Big houses have tall walls hiding the guarded behind
keep the beauty for themselves
Insects have no problem nor have birds, and cats go under the wall.
It is about keeping people out of what once was their garden and in the shifting political wind they became expelled.
The expelled people do have olive trees if they are not set afire
by a people calling themselves “settlers,” an incongruity.
Sometimes the people on the wrong side of the fence
get their homes bulldozed; yet, they cling on despite degradation.
They wait for the wind will turn in their favour.
One day it will.

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.

The fall of the west

Easy, abortion worrying, call for an appointment at five.
A well-educated woman has a career to consider
this is her right to pursue her dream. (Work before pleasure.)
a mother is hard work and the pay is lousy
Birth rates in Europe are sinking, upsetting the balance of the future.
A less educated woman has to work also one pay packet is not thanks
to our capitalist system called hard graft
In Portugal, the birth rate is low from one generation to a distressing fall.
Old people die out there are not enough people to take up the slack,
which in the end ruin a country?
If an unmarried woman has 3 to 4 children, she is seen as a loose
Woman, we punish her and her children sending them into poverty
while we should applaud her for saving the future of Europa
What is needed is economic stimulus making motherhood well paid
a career to strive towards.

To my heart

Beat my heart but not too hard
Don’t get upset when time is against your
Your wishes and when your ambitions
are thwarted, and you feel let down.
Dear heart you are my best friend
Carried me into old age, but now you need
The help of a second heart.
Yet you carry the most onerous duty as you are
Connected to my emotions.
I have promised you not to be sad but smile
A little more, pleasantly smile to impatient
Drivers, how are they to know I protect you.
When the day comes, and you have had enough
I will follow you.

Life as we know it

I think we humans suffer from a death wish
we destroy nature, a heatwave in Siberia
burning down down the Amazon all in day´s work.
After this pandemic, the next one will be worse
we may be the last humans before we go up in the fire.
I´m tempted to throw off my mask, kiss people
and mingle with the crowd.
Apart from wearing the mask, I'm into hugging strangers,
but I can change.
Yet, there is always a yet, life is the only thing
we know, death is a foreign existence we now little
about and we fear its appearing nothingness.

Some mornings

When you are over eighty, the medics lose interest
in your health, I used to see the heart specialist every six months
and check diabetes every three months
now they have stopped seeing me.
It is like they think, what the heck he is old enough anyway.
Not that I care sitting all day indoors looking out
of the window seeing life lived as a spectator.
The phone doesn´t ring anymore and the few friends I had
are dead or in the ***** of AA, their life has been reduced
going to meeting keeping their morale up.
Listening to the endless yammer of self - obsessed people
talking about themselves their goal is sobriety, and they spend
rest of their life cocooned in safety while dreaming of whiskey.
We old people are so ugly we walk ungainly, and we have
forgotten to live in the day.
We have lived our life lost the zest and our laughter when
we laugh, is a scream of despair

The past is a dream

I'm going back to my village
in Mars, there will be flowers everywhere
welcoming me
“see what you have missed”: they say
moving into town heavy traffic, statues
of men who are forgotten, looking heroic
shamefully hidden by seagulls muck they
are no respectful of man’s endeavour.
The problem is I have been ensnared by
a woman I love, she likes to live in a town
near all amenities as they say.
I like to live with her forever.
So, the cabin in the dale walking among
trees with my faithful dog and loneliness
a dream of times gone by.

The visit to the past
I took the bus to the village
Only it didn’t stop there anymore, and no buses were going that way.
The only road to my house was a track.
For tractors and mules.
In my absence wartime was hard
but I met a man who for money could
drive to the village for a few Euros.
My old dog sat outside it took some
moments before it recognized me
it was glad to see me. The door was open.
I walked into the kitchen. A man came out of the living room
He was surprised to see me.
He had moved in since the house was empty
The owner had disappeared.
The dog lives in the shed, he said. Not anymore
I said. I have nowhere to go, the man lamented
In that case, you can stay for a few days.
I took the dog for a walk in the woods
On the other side of the track, she liked that
It disappeared, and I couldn’t find my way
Back to the house and the village had gone.
A person with a golf club in his hand told me the small village had been razed years ago
I had no business being here as it was the future.
And there was no way back to the old days
I had nothing to do here, and I walked towards the horizon.

