books

A book of vignettes, I think, is sent
too late for regrets, some of the writing has been
denied by several poetry sites
because they are rude and ****** but right.
Not being famous I have to pay for the printing.
Like my other books, it will not sell
a single copy but wash around the internet
like pebbles on the beach, the murmur is not
sorrow but the sigh of resignation.
I have not always been like this there was a time
when I was full of romantic poetry
sent them to small magazines, before they were
eaten by the internet, and sometimes
I had a poem or two published, and it is no longer
this way, that´s OK I like writing.

The weight
He had written two short books
Wanted to show her, his work,
Not now she said, I’m watching telly.
Around the beam that keeps the heaven’s roof from falling down,
He slung a rope fastened to a scrap iron drum using
Himself as a counterweight.
He hoisted the drum up, but he was too heavy
He carried too much weight of pride.
He cried in the night struggled to get rid of unwanted feelings
The drum becomes lighter, descended until
He was lifted to the top of the beam feeling free
Of false pride and ambition.
Why did you cry so much in the night? He was asked.
He smiled, was at ease with himself, but didn’t answer.

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.

The pursuers


Under the celestial awing
there are degrees of darkness
stygian and silky night-blue.
Secret light seeps out of hurts
soon absorbed by night´s hue.
By the quay, lovers watch the light
Commit suicide in dark waters.
Night prowlers with knives
killing someone with a passion
and bath in blood at midnight.

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 occupation

Black is yellow
Amber is green
War is peace
And everything is the truth
When spoken from an autocue.
By a man who never got
An Oscar.
More wars in Afghanistan
And it will go on till someone loses
In this case, the invaders.
A dead sea of suffering
May the west be forgiven
Trespassing
In the Middle East.
In the end, Israel
The western transplant
Will not set root.
Two thousand years is a long time.

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.

The vale of the rich

A strange place houses as big as castles tall forbidding walls
on top of broken glass in cement: gates that can withstand
armoured tanks.
Lush dale but no humming bees or bird song too much pesticide
for the sake of beauty, what’s left is graveyard peace.
I sat on my bike for an hour in the hope of seeing people, but no.
Each palace was like an islet cut off from the world outside,
here they need no one and no one needs them, splendid isolation
Like an asylum of the weary madness.
Just as I was to leave a hearse pulled up an iron gate, the gate
opened and let, well even rich people must die, prisoners of wealth.
I ought to take some of them outside, so they see a bit of real-life
before a hearse arrives.

Electric cars, they say it’s cheaper than petrol cars
we agree on it is also good for the environment
we agree to this too we like to befriend nature.
The prices of electricity rise sharply, so much the increase
we can’t even heat our homes.
They, the shadowy people, blame the Russians, but money
keeps rolling into the pockets of the rich.
The price of oil will soon fall, they say. Who are they?
So, the oil prices fall, but the price of electricity does not
The pensioners' shivers in their home, the electric car
is in the garage, who can afford driving it now?
Once again, we have been duped by capitalism.

the high Jump


Over the bay, I saw a rainbow dripping colours
into the turquoise water.
Nothing can be that beautiful I have seen it all
Jumped from the balcony but the terrace underneath
ours was bigger.
Nothing was broken the flat was empty except
for a Picasso painting and one by a man called Larsen,
concluded the people who lived there were Norwegian
I walked up the steps to my flat, let myself in
the rainbow was gone but on the surface of the water
I saw spilt diesel oil that often has a rainbow
colour but lacks beauty.
Where have you been, she said.
Nowhere really just jumping about a bit.

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.

Vaccination

I have had my second shot of the vaccine
but with some trepidation, it appears many professional people
refuse to be vaccinated.
Many say it is out of principle or a religious reason
our cleaner, who is in the Jehovah witness, refuses out of religious grounds.
I bet the cleric in the protestant church where the first
to be inoculated, because they do not believe in anything
and lives in perpetual dread of death.
Like some doctors who see their patient die, but not them,
So, they fly in small planes they are not trained for.
When the plane falls from the sky
They say “why me I´m a doctor?”

