The execution

The basement, where cars are parked
in neat little boxes in a row, is cold and creepy.
It looks like a place where the fascists can
execute dissenters those who go on about
liberty for the masses.
There are bloodstains on the wall and cars
are silent witnesses to the massacre.
From the roof of the garage, blood drips of
the tortured on the first floor.
A black and white western on another wall
drown the screams of those who finally realize
there is no escape.
I sit in my car; it is ten years old and is not
forgotten in this horrid time. I sleep a little.
Wake up, start, the vehicle and take it out for a spin.

Separate tables

   He came sat down like they should be old friends.
   Do I know you, she said?
   Yes, we were lovers once.
   Long pause.
   Yes, I remember, but you have gone fat and bald
   I thought of you as an *******.
   You are a wrinkled old shrew, thought.
   We had some fun, he said.
   For you, it was,
  You would let me touch your *****, said it was
  Private property, she said.
  My dear, it was a joke, he said
You are a pompous old *******, she murmured for
No reason at all.
He stood up to give her a piece of his mind, but
The dinner bell rang.
They ate at separate tables.

Alone in a Church
First time saw Alfred was in New York, 1955. He appeared on a
Clubs ‘stage playing sweet music. I was alone and frightened
lost in a strange world so my father followed me back to the ship a
night of yellow fog and light rain.
For many years, I didn’t see Alfred busy as I was growing up and
yes, not to forget all the beautiful girls how can a father compete
with that?
In was only in later years when penniless and abandoned he came
back, playing sweet music and listened to my story, just nodding his
head and helping me up. I sat in a church it was warm and in front
of me a big note Enough for a good dinner and a bottle of wine, but
Alfred was there too I had to find a moral middle way so I had me wine and food but went back to the church and put the change in the collection box. Last time I saw Alfred was at a hospital he came to
say goodbye from now on I had to learn to live without him. I cried
so loudly that a nurse woke me up asked what was wrong, I told,
she lost interest, go back to sleep, she said, so why the **** did she
wakes me up in the first place. Alfred ‘s face is slowly disappearing,
erased by yellow fog and light rain.

The slaughter

850 cows stuck on a ship for months could be made into a joke
but it is hellish damnation of how low we have sunk
in our utter callousness towards animals.
A veterinarian says they must be put down the animals
have suffered enough.
A massacre of the innocent.
Once the shipping was an honourable trade, the ships
had an owner; we ****** knew they were individuals.
Now shipping has become a soulless corporation
run by the incompetent whose only goal is profit.
They say the world is better now than before, I disagree
we are going back into the dark ages
when the life of animals had no consequences.
When we behave with cruelty to animals, it is contagious  
we lose respect for all life and let cynicism rule.

Home from the cinema

We were going home from the movies
It began raining I had an umbrella and shielded
Her from most of the cloudburst, I got wet.
At her home, she said I had to take my suit off
I did but felt silly sitting on her sofa in my ******.
She came back from the bathroom wearing less than me,
We kissed and cuddled and ended up in herb.
We made love after she fell asleep, I watched
Her serene face she looked lovely.
I was tired too, but before falling asleep I thought
hope my suit will be dry in the morning

TV
It is a strange country Portugal
You switch on the Tv, and there
are song and dance
From different districts
The formula is always the same someone a tune
People are familiar too, and there are two dancing girls
Moving about which appears unrehearsed
However, this doesn’t matter  
They are famous in the local society.
The world is at a brink of war, but entertainment Is more critical.
Later in the evening, there is soccer that important
In Portugal, after a game, older men make
comment this is serious
bless them all, there is no war in Portugal

Fishing

The sea is turquoise
ships are clouds in the sky.
On the pier headless dolphins
side by side
Music in the air.
Children slide on gore.
shouting sellers
argumentative buyers.
a cacophony of humanity.
Bless this day.
This moment.
God is good here is food for all.

For a few lovers more.

I was driving along on the car radio Rod Stewart
Sang” have I told you lately that I love you.”
Perhaps it wasn’t Rod but someone else what
Do I know about popular music?
Why do I find it hard to say those simple words?
I have practised in front of the mirror, like an actor
who knows his line but lacks imagination
I bought her a car instead.
That made her happy, she meet her lover
come back and kiss my bald head and say, “love you.”
thinking of him.
I met her lover at a party, walked up to him
and said “I love you for making my wife happy.
He was stunned into silence.
She stays home, I think the lover broke it up
because when they made love, he was thinking of me.
the spell, of having a hidden affair was broken.