Man drinking beer

At the downstairs café on its terrace
a man in an overcoat drank beer although
it was not yet ten o'clock yet.

he looked lonely a doomed friendless
person wondering what happened
to a life that started out encouraging

I could have been a winner
hadn't it been for the ****** divorce
in the hour of need, he was deserted.

Ok, so he hadn't been at his best
but he contributed to house and home
he was not the cuddly kissing type

trying wife, he had worked much overtime
to avoid going home and often stayed
too long at the bar.

Nevertheless, he had been a dutiful man
paid all the bills
and this what he got loneliness.

The Greek Poet

I’m trying to read the work of a Greek poet
I have tried to read it before until overcome by tedium.
I’m trying again.
I read slowly while pain is dripping, an awful lot of flowers
In her verses, heartache and all that.
Some of her poems are good but they suffer from being placed
Among mediocrity and it is painful.
Her book is too long and that perhaps is the problem with
All poetry is “too long” twenty pages are enough
To keep reader interest, but publishers want longer books
For their own reason. Too many poems spoil the cream
Of poetry.
I've put the book back on the shelf of dust, pick up
Another book of poetry that is mercifully slim, after lunch
I will try to read it.

The elite poets



I have been watching a program about poems and the creator of poetry,

what is typical of younger poets they are an upper middle class, university educated and know everything about the craft.

At the end of studies, they feel they have to write a book of poems hungry as they are for literary fame,

having read the old master think they have to be dramatic and write about experiences they have not had yet,

nevertheless, they get favourable mentions in the Guardian and the rest is hype and *******.

The retaliation

the faithful wife came into her husband´s bedroom
he was propped up by pillows and had difficult breathing
I have always loved you, and she said I will help you now
stamped him with stiletto through his heart.
Law is the law she was found guilty of ******.
They sent her to an asylum for the criminal insane even
though she was perfectly healthy,
No locked door she could come and go as she pleased
everybody knew he had been a philanderer, but she
had forgiven him out of love.
What no one knew or suspected she hated him and
this was her revenge.

The Escape

A man coming home from work saw a shadowy figure
leaning against an olive tree.
It was death sharpening his scythe polishing his hoof.
Them and said, no, not me, I´m too young to die
furthermore, I have to go to Madrid and work as a solicitor’s clerk.
In Madrid, he knocked on the relevant door, opened and the devil
sat there smiling.
The death said, from now on, you are my little helper,
go back home and **** your parents their time has come.
Greatly disturbed, he took the first plane home, and there
leaning against the same tree death stood like a shadow
in the autumnal evening.
In the house, his parents were crying they had buried
their only son, but they didn´t see or hear him and he was truly
the devil’s helper.
This story is based on a Syrian tale of a man riding to Damascus
across the desert to Baghdad to avoid death.
A drone pilot mistook him for a jeep and fired a rocket.
The man had to walk to Baghdad, but without water and dates,
he perished.

New beginning

After 200 years after a devastating that whipped out all life
the nature that had healed itself began blooming

the first sign was minute flowers covering wounded fields
tree roots awakened tiny samplings became a green forest.

In the sea, microbes changed and looked like fish
Swam in the swallow some of them could breaths in air.

The fish near the shores felt threaten by a bigger monster
sought the beach, and as time evolved, they looked human.

They had brains used to snare other life forms for food
The saga of humanity started again without a past.

Was bound to make the same mistake again till a new
Armageddon was bound to happen again.

The clown of life                  
  
Sadness fills my mind
perhaps it is time to go home,
but that would be hopeless
meet with the country I no longer know.
I had a home, but now it is being sold.
Looking back on my life as a zombie,
like an autumnal leaf in a stream
Someone else lived my life. It was not me.
Perhaps there is nothing like free will.
We are just born, and what happens
to us has been foretold.
Am I the result of thought?
That began hundreds of years ago,
eternal life of unconsciousness.
I accept who I´m sad will always
be a part of me; I try to make into humour.

