked like a sailor
on land leave into the bedroom.
Why does a sailor seek a bar, it is because
the hustle and bustle ashore makes him nervous
and beer is sold.
The raven eat a white mouse – my pet- saw how
the mouse struggled to get up but it died in a morass of stomach juices.
The raven came out nodded thank you and flew off
without a word of thank you.
I looked up to the sky saw small white clouds doing
their own things; to think I had thought
it was an omen,

The Mall
has got its own belltower
like modern church
for capitalism.
Hundreds of shops
selling the obvious
garish colours.
Many restaurants
serving a variety
of burgers and fattening food.
There is no art here
not much to see
if you don´t care
about
high heeled shoes
and burgers

The Empire

They came saw and conquered
and plundered other nations heritage as trophies
voices of dissent drowned.
The elite saw themselves as the educated elite
wrote learned books about statues they had purloined
also told of what significance it had.
For the people robbed of their symbols.
The pilferers became ennobled.
Sometimes theft pays.
Most of the stolen culture ended up
in a museum, so the people could wonder
and be proud, although some had an afterthought.
Now that we live an enlightened time
the British Museum is no longer proud of their
possessions keep sending some cultural icons back
to the countries, they were taken from.

In sickness and health

He will not last long, the doctor said
a mother cried, the boy remember
the darkened room and the murmur
of whispering voices.
Sunlight shone through the curtains
The boy got up asked for breakfast,
hungry had been on long voyage and
climbed the highest mountain.
His mother cried.
The doctor took the applause
forgetting what he had said the day before.
No one wanted to know about his travel,
his mother told him not to speak about it
because it was morbid.

The armless

Once I had a snack bar selling soft drinks and unhealthy food
long hours of total boredom and fattening.
I tried to get a drinking license, but a Christian party was
in power at that time, said no.
One Sunday morning, a young man without arms came in
he was drunk, his fly was open, wanted a beer but settled
for a coke with a straw; then he fell asleep.
He awoke and needed a ***. I helped him with this.
Later he told me he was going to Oslo to have artificial arms
fitted, I was glad for him.
I closed the snack bar for the rest of the day took the dog
for a walk, my problems were trifling compared with his.

The working day
  
It was dark I had been to a place I should not
have been, when I saw a river of men coming out
of the subway filling the street with silence
and decorum.
Daylight came, neon light shivered and died
this was not a time for frivolities and false promises.
at the end of the day, it was like watching a movie
running backwards, the river returned filling trains
with packed politeness.
They are going home to the mysterious suburbia
and the stress of family life in small rooms.
Some, however, take a later train go to bars drink
beer and sing Karaoke and for a few hours
Forget about the drudgery of tomorrow’s office hours
A tiny ***** in the wheel of commerce.

the peace


the prolonged peace in the USA and Europe
does not sit well with people
there must be conflicts, the group that fights
in the streets in Portland is a way of letting off
some steam, man is made aggressive
and peace does not behove the young who
never have to take shelter as bombs fall.
The fighting groups give themselves a name
but this not of interest as the weaponry and
the fallacy of a just cause.
It is the thrilling of killing or be killed that
give life a meaning they are obeying the law
built into us all we like war and when it is over
the peace is so much sweeter.

Writing on the Internet

Before the internet
Killed off
The small press
He often sent poetry around
And was thrilled
To see his work
Printed on paper.
A book to collect.
Poetry/short stories
Are not the same
Published on a computer.
The work disappears
In the vast maze
Never to be seen again.
When he switches off
The computer
It is gone
Like it never existed
What is left
Is a blank screen
that needs dusting.

The love impossible

The cafe was full, a young woman
was looking for a table, I told her to sit at mine,
she did, she was Irish and, yes, had green eyes
and I fell instantly in love.
We exchanged phone numbers I rang her the next day
her phone was disconnected, she never rang me.
I was devastated felt as fate had robbed me taken my true love away, and the five children we
would have had. ( had given them names)
if I remember right, she wore a sheepskin coat and an emerald ring, and I wonder if she still has the ring?