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.

They **** children too

A hum of silence met me
Dead babies everywhere like dolls on a filthy carpet.
A lone soldier guarded the scene
He looked stunned and dazed and said, we had to do it
They are the enemies of tomorrow.
A man in a protective suit and mask came spraying
White snow like power covering the scene.
Cheer up, he said, comfortable for you to say, said the soldier
You didn’t have to make the killing.
****** fluid ran out of me, covered the bedroom floor
An ice-rink of sin.
I was drowning but how to swim in this torrent
Of sweat coming out of every pore.
A shot the soldier shot himself after the deed life was meaningless.
The man in the protective suit and mask giggled and said
He was not strong enough couldn’t see he was doing his duty.
Children are our enemy and if allowed to live would come
And **** us in the future.
Lethargy and helplessness.
My inaction had condemned me for all time.
Morning.
A has of devastation stopped the sun from shining it refused
To lit up death, and forever we had to struggle in a fog of depravity.

the colour barrier

There is shooting every day in Chicago
many get killed by stray bullets shattered windows
but there are no headlines screaming
about these senseless crimes.
The gun-slingers are mostly black, and it appears
the police have given up patrolling a particular district
where the majority are dark.
we get headlines about murderous white men
and that is OK, as they fit the new narrative that
white is terrible; after all, they invaded America
and made it a powerful nation.

The Unbiassed Media

Bombs rain on Gaza, the youth throw stones, the Israeli soldiers killed
or maim stone throwers, a dance of death.
What do the leading media say? Not very much,
the Gazans must be partly blamed; the victims are guilty
of the strength of being Palestinians defending their right.
In Hebron, the settlers are razing houses, killing goats and setting fire
to olive trees and daily is the death of those who get in their way.
The media might have a byline about it, that’s all.
If Israel is criticized, it unashamedly invokes the sacred Holocaust
and calls us antisemitic
Should a Jew speak up, he/her is called a self-hater
and be banned from entering the stolen land of Israel forever.

Dawn´s sky


Dawn, the sky is lit up by the unseen sun
clouds from the ocean were coming in they looked rain heavy
not a sound broke the stillness.
This was the last day of the year and he was still here on the terrace
able to see the birth of a new day and he was privileged
the world had given him a gift.
The night had been restless and fearful, the thought of his death
had disturbed him, no point resisting the oncoming it was futile
he had said to himself and the dark night.
He felt a chill the rain was coming in faster than he had thought
He got inside, made a coffee and warmed food from yesterday
Feeling good he had always been frugal it was his way

Fourth of July

So I thought first of July was the US,s national day
I guess I was thinking of Trump and America first
histrionics and naively hopes the virus killing his nation,
will fade away like the morning mist.
No such luck Mr President and you have nowhere to go
except for down and into the sand of times
that will remember your cowardliness and buffoonery
echoing as Homeric laughter in the sky.
But as I said I wish America well and hope the virus
leaves some alive to tell how Lovely the country was
before it was caught in a tidal wave by the enemy
within, and suicidal behaviour by those who cry freedom
at the cost of the individual.

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.

Meeting an old girlfriend

I met an old girlfriend from the days when we were
in our fifties, it had been a tempestuous affair.
Since she was not driving any more, I drove her home
to her house.
She invited me in for a coffee and before we knew it
the *** urge was back, she put a leg on a chair and leaned
forward over the oak table, her body shook when she
I had an ******.
We went to bed I was taking her from the side, and we giggled
about who was moving first, she did, and we were at it again.
She screamed when she had an ****** and exhausted fell
Asleep snoring softly looking eighty.
Since I had no hot water at home, I took a hot shower
in her bath, dressed ready to go but looked in her bedroom
to see if she was ok.
I wanted to go home and write something I had been thinking of
Next day at the supermarket, a woman approached me and said:
do you know who is dead? She said her name.
I said: *** at her age how awful.
They found a man’s underwear in the bed. and I hoped it was clean
since it was mine.
Now I could understand why she had not been ringing me
as she had promised.