Slow-burning fuse

A sad day first heavy rain going into mist
it is not an outdoor day, but I had to pay some bills
which was not spiritually uplifting.
This is a Wagner day, never cared for his music
one has to lean to the far right to appreciate
this sort of substantially handed music,
I’m waiting to go home it has been delayed again
now it will sometimes be next week.
Portugal is famous for being a friendly country
but there is an underly of hatred that manifest
itself when we read so many women get killed
by their husbands every year.
Resentment is a rumbling volcano that explodes
and lava flows down burning houses and
the woman who got in the way.

Reality check
reality is when a dreamer wakes up
remember bills has to be paid,
a divorcee in a room without windows
and only know it is raining from
a leaking roof, bare fridge and no heating.
How could it become like this?
Execrable state when dreaming
Life was easy.

Do as the doc says

My doctor was in a good mood
He had had a good lunch and smelling of wine
After a quick check-up
He asked me if I drank
I said, yes.
Alcohol is no good for you he said
Breathing wine fume all over me.
I agreed
One should always listen to a doctor.
At the nearest bar, I had a cold beer
To clear my head, form his liquid lunch.

The Roma

  I see them in my mind’s eyes
walking through the landscape walking forever
their horses, children, dogs and women in black
a slow wander through the world and to the next
unstoppable they are from planet to planet
peopling the universe.
Often misunderstood and murdered for being
different from us, but it is not possible because
they are God’s children.
They are us we are the children but have yet to
discover we are the sacred, the Roma
we despise, we hate what we have become.

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.

Cell-phones
I sat in the doctor's waiting room
while my wife was (as they used to say) under the doctor.
The room was packed everyone sat looking at their phone
and there were no magazines to read.
I stole a glance at the cell-phone a lady next to me
was looking at, family photos from yesterday's party
Everyone was taking a picture of everyone else.
At the party, did they have time to eat the food, someone
had taken pictures of that as well it is frightening to
think people don't know what is real unless they can see
how good time they had at the gathering.

The dread

He had slept too long hours lost
in a dream of deep dissatisfaction down a well of evil failure.
The depth had a silt of regrets and self- disgust.
Getting back up was slow progress
like an eagle flying in a vacuum.
Reluctant awakening as visiting death.
This time of the year makes him nervous it is called the festive season.
Christmas lunch.
Fake friendship from the nearest table by people who hated one another.
There was the beginning of an argument by a guest in his cups.
He had hoped it would last, truth even when not welcome, is delicious.
Dreaming by the log fire sounds romantic,
but he could only afford two bars on his electric heater.
Sitting in a restaurant eating third rate food was worse.

Scepticism

When I grew up
I stopped believing in God
Toys belonged to the young
And Santa fanatics.
However,
I leave a small light
On the bedside table
The fear of the dark
Never left me.
However,
I knew Christianity had taken hold of me
The dark hue of the sinner
Is always present.
However,
I believe in the day
Truth must not be hide
In churches recesses.
However,
Blood splash on walls and tinsel
On the ground
New Year in Istanbul
The fear never left me.
However,
I saw a happy child play in the puddle

tabula rasa


when 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 believes 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 listen to the voice of verity
and not knowing how to shut up tell everyone that life is more
then 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 are long, and there is no happy ending
except the knowledge they have gives them comfort

Little fishes
It is not easy to be baby fish
They are on their own from the word go
Avoiding bigger fish.
No time to build sandcastles
Or play hide and seek in the seaweed.
It is about survival most of them get eaten.
They have no empathy, we have but
Ignore it when killing children in Yemen
And ****** them.
Some children never see daylight
Abortion so easy to come by sees to that
Forever dreamless eternity
We are losing our empathy and humanity
We are becoming like the fish
Survive or die no one will care for them.

Ascension

I walked on the vast plateau the everlasting wind of time
had blown away, the sand exposed millions of skeletons
and the memory of man ***** the brain was walnut-sized.
The brain is larger now, filled with images of *******
and wars on many fronts.
I came to an oasis I must drink or explode into atoms
but the water was full of coagulated blood.
I walked on crushing rib cages gleaming in the moonlight.
A vast iceberg blocked my way, sparkled like a diamond
decorated with religious promises of salvation.
I had to climb up and over the hindrance if I wanted to know
what was on the iceberg’s other side?
Emptiness or the final axiom?
I reluctantly began my ascent, the hands cold as my heart.