When the going gets cold

I was going down the lane
when I saw an ice front coming up the hill
I let go of the dog.
Ran home and burnt old poetry books
to keep the cold at bay.
Sagacity went up in flames keeping me warm
cold ashes and regrets.
The dog, with its thick fur and disregard
of reading
survived in the hollow of an old oak.

A Friday from hell

I was writing about consumerism.
What is the point when people get up at five in the morning?
buying tumble driers that use plenty of electricity in a country
where the sun shines nearly every day.
A new computer when they can upgrade the old one is such
a waste of money.
I'm missing the point people like buying shiny objects
like crows drown to the sparkly buying new yes, the newness is the future.
When most of the products are made elsewhere
it does little to stem the mass- unemployment in this country.
The earth minerals to satisfy the useless.
I hear you laugh derisively; he knows nothing.
So, you can have your black Friday, and black it is when loans are served
at the end of the month.
The people are fooled and seduced by capitalism,
therefore, banning credit cards, when paying cash, one is more careful.

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.

How it commenced

Some fish found it difficult to breaths
Underwater, they swam ashore and rested
Later they crawled to the garden of Eden
Where grew hands and feet

The post office is an oasis of harmony caused
By women staff who work slowly.

The fish now transformed into humans
Expelled the weakest link they got no hearing
Or discharged into the jungle of mangled words.
Those who lack intelligence suffer ignobly.

The Dolphin
He sat on the terrace thinking of his four children
their mother was a dolphin who lived in a pool behind the houses.
She begged me to set her free, I did and saw her swim away
jumping of joy
Her children were obese full of blubber, and had small arms and feet.
When we went on my boat fishing, they, when catching fish
ate them raw.
When old enough, my children joined their mother had settled
near the Azores, where the sea was mild.
I was on a ship passing the island when they swam alongside and waved.
The transformation was total. They had flippers.
The captain asked, “do you know them?
Yes, I said they are my children.
You are mad, he said, yes that is the price to pay for loving
a dolphin.

trousers

Three pair of trousers hang on a wooden hanger
no, not the wires they give you ate the laundry.
I only fit one of them but have kept two pair
should I slim lose ten kilos, you must be joking
but hopes are eternal, and my doctor is good looking
she has a nice smile like should be interested in
my well being, every time I go there she has to look
into her computer, oh, yes him with the funny heart
and tries to flirt with me, fat chance.
The trousers slid from the wooden hanger fell on the floor
and since I was naked at the time picked up a pair of
grey slacks, the fitted just, but there was no room for
a shirt, I put on an over-sized T-shirt and thought
it was slimming, but my wife who loves to tell the truth
said I looked like a tent.
Her sarcasm was lost on me, I had slimmed and wore
the grey slacks that day.

Sweet dreams

No one loves you as I do
Should someone love you more they are not real
But a figment of your impossible dreams
Where I sometimes enter your mind
Make you a sandwich of blueberry jam not
If I must add of the homemade category just
The way my mother made
On newly baked bread with butter of love.
I never buy anything shop-bought that can be
Had anywhere upon request.

Clean feet

I had a check-up about my diabetes, but first I had
to see the nurse who did the physical work testing this and that,
do you want to see my feet? No, she said it is not needed.
To think I had scrubbed my feet pink, between the toes too,
like cardinal waiting for the pope to kiss his feet.
The foot kissing is a ritual humiliation to keep the pope humble.
I noticed the nurse´s dress looked crumbled as she had slept
In her uniform, perhaps she had done a double shift,
she also had a restless leg. I found tense, and a prominent larynx, or maybe she needed a ***.
The doctor spoke to the computer everything was ok, liver
blood pressure, and so on, the doctor looked like a cute mouse a narrow face and small ears, her
hospital coat was starched.
I told her my feet were better. I said that hoping she would have a look, but no, she smiled politely
and wished me a good day.

