The modern world

Strange times we live
experience
is virtual
the real is harmful
bad for the health.
The internet gives us link
but our solitude
is the same.
Famous women
do not look factual
like something made in a factory
we tend to be self-absorbed
our feeling and thoughts
are truncated
into a massive none entity
stalking the world
while polar ice melt
and we can cross the seas
on plastic bottles
as seen on the internet
and therefore appears unreal

Heatwave

It is early, but the petrol station is open
and since it is already hot, I buy two big bottles of cold water.
the heat this morning is ominous it holds no promise
of summer and fun, more like the door of hell has been left open
I hear the screams of those who are burning forever (one would
think the body would be impervious to pain)
I don´t want to go in yet sit on a cold stone bench drink water
and dream of swimming naked in the lake of love.
Of course, the lake has gone as has its tributary, the river running
from the hazy mountain.
Suddenly it hits me over the head, the voice which says,
you are 81. How the hell did you manage this?
The news isn´t helpful either saying the heatwave is no suitable
for anyone over 74.
Do they think I´m English?
I drink some cold water pretend it is from a well somewhere
hidden in my imagination of an oasis and palm trees.
I think wouldn´t it be not very good if I invented a pill that made me
younger and younger till I disappeared unborn.

Racism

Where are the war graves of the 350 thousand soldiers?
Who fought and died for our wars?
Most of them were black or Indians.
No neat war graves for them, and the racism has not changed
since the wars of our making.
The nearest we can come to honour them are names written
In a ledger.
I think there is a racist in every white man’s heart this often
Because the school system was racist, telling of white men’s
Exploits in India or Africa telling us we brought civilization and
To countries that already had an ancient past.
Oh, you wretched white man, when are searching your heart
And free yourself of the racist mentality.

Happiness is

Flour, yeast and water
mix it well
let the leaven rise
with hands of humility
kneed the dough into bread
bake them well
bread has a crusty top.
Look at the loaf
you make so early in the morning
and be happy

Never a mother


She was a rescued dog a tiny mite
lost in the wilderness of man and left to die.
A shivering whelp, it was a cold day
held her under my coat the trembling stopped
she fell asleep.
At the time I was rebuilding a ruin I had no
furniture only a camp bed.
I put the puppy on some canvass the workers
used when painting, and she wouldn´t hear of it
she ended up sleeping on the pillow.
A few months later, I had her spayed since I was
not sure whether staying or going back to Norway.
Thirty years later, I´m still here.
The dog, I named her Bambi,
when an adult sometimes looked mysterious,
stole from the basket of the ***** laundry building a nest behind the sofa place by the wall.
She spent most of her time there, but after a few
days, she forgot all about it and wanted to run in the forest chasing rabbits.
I regretted robbing her of motherhood, but my intention was good,
had I left her chances of survival would have been better not having
a litter to take care of in an unfriendly world.

Not a sage

He is old now, and eyes are watery he looks absent
and hiss ready smile has disappeared-
people ask him questions he cannot answer because
he is unwilling to say what they want to hear.
Yes, he is a communist but also critical of its policy
it can so quickly end up with an elite- sham labour unions
and loss of free expressions
Democratic- communism is not possible as people
we have not evolved enough to understand it's the concept
to explain will take too long.
He murmurs something, feigns hard of hearing
and let people talk to each other daily life were everyone
has an opinion, often ill-informed from a sentence
in a respected paper like the Guardian that is political
in a middle-class way.
He knows lies rules the world and that is the way of the world.

Odd times
We live in a strange time a music festival and no audience
Actors playing to empty seats, football matches without
the usual horde egging on the players to score goals
the very banality of the sport tells us of lives’ uselessness
our existence is useless, so we invent something
of course, it could be worse, say, war and boundaries.
We divide the world into small parcels, those with the
Most prominent patch always wants more and create mischiefs
And lies.
But for now, these childish things have to wait for a virus
Is harvesting us humans and no matter where you go
It will find and often **** you.

The Fear

I don´t mind to be old it is a natural progression
what I fear is poverty, I know what it is to be poor.
I react if sensing my funds are in any way exposed,
sometimes I over-react and lashes out.
There is nothing good in scarcity not being able
to drink a glass of wine, to eat crumbs from the rich.
To beg for food or go to a food-bank get canned
Beans in tomato sauce and corn flakes.
Not to shower too expensive heat the water.
I know how poverty smells, like stale ****
it clings to your skin and takes years to wash off.