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.

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.

Power play and roses

The USA has a pinball machine rigged in their favour
And pin by pin the countries in the middle- America fall
One by one the collapse when they try playing just
Against those who have stolen the mafia’s textbook.

I wonder why we high have regards for liars they are
Nothing But a soul that thinks we are expendable garbage.

Revolves around the dancefloor under candlelight
Over glasses of whisky whisper satanic conspiracies
Shiny bejewelled wives are a mere decoration
Evil men are lovers in an unbroken circle of power.

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

A mystic death

Stormy weather ship on fire
the captain gave orders
go into the lifeboats.

The cook thought otherwise
there was no fire at the bow
the bow's deck a room where
the potatoes were kept.

Later he heard noises the captain
and his first officer came in.
Cowards as they had been, they
Resented him.

The captain had a gun
and shot the cook dead,
threw him overboard.

A tugboat came towed the ship
to the shore, as planes scanned
the sea, no life except for the one.
A helicopter got the body up,
a cook with a hole in his head.

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.

Spyware

It was no surprise reading Israel run this practice
and sell it to anyone with money to pay.
Israel, this enclave in an Arabic world, is an anomaly
its inhabitant lives in a bubble they call democracy.
It brokers no criticism, not even in its mildest form
and calls people who they find disagreeable:  
antisemitic or haters.
They picked up a golden nugget called victimhood
to the point, they believe the whole world hates them.
Israel is not a victim but a ferociously aggressive state
what will never give up its shabby mentality,
But it can be remedied if other countries stop all trade
with land, whose psyche needs an adjustment.

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.

Unwritten page

A blank page on the word processor I ought to leave it this way
just look at it and dream what I could have written.
If I delete the words written, it will be a blank page again.
No history on a crumpled-up sheet of paper in a wastebasket.
For now, it is too late, but I might erase the page written
if I so choose.
All poems are if written with passion, great poems
if not by the readers but by the poet, who boarded the wrong bus
as my wife did in Johannesburg many years ago
great was her consternation when stopping an available bus
to find it was for black people.
Being born in Congo by a black mother and a Dutch father
she identified herself as black.
Not so, said the authority she was Portuguese.
Racism and ignorance, now it is the Moslems turn to feel
the surge of hatred.
We want the Moslems to behave like us, but they
insist this is not possible in the name of their religion.
What do I do now? Erase the story?

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.

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 ancient time

The ninety seventies are up in patina, a yellowish colour
of the ancient when I was young; and for me, it is still
not far away and remembered as a good time, mainly
because I was busy finding my feet
In the interim 50 years, much has changed, now is not
a good time to be young, the world has aged badly.
1970, the last man guillotined in France, but thousands
have died in civil wars at the hands of war machines.
The attention span is lower now than before, atrocities
like the Iraq war is forgotten, even Libya reduced
to a failed state is in the limbo of being in the past, future
and the ever-present now.
We are blasted with news that rolls so fast we have no
chance to take it, is the leaders want, you must not think
to see through their lies, lest you should disagree.

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

Jacob’s ladder

God had a summer house
In a private cloud, he needed a house painter
Jacob took the jo, and the deity sent
Down a ladder and it was a long climb for Jacob
He was met by God, who wasn’t sure which colour
He should choose, the painter looked around
And suggested light mahogany colour it would
Give God a feeling of adventure in and otherwise
Pleasant environment.
God liked the idea and sent a couple of angles
To fetch the paint.
It took the painter two days to do the job and
He got hungry asked for food, and the deity said
We usually don’t eat up here, but nevertheless
Sent an angel to find Jacob a burger.
When returning, he was blessed by God, for that
He was thankful but asked for money as he had a wife
and children to feed.  Of course, God said I understand
And gave Jacob 4 gold coins which value could buy a bank
And he did and become the founder of a dynasty.
Going down took long as you can imagine walking
Downwards on a ladder is stressful but he made it
And lived to tell the tale.