The disgrace

So, it is coming to an end
and the lesson that will not be learned is this:
the occupied people will not love the occupier.
The army of the Kabul government is melting away
the soldiers know. they will even if they won
a battle or two, lose, the Taliban are the people
Of the Pashtun are as strong as hemp.
The west has to live with the knowledge of having lost and work out what can be done.
The women might be the biggest losers
if the Taliban rulers, chose to follow their strict interpretation of the religion,
one hopes not.
So many ruined countries come to mind
Everything the west touches in the east is degraded
to dust, death and rusty weaponry.

Careworn sun


It was early Sunday morning.
I saw a red sun struggling to get over a mountain range
and then it was morning.
A cat jumped up on a car roof, the vehicle's alarm
sounded, blinking light that stopped after a little while
no one came out to investigate.
The silence was profound I could hear the town breathing
rhythmically in and out, a dog barked but thought better
abruptly stopped.
The day with its opportunity, pleasure and grief began.

rural ceremonial

open casket
his face was covered in a silk cloth
I removed it he looked grumpy
this was not the outcome he had wanted
I replaced the cloth
sat down thinking if it moved
it meant he was breathing a ghastly mistake
I concentrated hard, but I´m not Jesus
can not decide between life and death
my faith was not strong enough.
I looked at the mourners; they had the expressions
of deep sorrow
although some looked at their wristwatches
they had other things to do like taken the cows
in for milking at five o´clock.
Cattle wait for no one
the padre came he had gravy spots on his white robe
I thought here is a man in need of a housekeeper.
The padre nearsighted blessed everyone
we watched as the casket was lowered into the ground
an ocean of flowers
why was I here I didn´t know was asked to go
to make up the crowd of mourners.
I shook hands with many and murmured words
of comfort in times like this words are not needed.
Profoundly dismayed I drove home
wondering what life was for,
the dog was waiting it was hungry, and no walks today
a program on TV I want to see.

the loss of Nene


Forever is an awesome word we use without
realize the implication of the verb.
A friend of mine is dead.
I will not see him again in my lifetime I say this
to avoid saying forever.
Summer and winter will pass
snow-topped mountains will remain, but my friend
will eternally be dead.
Ashes in an urn are lightweight
and has little to do with the man I knew.
He is an abstraction
like the dust in the road,
to say goodbye is useless
he is beyond the known.

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.

Garments

Opened the wardroom’s door, suits and jackets worn
so long looked like sad copies of me.
Gave all my clothes to the salvation army, which gave
them to people not unlike me.
Too much textile is a heavy burden one becomes and
snug in old suits losing interest in adventures.
I bought a pair of jeans and a matching jacket, walked out
at dawn’s first light, began looking for a horse, failing that
a mule to transport me when I traverse the landscape
of imagining, I’m a cowboy lassoing dreams.

Who’s the finest poet in
The world?
I inhale roses’scent
And spew words over
The land.
Fertilization it’s called.
Not that it helps
When we consider
That 99% of people
Don’t read poetry
And the literary 1%
Pretend they like poetry
Because it is
The cultural thing to do

Bosporus


Bosporus 1956, the old tanker where I was a galley boy
had anchored waited for orders to proceed into the black sea.
A rowing boat came alongside they were selling fez
the latest fad among us ******.
They also sold sweet liqueurs which I drank, got drunk and sick
for the first time in my life; I was 15teen.
In the old days, you had to grow up fast and learn to howl with the dogs.
The winter weather was sunny I was awed by the Byzantine mystic
like a fairytale story. I bought the fez.
The last time I was in Istanbul -30 years later- on a ship where I was a cook.
my fall from officer grade had been painful and political.
in Istanbul going back to the ship I was followed by a back of dogs begging for food raided the galley
they knew I was a generous cook

The alcohol problem

They say the scientist, alcohol shrinks your brain
and is a cause for violence.
I’m not so sure, in Muslim countries, they are quick
to ****** people, and good humour appears
to be lost in oil-wells and sand.
In Pakistan, alcohol is forbidden and what a mess
the country makes drowning in hatred against reason.
Banning alcoholic drinks is to stop people
seeing the truth, and using religion as a weapon
What shrinks in the brain is the banal, the trite
what is left is sanity pure as ***** on the rocks
and cold morning beer.