Discovery

If you find a rusty nail you are halfway there
all you need is cabbage, carrots and a bit of meat
Soup is ready.
Genuinely made from a rusty nail.
This is also a way to write poetry look for an idea in the darkness
and not falling over tables and chairs,
This is an unfortunate mishap that occurs when writing
my eyes are old.
I have between my thumb and index finger a cork from a bottle of wine
from this humble start, I can conjure up a cool bottle of wine.
Jesus did it once when feeding the five thousand
when all he had in his hand was a slice of a day-old loaf.
Imaginary friends, I have many, can be helpful when remembering
their antics, and I can be absolved of sin.
Stick to a rusty nail or a horseshoe, friends are hard to find

Story of an entry

A man,
good with his hands
lived at the bottom
of a dale.
Made a door and
a frame.
A beautiful entrance
made
of mahogany.
He carried his
masterpiece up
to the top of the dale
fastened it to the frame.
Opened the door
and walked out
of his life.
The door stood
on the top
of the vale
in case he came back.
The door blew down
in a storm.
In the blue hours
of the day,
a man was seen
looking for his entrance.
This was spooky
no one goes up there anymore.

We are all familiar with the traditional relationship
A young boy meets a girl, Like Romeo and Juliet –
It must be added Juliet was 14, today this romance
Would not have gone down too well,.
Sometimes love happens at the most strange places
Like when I met a girl at a house in Kingston and her
Took a shine to me.
As we undressed in her room she said:
“My ***** is full of water,” I told her she better have a wee
First, but that was not what she meant.
In the morning she clung to me and I promised to come
Back next time when in Kingston.
Our love was real I thought of her often, alas my ship
Didn’t go back there.
Love, you see wherever it happens is a wonderful
Moment, for us there as no repeat and that was sad.

“Time to Say Goodbye”

When I hear this Beautiful song
I smiled wryly of my foolishness so long time ago.
She had left me,
And my youthful emotion was on overtime
Sleep was impossible,
Then came thoughts of revenge
If she comes back, I will spurn her, how childish!
I walked in the night
But most things have a breaking point, and I went to bed
Slept for 12 hours woke up,
was hungry and didn’t think of her.

Living a poem
At the hospital, I woke up in the night went to the loo.
Coming out I didn’t recognize the hall a woman came
told me to go back to bed, “but my father told
me to stay here” and I knew I was in a dream I could
not remember the title of
When young this tendency to become was strong
but with advancing years and cynical sobriety my
reading of poetry had cooled.
The nurse took me to bed I invented her into it she
chuckled, go to sleep now. I in the morning while
waiting for pre-breakfast coffee and a scone and
the nurses were busy sticking needles into me
I tried to remember the title of the poem, and I think
it was called “the boy on the burning bridge.”

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.

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.

The Farmland

The mid-west of the USA flat plain many farmers
tilling rich soil; red barns under a blue sky.
The community thrived, cows and horses in the fields
the Amis people lived nearby in peace with God.
There was harmony here and whispering grass.
Agricultural – business moved in, bought up land
the farmers could not compete and sold out.
Empty barns, fading colours, falling into disrepair
No cows in the field, no horses or dogs
Silent despair of ruined homesteads hangs
In the bitter wind telling of failure.
This is the way we live the strongest always wins.

Choices
The wind has been blowing hard today
telling of winters to come and high heating bills.
Now that I’m old and walks like a sailor on deck
of a ship in a storm I ought to be reflective
think of the life I lived and do some repenting.
“I did it my way” Sinatra, is a bit egocentric.
What happened to my life just happened I didn't
plan anything more severe than having a bath
first thing in the morning putting oil in the car
checking the tyres.
There is the death, of course, it happens to Popes
and ******, mind, in various forms yet the thought
holds no terror in my heart, I go on living till it stops
because I never planned a thing.