Ex-husband

He was a quiet man
his wife found him boring
she had many lovers and flaunted them
in front of him.
I think she waited for a passion that was not there.
Nevertheless, they had a child “his”
she was granted a divorce and kept the house.
There was a hefty mortgage on the house
she had failed to know this.
The bank, as the bank does take the house.
She lives in a trailer now.
As he does three trailers away.
He can hear her scolding voice.
That is the way it goes you never get rid of your first wife.

The foreign bird
I knew him well trying to blend in
Speaking the language too flawlessly
So, the embarrassment when he
On occasions, got it wrong.
It was not his mother tongue so
His speech was too slow and learned.
Made the language into disharmony
In a country where people speak
The tongue with a certain insouciance.
He, although people are polite, hasn’t
Got many friends they sense, I think,
His tragic loneliness like an echo
Of a country, he left behind that he
Instead of embracing his otherness
Tried to hide it.

The Creator

Lately, I think it has to do with ageing
have been thinking of religions, one can say
Exploring them for the best option, they all fail miserably
To the point, I will call organized faith humbug.
The idea that someone has the key to the truth and
If you don’t believe for them, you will go to hell.
My contempt for religions in all its form is contempt
And assault on people’s intelligence.
We know now there are other, planet somewhere
Not unlike our and if they are human life with the same
The problem, should we ever get to one of them it would
Be like coming home.
I can believe in a creator of this, call It god if you like
But if the creator has not any conscious thoughts the idea
Becomes meaningless.
Yet, religions have always been their peoples in the deep
Forest of the Amazon had one, the believed in nature
In trees, flowers and animals in what they see and hear.
The missionaries came and preached their god as the only
True faith and by doing so destroyed the fabric of what
They had believed.
I don’t know how the universe came into being it is an enigma
that has little to do with the right sort of god.

Introversion
Just home from an art exhibition
brought a couple of poetry to read
but I didn’t stay long left my books
on a shelf and sneaked out.
In the old days a glass of red win or
so helped me overcome my natural
shyness, but my hands were shaking
spilling the water in my glass on to
the canape
My shyness is the bane of my life I‘m
supposed to sell books not give them away
It is a phobia and it appears there are
Many this suffer from this annoying
crawling obsession.

A honied fairy tale

The grass in the clearing is deep green and sweet
foxes and rabbits play hide and seek, only stupid
rabbits get caught and devoured.
When twilight falls, there is no animosity each
goes back to their hole in the ground.
Woodrats with silky four have a love life the give
birth to saccharine babies that plays with boars.
For this is a fairy tale where little girls do not cry
by the sight of blood in the snow.
A story best told when sitting by the fire and
eating chestnuts.

Agricultural words

I was writing words strung together
trying to stack them together and make a little story
not a poem that I don´t care to write
when the electricity took a break.
Not that I minded living inland this happens.
I had a killer ending and wouldn´t let the flame of inspiration die out.
Five hours later, the light came on; I sat too long
in the darkness, the killer ending forgotten.
As I said, I´m not a poet, a worker in the field of words
sowing and weeding, hoping for a good crop.
A farm-hand of words, I do my job and even unpaid
but proud of my cabbage and potatoes.
No, I have no orchids and roses.
Roll a cigarette, lit it and dreamily think of tomorrow
sitting on a stone fence built by heroes.

The Battle
There was a hell of a fight in heaven; Lucifer wanted
to share power with who would have nothing of it and banned Lucifer
from heaven. But Lucifer who knew of the human weakness
and gladness of shining pearl told them to consume and consume,
and we were blind oblivious of the beggars and the victims of famine and war.
Only when our oceans become a pool of waste and plastic began to react
but we were not ready to blame ourselves, but the producers of plastic bottles.
God is senile, and there is no Putin to take charge to put a cork in the bottle
In the bottle where the evil spirit called Lucifer lives

The foresight

When I look back on my life, which I seldom do
I think in my writing, I should be deeper; alas, my self-mockery gets in the way.
Why should I think I'm intellectual to have any worth to say?
It appears to me that many on Facebook feel important enough
to enlightening us with their homilies?
If you live like this or that, you will find peace and happiness.
Balderdash!
Reading what philosophers said, is interesting but it does not change your mind.
Nor does reading
the bible makes you a Christian.
Gladness is a gift and the place for village idiots who lack the ability
to reflect upon life.
speculated on what life is for is useless; the only cure is acceptance
that life is cruel, and if you live long enough, friends may drive you around
asking you about the old days, a time you rather forget.
No religion or philosophy will rescue you; you are on your own until death.