A cook at sea

The sea is restless and white-crested
It moves the ship up and down and sideways
Broad legged the cook tries to keep order
With dancing pots and pans.

He dreams of roses but is surrounded by steel
He knew of better times, south America.

The cruel tempest starts after lunch
When in his bunk tries to sleep but is tossed about,
He has been on his feet since six o’clock.
Hopes the sea will calm before the evening shift.

In defence of the Palestine people

I have complained my car didn’t start, how middle-class
I have become complaining about unimportant banality
instead of writing about the plight of the Palestinians
who has endured having their land stolen and also?
Losing the little they have left of land and olive trees
to the unspeakable settlers.
Israel has demonized the Arab and demonized us who
write about the inequity into silence.
I have noticed when I write about this conflict on other sites
It is overlooked and not commented upon.
There was a time in Norway, when my uncles fought to help
the Jews and suffered for it, torture and long jail terms.
Today the situation is different Israel picked up the mantles
of ****** and ran with it.
I have no power but, I can defend the Palestinians in
the knowledge that history is on my side.
The truth is stifled but never killed.

The Chinese (told to me by a South African)

They are all over Arica now building houses,
Railways and roads using their workers
There is little work for the local population.
If you take a train in Africa, there are many graves
By the embankment, of Chinese workers who
Died there they even haven’t got a name.
The Chinese buy-up farmland products are sent
To chine to feed the population there and the locals
Are starving.
Chine is not about individuals but the plurality
Like a locust swarm leaving the land bare and now
They are building a road the goes to Europe: and on
The way they buy farmland it until the last plant
and leaves behind devastation.
So, look out what is coming your way.

By the graveside

The flowers on a heap at the grave,
some given by love others out of duty.
Some with a grudge didn’t show up
as banal revenge of the pain from
the whip of her sharp tongue.
I found it difficult to comprehend that
my impossible mother was in a coffin
she had no respect of authority, spoke
her mind sometimes unwisely.
I saw she once slapping a police officer
who got so perplexed he walked his way
after threatening to arrest her.
She was an avid reader but never wrote
which was a pity she had much to offer.
She is still inside of my head and will be
there as long as I live.

Beware of Colours

It was about these flowers, you see,
blue a favourite colour for many they don't
realise this colour can bring on melancholy
The flowers have long stems were in a vase
day- fresh with dewdrops sprinkled on
their leaf, how beautiful isn’t a goat would not hesitate.
Tomorrow the flowers will still be blue after
seven people committed suicide and a blind
the man could feel their suffering paleness.
Tired of funerals she paints sprayed the bloom
deep red and a war broke out in Sudan.
On the third day the flowers, now ashen grey
in the vase were dumped in a heap at
the bottom of the garden, hunger erupted
in Africa and Yemen skeletal children make
a good copy in black& white.

The no ending story

  I have tried to tell a story of a rat that fell from the ceiling
  it landed among drinkers in a café I ran,
  never had I seen a café emptying of people in two seconds
  flat; the rat escaped too.  
  I also want to talk about the woman who had been sober
for ten years, a safe hand in soothing drunken men.
I also wanted to talk about the eccentric drinking law
allowing me to sell beer between five and ten o’clock
but the customers had to eat first. usually, a sandwich
after that, they could drink as much as they wanted.
I will tell you about the rat plague when they pull down
The old abattoir, but I will leave it for now since I can’t
get the beginning right, I dislike, rats they are vermin
and I can hear one eating ink in the wastebasket.