The forenoon strolls


Dressed in a solid jacket the old man goes for his walk
First, he goes and buys a paper have coffee at a café
To read a bit, the woman at the newsagent smiles at
Calls him sir, her guard is down, the nice woman of fifty,
And can be her pleasant self and he falls in love.
He walks the grocery buys milk and eggs, the woman who
Also calls him sir, he loves her too.
He walks home, and his wife opens the door and, he loves her
More than before.
He sits on the sofa resting his legs and does as many old
Men do fall asleep.

Death knocks
I’m stuck in the bog land of poetry
Trying to make a small manuscript of thirty pages.
I have reached 29 pages, but all seems so futile
Words I have written before keep cropping up
I can’t endlessly repeat myself.
A doctor visit at the hospital was not uplifting
I’m trying to shake off the depression hanging over me
Dark clouds are blocking the sun, and it is cold
The future is bleak nothing to look forward to
My wife is ill, so I’m stuck here when I want to go home
To my village, I Algarve.
The dream is to go home and die where I was reborn
Remembering my dog and the long walk we had.

Got up early went down to the garage
practised to driving the car out and reversing it back
four times, I did that until I was able to not
hit the furniture at the end of the garage.
Drove around the town by avoided the centre
I dislike the strange people who throng the streets
usually dressed in hideous shorts, white socks
And sandals, walking in the middle of the road
Taking pictures of old buildings.
Drove along the outer layer of the town and
looked for shops that could be useful.
It is peaceful to drive alone and not having
anyone is telling you how to drive.
I have to go to another town tomorrow where my bank is, followed the coastal road
and found it. Practice makes perfect.
I bought a big bottle of beer for my six o'clock
Drink, but my wife and the cleaner had
Drunk it all since they had been busy put
Clothes on shelves, I know I will not find a thing
Women's sense of order is different from mine.
I had been a splendid Sunday, but now I have to
go out and buy another bottle.

A sober revenge

there is on the plateau of Spain a town made of yellow bricks
the buildings are of the same size, seven floors and on top an artist studio.
The street bellow was narrow had many bars and shops selling socks
it can get cold in Spain too.
On the fourth floor, in one of the building, lived a couple. He had a drink
the problem and she scolded him for this but since he said sorry-looking contrite
she forgave him and made him a tortilla.
Then it so happened he stopped drinking altogether
and he took over the economic side of the household.
She took to placing bottles around the flat, but to a no awhile he the husband, A sober revenge.
There is on the plateau of Spain a town made of yellow bricks
the buildings are of the same size, seven floors and on top an artist studio.
The street bellow was narrow had many bars and shops selling socks
it can get cold in Spain too.
On the fourth floor, in one of the building, lived a couple. He had a drink
the problem and she scolded him for this but since he said sorry-looking contrite
she forgave him and made him a tortilla.
Then it so happened he stopped drinking altogether
and he took over the economic side of the household.
She took to placing bottles around the flat, but to a no awhile he the husband, stayed sober, and she felt relegated.
With little to do, she got hold of a small restaurant in the basement. Lovely though the man now I can come and get my lunch every day.
His wife resented this. He was taking up a table eating up the profit, so, he was refused a meal.
Undaunted he had his lunch at another cafe and when asked why he was eating
there and not at his wife´s place,
he said, my wife, is not a good cook!
Now there are many empty tables at her restaurant during lunch

The life of a crowned head


The king of Norway sat in his small living room
thinking how he ended up in a democracy where everyone
are equals, some more than others like the so-called shipping
aristocracy who wisely keep their money off-shore.
His father had been a prince of Denmark and knew about the historical
Shakespeare was offered the job as a king of Norway
after being a vassal state to Denmark for 500 years.
But the truth was he wanted to get away from his father who was
a tyrant was treating his family with disdain.
Of course, back then people were proud having a king and lined the main street when the king in a horsedrawn carriage drove past.
And women were quick to collect horse manure it was said royal
manure made the roses bloomed bigger than modest roses.
Then came democracy and the silly idea of equality the king lost
his priveledges, no power just a name and a uniform.

haiku, the beginning of fall



Saturday morning
there is a chill in the air
leaves fall silently.