The Shark

Sharks are smart
After wandering the oceans
Also, nearly eradicated in the cold water
Of the north.
Decided to seek revenge
By going ashore and with a shark’s cunning
Sought, financial centres where there was the power also.
They dabble in politics too and sit behind
The president's throne whispering sedition and flattery.
The sharks are successful they want to be
Rulers of the world and enslave us
Beware of sharks!
You can find them in the funny way they walk.

A tomato Video

Conversation with an omelette you can, if it is filled with tomatoes.
Apparently, trees talk to flowers a tomato soaks up this information
gives it to us when we eat one. After going on about tomatoes
the lecturer cuts a tomato in half and we hear a scream
the speaker declares he has two tomatoes plus a ****** finger.
Many videos’ maker's dreams, is to stand alone on a stage and talk about
things the makes no sense to others other than themselves.
They thank, the audience who are blissfully absent, and blend
into the dark background convinced they are famous.
Spending an evening looking through videos, I determined after due deliberation,
they were inane and utterly dreary.
Their point was to stay under the spotlight, applauded by phantom fans,
their mother and aunts for a few minutes.
Finally, I struggle to know what a tomato makes out of being eaten alive!

If I tell you that Maria Magdalene
gave Jesus a ******* to ease his pain
when on the cross.
would that be seen as a charitable act
or a sinful thing to do?
or will my words upset the right-winged
Christians so much they would try to
to silence me with a sword of indignant hatred?
I just ask.
Nowadays we get upset about so many things
that we have to sift through our mind what to write
in order not to upset the religious narrative.

The residue of a past

Lately from the murky part of his being
an unbecoming feeling has been floating upwards
lurking on the surface a misplaced desire.
He tries to shrug away to ignore it an let it sink back
to the murky depth that resides in humanity.
It is the nearness of her when going down the lift
the hand holding when crossing the street that
bother him and goes beyond the descendant relationship.
He dreads he might say something stupid and upset
the equilibrium between them. As it is he accept
the sense of warmth they are just friends driving along
the coast enjoying the vanishing summer.

Nightly awake
It’s three in the morning eczema in my legs
scratches like a myriad of ants and feet hurt
it is diabetes looking for an outlet,
I walk around the flat, a good thing it is large.
From somewhere a dog whines its owner shush
the dog must be in pain but can tell no one
where it hurts.
I hear the lift going down its owner is taking it out
for a night walk or to a vet, perhaps the dog
Has toothache
I think of drinking a glass of wine but since it is
dawn I settle for a cup of tea and a bisque
as the blood sugar is too low, I add a teaspoon
of sugar.
Looking out of the window in my study I can
see a light of a flat from a window in the opposite
the building, someone else who can’t sleep.
I massage my feet, the infernal scratching has
subsided and soon it will be morning.

Speculation

What is the best time to die?
A beautiful summer’s day
or in the winter when it rains.
There is an untimely satisfaction
that mourners - if there is any-
will be wet and die of the flu.
Sitting in the antechamber
discussing where we are going.
My plan is clear its Saragossa
where the dream of life continues,
because our conciseness was
a flash of light in the darkness.

The rocket accident
They were so proud of the families of the crew
going into space, they stood on a podium
especially made for them and it was decorated
with American flags.
A lot of smoke and fire the rocket took off the applause
was premature suddenly the rocket was engulfed
by flames and it exploded.
It took a few minutes before the families understood
their loved ones had pulverised, gone forever.
It was a moment reminding me of “the bridge
over San Luis Ray” what happened in the life of the five
crew before this fateful moment.
Few remember this tragic moment, but it is worth
writing about we forget the losers so quickly, but I think
we can honour them by not forgetting

Falls flowers

On the road to Bolequeime on the way to a German supermarket
that sells proper Teutonic sausages as autumnal flowers blossom,
some of the blooms sit on white plastic chairs wearing shorts.
Sometimes a car stops, no, not a man in a white van, a big car a businessman
on the way from his office stops getting quick blow-jobs.
Best this way no need to undress an act that causes people to stare.
The human blooms have water bottles the gargle; no one here smells like rosebuds.
They used to, in the summer gone throng nightclubs and the beach
but only slow walking men fill the bars and beach.
Like a beautiful ****, they trek inland, sit by the roadside and wait.
The flowers look nice in fading light, but not if you know what love is.
the **** of autumn sits by the verge, sells despondency

Oranges

Frost in Florida once, I planted an orange tree
among thousands of other orange trees in an orchard
when in Florida.
The coppice belongs to a friend of mine who invited
me to plant the tree a day of wine and songs
remembering the old day when we lived in the Algarve.
I can pick out my orange tree among the mass of trees
simply because it is the most beautiful one.
Like in a pack of dogs, it’s easier to pick out your mutt
it has friendly eyes; we can also call it love.
My friend in Florida died, so did my canine; for my tree
I hope it survived the frost.