Lone Ranger


Three days are gone, alone in my cabin
Not a word is written in these rooms of silence
Writing in a vacuum does not behoove me.
I need an input someone with thoughts of their own.
Reflecting my own thoughts in the mirror
Are unbreakable cycles like a troll under a bridge
That can no longer see the difference between a goat or sheep.
Starve it does not being able to catch rainbow trouts
As laziness seeps into his bones.
Sore is my head from trying to burst out of this encircling
Of the stale, fearful of the new, I must read more,
Work by writers I don’t care for, but has something
Different to say or a new twist of words. I’ve tended to
Read too much, Hemingway.

Black liberation


BLM is a good and timely thing that happened
it freed black- America from the stigma of slavery
and freedom of the psychological burden
of being second class citizens.
But it was not meant to be a liberty to do as one pleased
upending statues and robbing stores.
This brings us to the police that must have the right
to to arrest trespassers,
But I fail to see why the law have to **** people because
they refuse to be arrested.
Let us bring back how slavery came about, it was
not a gang of white men running around catching people,
they could not have done this without the connivance
of the leading chieftains who had no hesitation
selling their own for a hefty profit.
I think this is important for the black-Americans to take
this into consideration before all white people are
brushed out of the true history

The Cashflow

Money notes like staying in a bank vault
Rubbing against other denominations, or shall we say socializing.
That is why I keep the notes in my wallet as long as possible
Dislike breaking up a friendship, as my pocket is warm, it is a sin to let them out in the cold.
Thrift has nothing to with meanness.
A stranger has no feel for the inner life of money
So, don´t lend to anyone who asks.
The teller in my bank is a fine man with caring hands; he thinks like me.
Counts the money slowly, often twice, before handing them over with a sigh.

A runaway mutt.

A dog bit a boy’s hand for this it must die
in human society, a dog has to be nice
ask any dog owner, simply this we feed you
and you make us proud, and we will
unreasonable think you love us.
The dog fled to the woods ate birds fallen
off the sky, blueberries and baby rabbits.
Cold snow on the ground, not a good time
“Humans show me how to lit a fire.”
A man in a cave gave the dog leftovers and
let it sleep near the fire until spring when
the man went looking for gold in the river.
The dog came upon a hidden sheep farm
Surrendered, showed a friendly face.
Adopted, lived a good life, guarding sheep.

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.

there was a man who invested heavily when Bill Gates
started Microsoft and he became a multi-billionaire.
Looking at a picture of Bill and his wife, Melinda
both had pale indoor faces spending their time writing
checks to Africa.
The rich man decided to become a farmer of the old school
but since also remembered muddy boots from his childhood,
he made a mechanical, a big horse that could plough
six furrows at a time all he had to do, was to sit in a corner
and direct the horse which when coming to the end of a field
turned and ploughed in the opposite direction.
One day he forgot the on and off button and the horse
continued over total road destruction, and into a nearby
housing estate creating mayhem.
The rich man quickly had to rebuild and compensate his
shocked neighbours.
But people didn´t want the ****** wonder horse an
at a town hall meeting, he was banned from using it except
for an exhibition on how to be a modern farmer

tabula rasa
when we are born a child has no memory
one can say clean slates, after a few days they pick up
the basic like crying when hungry
from there on we fill the baby with what we know
a knowledge handed down from our parents, and the child
when it learns to read beliefs without reflection
what they are told must be the truth.
sometimes the child has a new thought, and it says what if this
is not valid, that is when the memory it didn´t have
is remembered, something that is clean and true about the life
we live an illusion made up of a generation of lies told
to keep us docile, most children dismiss this idea and go on
playing football, but a few listens to the voice of verity
and not knowing how to shut up tell everyone that life is more
than they have ever imagined.
those children are embarking on a long track that sometimes
leads to jail terms and sometimes to an early death
by those who know they are speaking the truth but try to say
the child has a criminal mind.
the road ahead of the few is long, and there is no happy ending
except for the knowledge, they have given them comfort

they called him excellency and a name I forgot.
As it turns out my wife´s brother was his book-keeper
a profession where the person knows a lot of secrets.
The meeting will be conducted in French.
I, thinking of Galloway calling Saddam Hussein
his excellency, must not chuckle.
Since we didn´t know what to serve him, we bought
a bottle of whiskey I had a taste and got instantly ill
the strong drink doesn´t behove me well.
She hopes he will pay for the patient´s stay with
us and the hospital bill.
I think the meeting will go well if I sit still and call
him your excellency without giggling.