Leaves are urchins
no one to discipline them
the lost generation

Summer is still here
by noon it will be hot again
the last gasp of death.

Yellow leaves on roads
the process is beginning
from the lost to soil.

Thunder and lightning last night
I got up stood on the terrace I like the streaks of light
across the dark sky the noise of Thor´s hammer
sounds like Portland a restless night.
I love the spectacles of lightning on the sky it is dangerous
truthfully, to be hit by one flaming arrow  
and made into a melting rainbow, not a bad way to go.
Then came the rain.
We have been waiting for the final result of the election
it drags on and on, much ado, but the puzzles have to fit before
order descend like drizzle upon a parched land.

The people from Hades



It is well known that Trump's are a dynasty from hell
he does not care what people ( the serious press)
writes about him as his base do not read.
They watch Fox News and local papers that write how
great he is.

He has helped killing more Americans, more than his
army ever did, this is deaths out of sight and go
unreported, one is tempted to call him a Stalin type
his callousness is similar in disregard of humanity
his history will be harsh.

It is given he will win a second term in office and
the house of cards will come crashing down.
When America wakes up to the knowledge they are
living in a fascist state and millions will be beggars
the dystopia is complete; the devil made it possible.

A swan and ducks

In the garden of a hotel, we could afford
a black, beautiful swan in a fenced-in lake
to protect from entering.
It was a murderous bird; it dragged dogs
underwater and drowned them.
It was noticed the swan liked to **** dogs
with German names, swans do not speak
so, whether it was contra or pro political
was for humans to find out.
The swan go more and more aggressive
and no one thought of the obvious reason
it needed a mate.
When the penny dropped, the swan had
been sent to a zoo, found a mate many eggs
were laid swanlings everywhere
in the pond of the hotel, they have ducks
but they are so common.
Just momentarily thought there are so many
knife-wielding young men in London
could the reason be the lack of love?

Funeral parlour

A man who has spent his whole life as a seafarer
inherited his uncle´s funeral home, s his uncle had said.
The business was rather slow he had to advertise
making it sound enticing-
So, he wrote in the local paper:” If you die here there is
5% off all caskets” and a smiling girl in shorts pointing
to a nice coffin.
After two months and no business, he rang his shipping office
wanted his old job back.
No wonder, the shipping clerk said you should not write
death, but “pass over” Oh!!! No one told me this and anyway
I have closed the business the coffins are full of dust.

The Illusion

I met a group of people I vaguely thought familiar
after a while it came to me and said, you are
the same people I met 15 years ago, glad laughter
we wondered if you had forgotten us.
I was baffled an old dream had produced a new one
or was there no past it all happens now.
Or did our lives had two levels one that is conscious
has a sunrise, and one we only see by accident like
someone had forgotten to lock the door.
Got up from the table and bid farewell, have to go
take the train to the valley where I once was a cobbler
and I only made wooden clogs with leather uppers.
Sitting on the bed, I could not make up my mind what
was a dream or the truth, when daylight came I knew
that dreams too were truths

Seen in the woods
I saw a white raven, and they are rare
Sitting on a tree branch, it had blood on its chest
Of the sparrow, it had eaten.
I could have been mistaken perhaps it was
A cardinal sitting on a bough getting s rest from
The burden of rituals and be called your holiness.
It could have been a white dove wounded
By shrapnel flying over Syria.
It could also have been a white cloud drifting
Lazily across the blue sky, with spots on sunlight.
Whatever it was, it was none of my business.

Home from the sea

he is walking into the town,
new trousers and jacket
bought in America, shiny shoes.
He smiles to the girls who smile back
he has money
in his pocket home from the sea.
He has many friends
they come in the bar to say halo,
beer is flowing he pays
home from the sea flush of money.
Smells of expensive after-shave
bought in America.
He is walking into town,
his jacket is no longer new and shoes
not shiny
he is broke does not go to the bar.
It is a dull day.
He goes down to the office
that hires ******, ask if there is a job.
Not today, come back tomorrow.
The way back home is long and
rain falls.

Wordsmith

When writing shall we dare call it poetry
I, because of my lack of academic learning
cannot seek inspiration the classics,
except for the god Sisyphus which
I find funny realising I'm laughing at self.
The lacuna between me and poetry I have
tried to fill with words, one day I can build
a park for lovers,
At my relative old age which is no more
then a blinking star I have read hundreds
of books that have been stuck on my mind.
A few writers name are remembered,
most of the American writers, sprinkled
by Norwegian and Russian authors.
When writing I draw from this well
what I need to cobble together the wisdom
which is everlasting, because I'm bringing
forward what has been said before me.