The Intrepid

Tall Savannah grass, he had to drive on its only road it was narrow
had no pavement, he rode his scooter could see the ears of big cats
listening.
It was noon, the lions didn’t like the smell emitting from his scooter,
animals only eat when hungry.
He stopped switching off the motor he wanted to be attacked by a lion,
be eaten alive he thought life would give meaning to his futile life.
The silence was total heard insects crossing the road sound like a regiment
on war foot.
Now or never, walked into the tall grass remembered lines like
“I’m the master of my destiny.”
What rot! He knows nothing about the future.
The savannah was an oat field, a farmer shouted scared the lions away.
Sometimes we will be eaten by the worms in the soil
that is undignified.

War kills

Retina less windows
Bodies were strewn on foul streets
A photo of Grozny
Summary execution
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe
Who knows?
Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

Envy

Look at this man
he has got a Mercedes. I have not got one
my heart aches I covet this car.
No matter how hard I try, I can not afford to buy one.
But I can take this man´s pleasure in his car away.
I hate this man and his ****** car.
Scrape the bodywork on this gleaming pride, accidentally
run into him, sorry my man, the breaks failed.
Do anything to, he tires of his car and put it up for sale
my glee was boundless when the vehicle was sold.
But what do you know, he bought another Mercedes.

The Vale of Revulsion

There is a vale adjacent between the village and the hill farms
where people had given up their constant struggle with poverty
and of moved to France or the USA.
I walked into this neglected vale with my dog that usually
walked in front of me, this time she walked behind, not sure if
she should take flight or stay loyal, it was a place of fear and silence
a place where nature hated the humans and no bird thrilled.
There was no fox or rabbits here, the tree had bark that stung
I was petrified, behind bushes sensed monsters that only appear in a child´s nightmare.
My knees buckled; the temptation was to sink on my knees
and give in to terror, I walked on, and finally, we came to the main road.
I sat on a stone at the entrance of this nemesis of a future.
We walked home the dog and me, and as usual, she was in front of me, feeling unafraid of life

Riches

Once when the river ran slow sunlight, makes stones look like gold,
I threw into the stream a silver engagement ring, among the gold
it looked trite like a poor cousin wearing leftover clothes.
I saw her kiss another man at a restaurant I could not afford to take her,
my misery was total and my disgrace deep.
How deluded I had been, she proffered gold to my silver.
I looked at my ring in the water it looked like a sliver of leftover moonlight
after the ancient gods, bacchanalia.
Forever I will not speak of this to her, a young man's romantic heart.
The river is now a road, and the romance is dust on a pond,
but in the evening glow you can, among the gravel, see a silvery shine
and my heart is glad.

What you Like

I’m not dying to die, but like being slimmer,
be free of this overweight body, this harness of humanity.
It was not always I was young once.
In a way simmered down at middle age, suitable they said
balderdash, I wanted a daughter but didn’t find a woman
fitting the bill, they were too stupid, I wanted my child
to be a genius.
I met a female doctor once we had too much to drink
she refused to be a mother of my child.
Suddenly I was old had no future, no higher grade.
From the old people’s home, they came bathed me
changed wet sheets and said it was ok.
They gave me food I didn’t like flushed it down the loo
and drove to my restaurant, there they know what I like
and treat me like a man.

Habits

There are certain things in life one has to accept
I used to drink a lot, but it was at an awkward junction
of my life before I learned to like myself,
no, it is not a grand love story I avoid mirrors,
it has the nasty truth to tell me of my age.
What I have inherited from my family is the smoking habit
I try not to smoke it shortens one’s life.
But in the evening I do smoke 3 to 4 cigarettes, they
have little nicotine, yet I'm an addict.
How come I can walk around all day and not smoking?
But when evening comes, the craving arrives too,
I should perhaps see a phycologist, but he will only
say what I know. I think tobacco is buried in my genes
and there is little I can do but to accept my failings.

