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 lying newspapers

To vote in Britain is a strange affair
since it is class-based, every class only read 
what is of their interest,
doing the best to denigrate the enemies party leaders
but since the owners of newspapers are usually
right-wing the conservative party often wins.
There is an exception the Guardian can at time 
the sound left-wing, but then they get cold feet and join
the shrieking of the right.
The popular press also called the gutter press destroy
peoples reputation, say “Corburn” an excellent politician 
belonging to the left of the labour party.
What is scary is that working/class readers get influenced 
by the constant lies and vote for a party 
that is no good for them and the country.
This comes down to lack of education not being able
to read between the line and think independently.

Old as in a TV program

I watched a TV program set in an older people home
there was a ****** with a pillow done by a nurse who stole
valuable items from the week and feeble patience.
Well, our detective solved the case and the owner of the home
was in this foul deed he sold the stolen items.
So far, so good, what I disliked was the patient killed was
eighty years old as was the other at this home.
For the first time in my life, I realized I was one of them
and I got suspicious are people at supermarket patronizing
I, when I make my feeble jokes, does the waiter at the cafe
serves me first in case I get elderly grumpy.
Can I trust that people speak to me as an equal and no someone
they have agreed within a concern of my age.
Are my opinions dismissed as an older man´s prattle?
I can´t bear the thought of being patronized by anyone except
my wife, she has always thought I´m mad.
I have no friends. All I can do is talking to myself.

Feline problems

The pride behind the sofa leaning against a wall
Are new-born puppies their mother tries to
Hide from me as I should care, but I wonder
How to get rid of them, a bucket of water?

You can’t see how old a dolphin is when it swims
I have never seen one with sagging skin.

Resolving the cat problem give me a headache
Obtuse is my thoughts on ******* humanly?
Self-doubt was overtaking by pity for the kittens
Expunge them not possible, seven cats’ meows.

What poets write

Some poets write about flowers
some poets write about the sea
He, the old poet writes about vast oceans
and his love/ hate relationship he has with
the many oceans crossed.
he has seen when the sea turns into watery mountains
when he was an autumnal leaf clinging to life
the warm night when the sea whispered join me and
your struggle will be over,
how tempted he was.
He could have been transformed into a dolphin
elegantly and life enchanting.
Covering long distances with smooth moves.
But he knew the oceans wroth did not trust it enticing words
it could be made him into jellyfish.
So it was the shore for him where he holds on through
the pandemic and hope to survive.

shame on you

I was about eighteen when meeting the girl of my life,
she lived in the outer town and both her parents had office work
which back then was regarded as a posh position.
We met often walked in the park, and we kissed chastely hold
hands, this was love.
It was a pleasant Saturday even when she came she scented
of wild roses how beautiful she was, we went to a restaurant
we sat there as long as we could, it worried me to take her home
I lived in my mothers tiny flat.
There was no welcome. My mother stayed in her bedroom
I told the girl she wasn´t well.
We sat on the sofa the one I used as a bed, as it was chilly we
sat covered in a blanket until we both fell asleep.
There was no bathroom, only cold water from the tap in
the kitchen and we walked to town to the railway station where
she had a wash and the rest.
We didn't speak about the night spent together, sat silently
on a bench, waiting for the train to take her home.
When she boarded the train, there was no talk of meeting again,
only a short goodbye and she was out of my life.

te young are the future.

What worries me although I will not live in the future
is the young people those with little education no prospect
beginning their life as losers.
We and the police of money are to blame they were not
in our mind forgotten in the miasma of big-city poverty.
The young form bands it gives them a sense of belonging
defending their turf and knives sit loosely in the sheath.
I believe we need a political party free of class, an abomination
race and creed, a society that is all-inclusive and open for all
in short a benign system.
Will we get this utopia for the next generation, I fear not
but when a few survivors of the looming disaster sit
on the shores of Himalaya fishing for mackerel we my get there
providing there is no dispute about fishing rights.