When love is not
A man meets a woman
And thinks she loves him in return
The kissing
the hand holding is the same
but something, something is wrong
after making love, she turns her back
away from him, not speaking.
He fell sadness and emptiness after
the tryst that ends in silence.
Something, something is wrong
He knows that in his heart
He waits for an email or a phone
That she has met someone else and
When the call comes will no shatter
Him, blaming himself for confronting
Her asking what was wrong.

Early morning

I know of a man who gets up early
to sample the morning dew.
He has found it is not from a wealthy house lawn
the dew taste good it is full of additive

when the goose flapped its wings pearls
of wisdom dripped into the water.

The man who collects morning dew
prefer undiluted grass in the glen.
The taste of wildflowers
send him into a spin of delightful dance.

Dalai Lama


Dalai Lama, the Buddhist monk
giggles a lot
when interviewed on TV
he sounded like Readers Digest
platitude upon platitude
between giggles.
He walked a lot wore solid boots.
In the background, a Tom & Jerry show
with the sound turned off.
The impression was that of a village idiot.
Why does the Chinese bother with him?

Cucumber

early morning
I had to eat something
found a cucumber in the fridge
that was otherwise bare.
Peeled and boiled them added a bit of butter
and a pepper
stirred well when cooked and I had
mashed cucumber.
It tasted terrific a wonder for a diabetic
I have to remember til next time
the cupboard is bare.

The end of writing


I´m not a poet no more
have crossed the field of roses
in front of me a dark forest where blackened leaves
have yet to fall.
The forest is endless the hope is to find a tarn bottomless
and mysterious and nymphs are calling my name and made
or me a bed of rosebuds, but not under Damocles sword
the spirits of my life have a baroque sense of humour.
I have thrown away my pen,
no more scribbling on a piece of paper or bank statement
if I write it will be with a stick on a beach at the edge of the sea
and see as the ripples erase what I wrote something about
a dream in the land of forgetfulness.
Since my birth there have been endless wars, do dictators
sprout from the earth like cabbage, but to this forest
they will not dare to tread, less they will be petrified forever
lost in the dark flora.

The illness


Diabetes is not a dance in wonderland
compounded with heart disease.
The diabetes play mind games from feeling high
the top of the world to sink back to fatigue
that can be deadly.
Someday´s it is painful to walk and the pain
is not visible but it follows its own evil paths
that insulin cannot assuage.
He never liked sweets except for a cola mixed
with Rom he ate plenty of veggies and meat
yet he got diabetes, and there is little point in asking why?
On the internet, he gets mail from those who
have found a cure, they are snake-oil salesmen
and best to avoid,
But it makes him annoyed that there unscrupulous people
who exploit the ill for a big profit.
As Trumps so aptly said. “it is what it is.”

Love eternal

Why we parted is a mystery
forgotten by the time.
You rang me often
and I rang you,
But best of all was your letters
they shone so brightly
like stars leading my way
To understanding.
Now that you have gone
I love you every moment
As love is eternal.

Tree planting

We, schoolchildren, were sent to a field to plant trees
I was given a handful of samplings and a mall *****
the soil was black and moist early spring cold fingers.
There worms who appeared to dislike this sudden light.
I asked a teacher if worms knew they were worms.
“ never mind the worms, he said, dig a tree.
Behind me, the lads dared each other to swallow one,
later he said he stomach cramps and was allowed
to go home.
Wish I was that smart.
That was seventy years ago the field is a forest populated
with rabbits and foxes, wolves are banned they
eat children for breakfast, the adults said.
I don´t care much about worms, but my hands were
cold, I had put them under my jacket, and I hated the teacher.
Nevertheless, I like to think I once helped to plant trees.

The artists

Alfred, my chosen father, who denied
The paternity has his statue erected in Faro
At last, they honoured him for being glorious
Brought colour to an otherwise gloomy town.

Graffiti made by the likes of Banksy charms,
Most of the rest is scribbling on a wall.

I know little about a painter but Caravaggio
Spoke the unvarnished truth about our life.
His critics like to point out he was illegal too
What else to expect from a truth-teller.