The Inheritance

When my mother died, she had a flat
Belonging to social security and the was nothing
Of inheritance to speak about
She had a bookshelf full of books. Most belonged and
Were stolen at the local library and she was selective
When it came to literature.
There were also books Stalin would have approved  
Happy workers at a collective farm.
When I came the flat was empty; it needed a lick of paint
ready to receive other clients, the bookshelf was gone.
Relatives had taken furniture and pictures
Which I assumed needed the more than me.
I felt sorrowful about the books they were my mother’s
Soul, most likely they had been thrown away
By non- readers; mind I had read most of the books
She was particularly fond of Dos Passos and
John Steinbeck, but books never die, I remembered them.
My mother and literature go together I no longer
Read as much as I did, but my mother’s eyes are still
There, in my dreams.

The smallest life

In front of me on the narrow track leading into the bushes,
I picked up a tiny field mouse held in the palm of my hand
where it fell asleep.
The tiny life was white and brown had eyes, heart and lungs like me.
What what’s next? I could not stay here all day with outstretched arm
waiting for the mouse to awake
I put it in my pocket when hearing the sheep coming down the track.
When dusty wool had walked past, I put the hand in my pocket
the mouse was not there; one thing to hold a mouse in my hand,
another thing is to have to crawl around my body.
I took my trousers off; I took my shirt off, I stood there naked
as Adam in Paradise, no mouse.
I slowly dressed as butterflies flitted about the woods were enchanting
and I enjoyed my ****** it gave me a sense of freedom.

Darkness

Night is the time to think deep
Usually of ways to cheat death
But it has black wings
That might strangle you before
You find the formula of how
Not to expire.

Night is for owls, ghosts and ghouls
Shine a light in their eyes and
They don't recognise it.
The ill wait for the dawn many
Don't make it and die before dawn
Just as the sun is about to shine.

Night is also the time for dreaming
Of *** and unlikely partners
Of horrid things and birds of prey
Trains that fly to the moon
And avocado men in funny hats
Banana split and ice cream.

Robots at sea

the sun shines, it always shines, on the portholes
on the ships in the bay looking enticing.
To be a mariner is not a natural form of life and
should be run by robots can tie a ship to a port.
As it is an engineer can sit in a control room
and press the relevant buttons no need for an oiler
to walk around seeing if something has to be done
and cleaning the floor.
On long journeys by the young especially is not
healthy, too much time spent reading *******
and getting a wrong view of what *** is.
Visiting prostitutes thinking women are like this.
Come to think of it robots could be used as soldiers
and the interest in armies would lessen.

Modern democracy


Think of an egg hollow it out drink its albumen and yolk
the empty shell cracks easily and we call it democracy
and free expression which is subjected to unwritten laws.
You can call Trump a son of the devil, but not wish him
hanged, like Mussolini, was hung.

You will be subject to a sensor and put in a cell for a night,
democracy is a schoolyard with high walls if rules
are following the power to be will smile benightedly, you are
a useful idiot and they shower you will see the illusion
of richness if you play their game.

The world is now a fascist state, and they spy on you in shops
or in the street and what you say on the phone is recorded
because if you think and turn they will lose credibility,
followed by a revolution that will set you free providing
they do not infiltrate and ****** your power base away.

One morning in August

It is early morning, but the petrol station is open
A man stands outside drinking a beer and smokes a cigarette
Not for me to be critical; he needs it to face the day
Before goes to walk in an office on the other side of the road
He is chewing gum; probably he does some tedious work
Repairing computers.
The petrol station is filling up with cars I noticed the prices
Has gone up, others hang outside drinking coffee and
Talking about how expensive it is to drive, but in our society
People often have a long way to drive to work, and it is
Too cold to be sporty and use the bicycle, even the electric ones.
I have had a shower but since my balance unsteady so early
I sit on a kitchen chair inside the tub only get up when
Cleaning parts I cannot reach sitting down.
More and more cars fill the road, and I can’t be standing
Looking out all day long I have other things to do

Bitter Love

In the night, I whispered no one love like us
entwined we’re one body a mass of sated lust.
Her room above an ice-cream parlour was
an angle’s boudoir.
I left for work in a cloud of pink infatuation
and felt benevolent to all creatures in the world.
Nothing could touch me now the coast
was clear of underwater reefs.
Suddenly it changed a boyfriend, a fisherman
came back from the sea, it was him she loved
in our throes of ******, her thought was of him.
A fall from grace, total humiliation, the beauty
fragmented into thousand pieces of the utterly
repugnant memories.
She and her lover boarded a ferry to Denmark
and that was the end of our love affair.