The demise
When someone dies
It is sad
However, when someone near us dies
We sit up and reflects
Upon lives fragility.
The good thing is he didn’t
Struggle
However, fell asleep at the hospital
In the night.
Silent and without fuzz.
My brother had many children
I didn’t
knew them well
he was my brother’s son
I miss them both.

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.

costly stones

the mountain partly hid the lake
was crystal clear and warm
they swam across to the river where its outlet was
we were looking for costly stones.
The lake got shallow, and they waded, but could
not find any pricey stones.
When they waded back, the lake had retracted back
into the mountain, it was now a cave.
They picked some stones and decided to return
next day.
When they did the lake was blood- red and saw
nothing of interest
They did not know why the pool
was red thought the reason was it had taken
colour from minerals in the mountain.
The place was ominous and silent in a fearful way.
His friend had turned into a shadow he no longer
looked like a human more like a hazy dream partly
remembered as the apparition, it had no face
he could have been anyone, even me.
Back at his hotel, he looked at the few stones from
the day before, they had no colour, he left them
on a shelf, and hoped someone would find
the beauty of the stones what he had missed.

Sic Transit Gloria

When I saw a picture of him
I remembered
Well suited,
hair combed back
Business like
He was smoking a cigar.
He had a heart attack
Greatly humbled
He left the hospital
No more cigars
No more whisky
Lost his hair
Friends gone.
He is old now
Spend much time
In his pyjamas
Amble to the shop
Buying goat milk
Sic Transit Mundo.

When the mind speaks

Poetry immensely personal I hide behind
storytelling not talking about my feelings
but the sensibility of others.
What happens have nothing to do with me the onlooker
the observer, like an architect surveying a building
and finding the house wrongly designed.
I don’t mind if the building has doors and windows
and are watertight I gladly move in, love is
another country as passion is an ember of an ancient fire.
You say I’m a liar who tells the truth using the passage
of time as my mentor.
“once upon a time there was cobbler…” there is not
a cobbler but someone else timeless as history
written by those who weren’t there.
My writing mundane I like a forest if they are not
so big I can’t find my way out
Sometimes it happens and breathes of death comes
into my mind upsetting the delicate balance
between life and no life.
I’m not an intellectual reading a book as a pensum
to an exam, there will be no trail of titles
when I have gone.
I like flowers, but dislike flowery poems I find them
artificial, as Gertrude Stein said,”
A rose is a rose.”
But of course, a rose signifies much more.
While not waiting Godot, I will write some more lies
as long as I can.

Mock Poem

A man I knew who lived in Vilamoura which is a ******
Replica of a real Portuguese Village, decide to walk
The whole length of the land, he came upon an old
a village so aged that houses collapsed by too many years.
A few people belonging to a sect didn’t move.
No, they were not Jehovah witnesses who prefer ringing
On people’s doorbell at Tv time.
They were ****** people convinced the world was
Coming to an end and it was their duty to be the first to go.
And find a roomy place in heaven.
Intrigued by the steadfastness of their faith he bought
A cabin and had a toilet and shower installed.
It was a mistake the dwellers thought bathing was a sin
set fire to his cabin, nothing for it to resume his walks.

The past are memories
Going back to my old house in Algarve was a sad affair,
we took the old road it is a bit longer but less speedy and free.
The motorway also cost a lot of money in toll and for those who use it
driving big cars, like BMW and Mercedes, for them, the trick is to
minimize the time it takes driving from A to B.
The village was empty I saw no one and nobody came out to say halloo,
except for the village idiot and his dog, the cur is always delighted to see me
I play with it strokes its stomach and play hide and seek.
The friends I had were either died, moved away or lived in an old people' home.
The idea was to send the furniture to some people who needed them
but the white van never showed up.
In the end, we decided to leave the furniture to the new owners
I was only interested in the full bookshelves, unfinished manuscripts
and a few original paintings.
We tried to make lunch at the house, but it was heavy going, mostly
we had lunch in the nearest small town.
I got an old TV going, only had a few canals which consisted of football.
Football and more football.
To think I loved living here, now it was a nightmare.
I tried to walk in the woods walking on overgrown paths, falling over
olive roots, and worst of all, the small lake where the dog and I used to swim
was fenced in, for a reason the baffled me.
We needed help; old age had defeated us.
Driving back to Cascais, we took the old road since it was slow and had
many good cafés I had to check my diabetes in case it fell too low.
The travel took 7 hours, rest breaks and food,
my wife was the co-driver, so are all women, don´t drive too fast,
There is a car in front of you and so on.
Otherwise, it was an enjoyable outing.