Olive copse

Sitting indoors being old and are forbidden
to go outside, I dream of lazier days
then in the heat of summer, I had siesta under
a 500 years olive tree.
I was dreaming of the shepherds who slept under
this tree and the only sound was grazing sheep and the occasional barks of a dog.
I can smell the cheese he ate and the wine he drank
before they drifted into a slumber.
The sheepherders got old and died but the tree grows
bigger and bore fruit.
There was poverty here and a new generation wanted
a better life, they went to America to find gold
and get married to Amanda.
Alas, factories paid well, they married no Amanda, but
someone of hardier, hairdresser stuff.
I wonder if they ever dreamt of the old days when the sun was hot, sleeping under an olive tree.

The cold generation

They don’t dance the tango in Argentina anymore
but you can do the twist alone but keep your distance.
However, the elegant the waltz is out, superb dresses
is not a defence against the virus.
To do the swing is awkward to without a hand to hold
on to, I don’t know about square dance though.
We are becoming a withdrawn society, like the Swedes
they are not famed for warmth and kisses.
That is the way they have *****-industry to make up for
the lack of intimacy.

Anatomy

Soaping in when having a shower
it struck me I have a nice rounded ***
it has three main functions
to sit on, to make me look good in jeans
and to let the undigested escape
without any hindrance.
I can not say the same about my stomach
it is too big and sags
Nothing is perfect I´m okay with that
and drink my cold beer.

The gallery actors


when US industry noticed
China was a cheap place to produce their stuff
they moved the whole production to China.
This was beneficial for both, except the American workers
who as usual no one listens to when a pair of Jeans
are affordable.
Now the USA and China are squabbling like relatives
having a falling out over the right of way.
But both countries are hopelessly entwined they can´t
thrive without one another,
So, what we see is a play for the gallery not to be taken
at face value.

The Shine

This year I will shine and hold my tongue
When my neighbour, an unbearable snob goes on about
The lazy working-class.
Since I write and he doesn’t read he assumes we are
In the same clique and invite me to the golf-club and
Invited to drinks and asked to give my view of the current
Situation,
I will not tell them they are tax cheats and fat *******,
The problems in life are them and not the poor.
I will, for once, be a success if only I can hold my tongue.

Like a painting

Is anything more beautiful than an early morning
in Cheshire, I walked along alone it was like being
in the middle of a painting dripping leaves and
dew on the grass.
A lone horse came to the fence I stroked it. Then
it went back grazing again no longer alone.
On the other side of the field a gate opened., a flock
of sheep came, company good enough for the horse
I was free to go.

sweets

after the war in Norway, there were little in the way
of sweets and what we could buy was rationed.
But all was not lost, my mother melted sugar in a frying pan
when the sugar became liquefied, she put it on a paper
to cool off, she then turned the paper turned it around and
we had sweets, and I remember it tasted wondrous.
Time got better, the rationing stopped and, there were many
children with rotten teeth, the school dentists had a lot to do.
I was not especially fond of sugary things and because of this
I still, except three teeth have got my own.
This, however, didn´t stop me from getting diabetes which
my dear doctor insisted were caused by an overindulgence of
***& coca-cola and beer.

Short verses

Warming sun today
The wind has taken a break
We smile behind masks.

At the amusement park
We didn’t eat fried onion rings
Too many children.

Walk along the coast
The sea-breeze doesn’t sneeze
Tells us a story.

Once I was a seal pup
But was born with hands and feet
Expelled to shore life.

Byzantium

In August, the heat tastes of dust and desperation
the despot feels that soon a time will change
the power is but in the eyes of the general
The sun senses a mounting revolt, is prepared
will show no mercy but absorb the world in its inner core
where we can burn forever.
August is tired too, he the General gave them a lovely spring
and now the riff-raff is turning against him
The mighty oak tree whispers to the lesser trees about sedition
talks about democracy.
Stubbornly the sun hangs on, till battle clouds like warships
appear at the horizon.
His reign drowns in torrential rain downpour that will
destroy his life´s work.