The deepest sleep

He had been sleeping deeply
woke up tried to be awake before the sleep
took him into the depth of death.
He struggled to open his eyes, couldn't.
Knew he had to make it, was able
to put one foot on the floor, the coldness
of the floor made him open his eyes.
He inhaled intensely it had been a close call
had he slept five minutes more
It had been too late.

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

Trapped

My life is in three parts
30, years as a ****** until it became unbearable.
30 good years in the deep hinterland
a place of contemplations and trying to write,
walking with my dog in the woods, there was so much to see.
I feel imprisoned.
My house is sold, I have nowhere to go.
Living in a building of snobs who rather wait for an elevator
when the transport lift is free.
Surrounded by nice middle-class housing and planted trees.
My years at sea is no longer obtainable, my life in the upland was a dream
And here I live inside a nightmare of all I dislike.
The worst thing that can happen to any man has happened to me
The loss of the future.

Pre-Surgery

A green long-leaved plant on the table
she says doesn’t need water for the next fortnight.
Does the plant bear flower?
No, she says it is supposed to be green striped like this
It has a lovely colour and is not a bother
Not like the rose plant that craves a constant attention
If you leave it alone for a week, it wizens.
The Christmas tree is white this year to give the
illusion of snow
this tree doesn’t need looking after, I say
It is better to buy a Chinese tree and save the forest
she retorts.
Surgery tomorrow, only light food and water, I feel grumpy.

Democracy for everyone

The democratic party is in power now
and Trump, for all his flaws, didn´t want a war in the middle east
he sent many soldiers´ home.
The new President Joe Biden sent them back to Iraq
he has an issue with Syria.
There was a revolt many years ago that with the help of the CIA
developed to a civil war, and bombed fell, killing thousands.
A War the USA lost, and the failures on the ground turned into ISIS
and nearly won if it was not for the Russians and Iran,
who pulverized the murderous thugs?
Under the sainted Obama, there were many wars, (Libya) springs to mind)
Joe Biden wants one too, the sight is on Syria bringing Democracy whether
the Syrians like it or not.
Since Joe Biden is an old man and soon will die, he should think
of the Palestinians
so, he can meet his maker with a clear conscience.

The vanishing key

First, he made a frame
Then he made the door
He painted it blue,
Put it on top of the knoll
One day he walked through
And locked it.
When he returned
He couldn't find the key
Hence he never got home.

Once a dog


my dog has
has been dead a long time now
but I think of her every day.
I have to give her eternal life dogs have no heaven or a saint by the gate asking:
have been a good dog
and eat the leftovers the humans gave you?
Woof.
I big lie of, course; she slept on the sofa when I went to bed.
What about the hairs on the couch,
she looked another way as to say, nothing to do with me.
Fifteen years we had together she spoiled me rotten.
Took me for walks in the woods kept me fit a fine figure
of a man, she could be proud of.

Suicide

I have lately been contemplating taking my life
The question is, how?
I live on the seventh floor with a veranda
The falling is not bad I shudder by the impact
Also, upsetting people.
A shotgun in my mouth blowing my brain out Is too ghastly,
Ernest Hemingway did it shoot himself
Blood and gore all over the place.
A 22-calibre pistol should do it, but I dislike
Weapons.
To take a handful of pills will not do I would
Throw up and sweat profoundly.
I wish there were an injection that made me
Disappear from the face of the earth.
No funeral
No flowers
Few tears
Only an enduring question
Where the hell did he go?

Higher education

Learned knowledge doesn’t
Doesn’t replace the truth accumulated
During a lifetime.
Everything you learned at school,
The certainty you had, falls on the wayside.
They tell you about wars, but doesn’t
Explain why it happens, if they do
It is mostly some nonsense that suits the nation
And you are left with no knowledge
Only an ex-student who loves to impress
By citing Latin.

The Silent invasion

IKEA, the furniture giant
Is invading all homes
Wherever you go
Homes look the same
No pictures, no books
To disturb
The hideous harmony.
Here no individual taste
Dares intrude
And the world is IKEA!