The princess

I don't understand the British
when Diana died the county went into an unseemly
mourning a mass hysteria of grief.
She was divorced for a little **** called Charles
they had two sons who are both going bald.
I didn't think much of her going on holidays living
The kids at home, if a working-class mother had
done this the social people would have knocked
on the door.
Diana took up living with an Arab and Charles
married a horse, hadn't she died she would
by now giving hampers to the wealthy at Christmas.
And no one would have called her
a people’s princess.

A character trait

She was divorced with one child a daughter
had met a man she liked going out for the first meal
the daughter was playing it up her mother tried
to calm her to no avail.
Her new friend lost his temper and shouted, whatever
his profession he was no a psychologist.
Deadly silence at the table, the man tried to say something nice,
but it was too late. They had chocolate pudding for dessert
which the daughter refused to eat.

Is war coming?

The sky is subdued, military jets scream across awful thunder.
Soldiers in the wood, guns at the ready, the dog took fright
disappeared in the bushes.
Deep silence walked past them ignored my greetings
am I the target? Vultures circled around, sensing a meal.
With a sharp order from an officer, the soldiers march eastward.
The dog came back from its hiding place looking shameful.
The warning of war is coming this way sure as lightning
60 years of peace- except the Balkans- we are spooked.
People of Europe hence the scramble to find a way back home,
where they will feel safe huddled together
hoping; the war will not affect them.
The news speaks about patriotism, time to take sides.
When the war is over, those who chose wrongly will be hanged
on the winning side, wave flags and feel heroic.

Surgery

After my morning shower, I noticed blood from my middle toe
(the one beside the big toe) I bent down the nail was loosened
I pulled it off and I thought of Socrates.
In a few days, I need a new battery in my pacemaker, a small surgery
when doctors say small, be aware.
I friend of mine, the late actor Clive Dunn, went into hospital for a small
surgery that became so serious he died of it.
I also have to see a doctor about my diabetes
she would see my missing nail I have a ready excuse bumping into a threshold.
Now I got morbid if they cut my right ankle off how could I drive
My car is fully automatic, so I sat on the sofa trying how it was possible
Only the right foot got in the way, but I proved it was feasible.
I put my shoes on and walked about the flat, no pain, perhaps the aching
was caused by the loose nail, which I cured with betadine.
I know I’m playing for time minimizing my illnesses trying to make light
of the oncoming.

fortuitous

A tiny ant was crossing the kitchen table
I was going to squash it with my thumb,
Hesitated, I thought to let it pass first then **** it.
I was distracted something my wife said
When I looked back on the table, the ant had disappeared.
Our life is like this, say; you set sail at sunset
Then you have to turn back the dog is at home
The boat is fastened you walk home
And since it is dark decide to sail in
The morning. In the night a storm blows hard
the ship is smashed into winter wood.
Just a fluke you might say, or was it?

A small war

At the outskirt of Europe a war
has broken out in countries where everyone drives Lada
mothers interviewed are proud of their sons
defending their land.
Should one son die, a big picture will appear in the living room
neighbours invited to coffee and cakes
his proud mother will tell what a good boy he was
and he died with honour.
I suppose in **** Germany, mothers said the same
until there were no sons left.
There will be peace, and everyone will claim victory
life will go on among the semi-literary people
who are doomed to live among high mountains and not learning
from past mistakes

She has two cats
She goes to the shops every day
Buy them a tin each

I know her game,
And excuse getting out of the house
I go to the shop too

But I have no cats
I look at the expensive wine
Buy the cheap one.

Lucky moggy lady
You don’t hear they complaining
Too many cans.