The month of birth


The month of the year when born
does matter
My brother was born in June
and sunlight followed him all his days.
And friend he had many warming
their meagre souls in his light.
I was born a mournful October morning
the sky cried, and the nurse said
he has an old soul.
In my presence, people tend to go away gloomy
and moderate my opinion.
Rain does not stop for happiness
and a wish I will shut up.
I have a  few friends wish I had more, but October
is not so forgiving

The Essential

A dove sits on the window ledge
telling me of the lack of crumbs asks me for help
to open up the pavement cafes.
There is so much need, like in Yemen, the nice
actor has been telling us about, and Iraq it has
an enormous camp of the offspring and the wives
of what the ISIS, left behind to starve.
No country wants them; the flotsam can have hate
In their hearts, we have enough trouble as it is.
An orange falls from its tree and rots,
we are a world of plenty, and many go hungry.
My words of lament feed no one, but I will take
note of what you said and turn my back
look at a blank screen and thinks of breakfast.

The day I met an actor
Father Brown sat in my garden drinking beer
with fellow actors and producers.
Father Brown remembered me he had seen
Me watching him every weekday on Tv.
The actor profession is strictly hierarchical
I could not sit at his table but be placed
among the actor, like the one coming out
of the post office walking up the road and
has no speaking role.
I had a watering can and when watering
A rose bush near him, he spoke to me.
“So, you like to watch Father Brown?
“Yes, sir, I love the program.”
“Thank you,” he said, with that, he turned
to the other casts by the table

a new morning

I have a new phone the old one only rang
when feeling like it and that is not good enough
when someone takes the time calling me.
It is morning, and I read in the newspaper
the USA is upset because the no longer has free rains
in the south China sea.
When big powers talk about defence, it is not
what the mean it is about forces, perhaps with the exception
of Israel the lilliputian that wants to be big
and has partly succeeded but her feet are made of clay
she can so quickly lose it all.
The rest of the stuff was wasted ink about silly politics
and the dreaded virus that might, in the end, **** us all

What makes a poet?

I might be curious how the world function, but in that case
it is better to be a scientist or a cook, don’t underestimate,
when alone in the kitchen while the broth brew he does think
why some ingredients harmonise, or some do not.
Most of the time poets are sons and daughter of the upper- middles classes
with big gardens to dream about butterflies and beautiful flowers.
Of course, they have a connection to get published
and regarded as famous.
Poets of the minor league meet at poets gathering read their mediocrity
to an applauding audience, but they would instead write a novel.
A good poet does not bother with harmonious lines,
he wrestles with his inner self the good, the bad in his mind.
He will not be read of course, but he will still go on writing

the loss

I saw her leave
on the 8 o´clock train.
in the Saturday crowd
I saw her many time.
Stopped women
in the street
they were frightened.
In the morning
she was in my bed
I wished
she wasn´t there.

Bedtime
  
The beginning of the night was hot
I went to bed naked (daredevil.)
On the other side of the bedroom, I saw a naked man who had a big stomach, large ***** and a small *****.
Since he wasn’t me, I did not bid him good night
I switched off the light.
During the night it got cold a foretaste of winter
hastily put my pyjamas on.
I had noticed the man in the other room had a long *******
at least he was not Jewish.
I made a mental note to ask her who he, was as we sleep
in separate bedrooms on account of my snoring.
I was thinking of Carl Jung, was he a Christian or not
some of what he said was right, our western society is steeped in Christianity
as is our everyday speech.
Woke up at eight o´clock walked into the kitchen made coffee
thinking, if the man who was not there was still sleeping.
(Tennyson.)

The knowing

They never knew a thing
They do not want to know.
It´s easier that way
Ignorance leads to Jerusalem.
Slow holocaust
The Palestinians know it
You don´t want to know
It is easier that way.
You will never know
To point out the obvious
Is against the law
To talk about Israel´s
Criminality.

rescue dog

I knew of a man who had gone blind
he decided to go for a swim in his big swimming pool
and knew it was somewhere in his garden.
The pool, one can say, found him as he fell into it.
After swimming a bit, he naturally turned left to find
the edge of the pool, but lacking a sense of the position
he swam around and around, which in the end was tiring.
His faithful dog noticed the man was struggling jumped
into the pool, not its natural element grabbed his blind
master by the hand and leading him to the edge.
Grateful the man rewarded his dog with some treats,
animals do not handle money well.

The escapist

He is over eighty
tried to escape
down a seven-floor flat.
Safely down
using the stairs
he had forgotten
the car key.
He sat down and cried.
A voice said,
there is no escape
death will
always be with you.
Wherever you go.