The romantic poet



The evening light was dusty
the poet wrote, and he continued
saying the dust-covered roses.
was like a silk scarf flung around
a woman's shoulder.
Over this, the moon shone brightly.
He walked along the beach got wet feet
but admired how dunes dances
with the incoming waves.
Then a big white-topped roller hit
the shore he got soaking wet.
He sought refuge in an old cafe that had
a proper fire-crate, and with a glass of
red wine in his hand continued to write
about roses and a silk scarf, the sea
did not interest him.

When in need

After getting lost in a rotating door
I got into a vast foyer couldn’t find the loo
Peed behind a big plant hoped people would
Think I was a Christmas decoration

The fountain of youth lasts long after
***, a memory that had nothing to do with me.

I was told to leave by the porter and around
The rotating door he ended up outside
I was inside he was confused I had a beer at the bar.
Older men *** when it is needed, and that is that.

Self-determination for all

  Freedom is not always what it is supposed to mean
  It gets curtailed by the influence of the world we live in,
for many freedoms is scary, they prefer freedom within
the cage that is full of seed in all colour you can think of;
such as a religion of choice and ******* to satisfy your
hidden desire.
A canary sat on a perch inside its confinement and noticed
the gateway was open, it flew out and the feeling of freedom
was intense, think sitting on a bookshelf and crapping on
a newspaper the “Guardian” on the small table by the chair.
A window was open, more freedom, it flew out sat on
the branch of a tree, feeling totally free and no one would say:
how blue the bird is?
A raven, shiny black saw the bird and the was that
a few blue feathers are blowing in the breeze.

Hunger and horses

Spring 1945
A horse collapsed
In the street
Of hunger.
Skinny men in black
From doorways came.
Long knives
Tore into
Shivering flesh.
Hyenas.
A shot fired
The horse was dead
The hyenas
Would return.
An officer
Who loved horses
Released
The animal
From suffering.

Suppress women
And you get a society
Of men shooting holes
In a dark cloud

Driving on the left side
Of the road
Makes a nation somewhat
Intransigent

Olive trees

with warming
of the land
a plant appeared
to thrive
the olive plant.
where do they get water from
the morning dew
or the memory
for better days.
Near the house there
are a forest of them
look like an army
of ancient soldiers
who have stopped walking
gnarled and crocked
will not march no more.
Every year they are full of olives.
Hundred of years old
they have seen it all.
Love has been made
under their soft ground
but an olive tree
tells no tales.

War is Lovely

It´s a hell of a war, soldiers running between burning buildings.
It is a great war good for *** feel the strength running through veins
blood oozing out of bullet holes and onto the sand that is the other guy´s
the person called an enemy.
Was this their finest hour defending whatever they have told to defend
Wonderful war brilliantly red, and women dream of joining them
only to find they are out of place; soldiers will rather ******* in a fox-hole.
Glorious war, something the survivors can talk about in the park playing card,
name the buddy who didn´t make it out lost in reveries and full moon.
Do they see the green leaves on trees or the flowers; is it all death and ruined buildings?
Forever etched in their crippled brains.
Oh, I´m so tired it is hurting me, endless wars and commentators explaining the murdering
of the innocent according to what the think-tank pays them.
I long for the autumnal colour in Portugal, a place to heal the abused body so distressed,
facing away from the TV, screen that drips of blood or failing that of football boots.
To walk on old cobblestones and fallen leaves and remember that we live in a beautiful world.

camel and roses

Fresh bread still moist, spread a thick layer of butter
On the slice, few foods in life can taste better
Until the medical profession gives us a stark warning
It is no good for the heart and blood vessels
Guiltily I make another slice I will stop tomorrow.

Camels are with humps of water are cumbersome
Once I rode on one, its funny walk made seas sick.

Resolving the problem of too much milk is not my concern
Over drinking can lead to obesity or lose stomach
Specially for adults imbibing “white Cadillac” (***** and milk)
Exponentially much stronger than beer.