Old animals

When my dog got old, she liked to sit
Beside me on the sofa when I watched Tv.
If I turned the volume up, she grumbled
it disturbed her snoozing.
She became contemplative, apparently
in deep thoughts.
Does a dog know that life is not unlimited?
Can a dog dream of the past how fun it was?
chasing rabbits in the wood.
Or does a dog only live in the now?
Some dog owners put their elderly dogs down
saying they will not see their pets suffer.
Balderdash, they do this because an old dog
is no longer playful and attractive.
Old dogs need more help to get up on the sofa
and are, sometimes,
incontinent.
Get a puppy, oh, so charming happy children
running in the grass.

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.

Make it short

Soothing rain on slates
Heal nerves torn to tatters
Unforgiving is life.

Rain is decanting
A transparent carpet of silk
Untouchable beauty.

Rain chased by gusts
Mad dance around corners
A day fit for heroes.

Australia

When I first came to Australia
it reminded me of a colonial outpost.
The officials were pompous and behaved
like little Englanders.
I thoroughly disliked the country, it didn't
help it was so far from civilisation
I was thinking of Europe pubs closed early
and beer was served in small glasses.
There was not much of nightlife I think
the whole nation went to bed at nine
in the evening.
Of course, this has changed now the country
It is modern and the people well educated,
alas, this does not include the political class
who do not appear independent of USA
and align their politics with that country.
Young Australia are getting restless
they want to change.
A quiet revolution is needed and better
care of nature is also on the agenda.
Despite this Australia in my mind, is a boring
And the last place I will wish to go.

The end

So it is all over
ashes to ashes
dying is expensive
not paid for by
the recipient.
The padre was mercifully short
four funerals a day
nothing new to say.
The violinist played Ave Maria
I tried not to cry.
Death is a great leveller.
The empty feeling of the gone.
We had a good dinner and spoke of other things.

Weekdays

I like Mondays
it starts hopefully
Tuesdays
are a setback
then it goes
downhill
all the way
to ****** Sunday
with nothing to do

An ant´s long journey

He sat on a palm leaf
going downstream
over him, dark wings fluttered.
As an ant he had enemies
they saw him as a snack
not as a shivering life.
A waterfall
he fell out of his leaf
sought safety
on the head of a crocodile
seeking prey
saw the beast taking a bite
of a gnu,
and thought
horrors never end,
He floats to the river ended
and the ocean began.
The swells overcame him
he could not breathe,
such a long journey
for what?

wars we like

Do we like wars as long as it is at our doorstep
the Russians fought in Afghanistan and lost hands down
the USA took over this unwinnable war so far it has lasted
Twelve years with no end in sight.
The USA lost the Vietnam war, but Hollywood came
to the rescue made movies of brave soldiers whose every
bullets hit a target, yet they fled from the rooftop in Hanoi
it was a sickening sight.
In the meantime, the French are fighting a war against the rebellious
in central Africa to defend and give the presidency
to those who are most corrupt in the name of oil and precious
stones and metal.
The French keep their war entirely; it is not headline news.
Now, the battle is coming home its fought in our streets
there are no heroes here and no movie to make for now.

Poetry she read

At the inauguration of Joe Biden
It was a grey affair and the new president’s speech.
In an attempt to sound lyrical, other ways dull.
The capitol looked like a military camp the fear of Trump lingered.
A young girl read a poem it was sweet and pressed
The right buttons and it also helped she was black, which
Is the colour of our time.
The only time anyone read poems is on occasions like this.
I wish the young girl well; she has had exposure and will
After this, publish a book and be remembered as a great poet.