The man remembered

He had been a popular TV entertainer, written a book
and sang his songs we could all understand.
He was tall, looked heroic, sort old Vikings we hoped
they had looked like.
but most of all he had a left-behinds song called
“Amanda”
Which was about a motorboat but had to come
to symbolize the suffering womanhood of the world.
He set out to find the song up a mountain of bad
the poetry he climbed, through a plateau of forgotten
Musicals, across a lake of a petrified sea- shanties
And rhyming verses,
He found Emma in s grotto, in a globe of shiny
Diamonds, the immortal words a honeyed song
of a motorboat.

The strange

If I knew you loved me, I would have killed you.
A sentence that makes no sense keep swirling around my head.
William Burrough could have said that perhaps he has.
I met a woman, not the first, and fell in love.
She was and could be my soulmate with her I felt at ease
not straining to be entertaining.
Dragged into a black vortex of love, it could only end in hurts.
I cut loose and had many sleepless nights.
I met another woman who was not a soulmate who needed
a place to stay near where she worked.
That was a long time ago, we are now two lost souls
comforting each other in the midnight hours.

The rotting of a socialist


I knew of a young man a rebel who wanted
his country to adopt the Scandinavian model of socialism.
He was elected to great acclaim by the people,
to do what he wanted taxes had to go up especially among
the wealthy and upper middle classes and they rebelled
by slurring him in the newspapers, lurid tales about *** ******
and a luxury living, people turned against him he was not re-elected
After some years’ people found he was not a bad egg
and he was elected as president again.
Now he was a changed man didn't care less about the Left
or the right, he just wanted to be president in his self- belief
gave tax relief to the rich prices went up, people
protested they wanted him to go.
He refuses to do so, many people are killed he doesn't care
turned from a good man into a ****** dictator
who will keep his power at whatever cost and has to
be removed by whatever means.
Viva Nicaragua.

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.

A newspaper and a Widow

The old widow across the hall
has been coughing loudly during the night
I thought of knocking on her door.
Decided against because of the virus she might have.
Well, she is not coughing now.
I have read the guardian newspaper a confessed
paper for “the educated middle-class” I should not
read it as I´m not their class of people nor do I wish
to become one. I used to write comments to there
but was barred, so I use Twitter instead
but it has some good writers, so it is worth reading.
There are times when the paper is left-leaning,
but it easily panics and hurries back to safe middle ground.
I´m worried about the lady across the hall, her husband
had been a high-ranking officer in the army, she is
too quiet, perhaps she is dead, I better speak to the porter.

The beginning
Adam sat on a bough of a tree waited for his friend
The gorilla, Eva, sat in a cave tried to make a skirt of palm leaves.
The cave was warm; a burning bush had taught them how to make fire.
They lived on fruit mostly, when not stealing eggs from nests
Eggs that were about to be hatch were the best
And they had chicken and thus became meat-eaters.
Adam´s friend, the gorilla, when they played card made out of green leaves
The animal was sentinel without a moral compass.
The gorillas had thick fur which, made them look dressed,
and Eva liked to cover exposed parts. Adam didn´t get it.
He should sit with her and listen to her problem, a pity she
Used to say, God had made men so stupid

Banned man

So, it finally happened, of course, Trump gets the blame
but I think this, not the whole story.
For years the workers have seen their wage packet shrinking
and their rights being ignored, no health insurance
nor trade union to look after their interest
As the common man gets poorer, the wealthy get richer
they live with the fear of needing surgery or losing the job.
The two ills go together if a sick person stay away from work
too long he gets fired anyway.
The people revolted Trump fanned the flame that already
was lit.
And it gets worse the big tech firms have banned the president
of the united states and that is an outrage that belongs
to a dictatorship, it has a sinister implication that doesn’t bode well
for us civilian when only what suits the big tech get a hearing
this includes anyone of us at any time.

Haiku riddle

tons of garbage
left by those who want peace
the right to be ******

people like to march
to the tune of pied piper
social conscience

when everyone concurs
they are usually dead wrong
bombs are exploding

consensus are fakes
foisted on naive people
thinking in unison



beware of peace traders
they want you to agree with them
dark hearts of hate