I joined the rowing boat in the middle of the dry lake
when a dust storm came whirling around screaming nasty words
and the shoreline disappeared.
The captain came down from the bridge wanted his lunch
but he had to wait till  the wind stopped which it did
in the afternoon.
I walked ashore, at the cafe the  knew about the order
the captain had sent a text message.
I eat the food here, I said no point wrapping it up-
Driving home helicopters were using my lake as a training ground
no, there would not be an inland waterway here
no matter how much it rains the lake will  only be a soggy hole
but how to explain this to the captain.

A print
Sometimes a simple copy can tell a storey
It is not about the artist but the sense of life
Lived far from busy city life.
I see a narrow road, and a woman sits in the sun mending
A pair of trousers, a cat, sits by her side
It must be April there is shadow and light.
If you follow the road and turn left you will see a field
Of red flowers and two girls playing a game
As children do and forget when adults.
This scene is the elusive dream of peace we have
A mind for, but all around them and unseen wars,
Blood and hunger are a reality.
But we will not think about this now, enjoy
The daydream this print represents.

the bank robber

I, like many others, are short of cash
the idea of robbing a bank at gunpoint is repellent
and I hate guns.
I have a better idea, in the evening when I go for a walk
leaning against a bank-door in the hope they have
forgotten to lock the door.
There are many banks in the street where I live.
To avoid attracting attention, I lean only at a door
of a bank once.
There must be one sloppy enough to forget to close the door, and if the safe is open, I´m home.
I have two plastic bags for this purpose.
Should I be lucky I will not be greedy fill the bags
and go to Spain, no, only enough to pay the electricity bill
gas and rent; and enough for a bottle of posh wine
and change the tires of my car.

Mermaids in a lake


It is hot today I try to write
words are like wet cement in a ditch
covering empty cola cans thrown from cars
by careless drivers who care not for nature.
ABC full stop.
I stood by the entrance in the shade someone
asked if I was the porter, I smiled benignly
didn´t get upset after all I´m working class.
Had they asked me if I was the director
I might have been less inclined to smile.
I miss my home it is near a forest with a lake
mermaids swim there and have proper feet.
Once I swam with them a dream come true
when it is winter, and the lake is like an ice rink
I skate around and around until I get dizzy and fall into a trance the dream of mermaids
revive me. I walk home in silence.

Epiphany

1950, there had been a war, but things were going back to normal.
My mother had a new boyfriend who also had a small cabin on an island
and a rowing boat.
On a nice Sunday, we rowed out, mother had made sandwiches mostly filled with jam,
a thermos of coffee and a bottle of soft drink.
Her boyfriend gave me a line with a hook and a sinker and told me
to go to the shallow and catch something.
I did as he said, but must add I do not take kindly being “told.”
There were many tiny fishes that looked like swimming rainbows
I was enthralled by them; in the crystal-clear water, it was like looking into heaven.
I must have been in a dreamlike state of mind, took a step forward and fell into the water.
The boyfriend came running, mother too, she was worried about my health,
we returned back to town, so I could get dry clothing and cacao drink.
The boyfriend was grumpy, suggested I had fallen into the water
to attract attention.
I didn´t try to explain that for a moment I had seen the wonder and understood everything.
Mind, he could have been right, what does a boy know of life.

Poetry and work

I sit here in front of the computer,
thinking I dislike rhyming poetry it goes on my nerves
Repetitive words to make it sound classical, and who
Decide what classical or mere writing is?
We admire some poems because we have them as pensum
at school, we learned by heart, but there is no reason
Kipling should be taught in Sweden unless one happens
to like reading for its own sake.
I think the verb “verb” should be erased from the language
and replaced with activities we like to perform.
Let robots do the cement mixing when building a house
and leave the design to architects who love their calling.
For years I worked on ships and the hours were long
and let life slips by, how regrettable it is now this boredom
of doing- for money- what I disliked.
We are all ****** renting out our body and soul to exist,
be promised a pension that is paltry to be free to go touring
only to find we lack the energy, the work had robbed us
from learning anything enriching for our well-being.

Flapping wings

   The extinct bird of evil
   survived in the mindset of many,
   Flapping its wings
   casting dark shadows
   of things to come.
   Trump, I hear you say,
   the show starter
  his antics merely funny.
  The darkness begins to fall
  in Europe
  turning back like the salmon
  to its origin.
  ****** is on the rise again
  you hear its demand
  from north to south,
  your hear from democratic
  politicians
  changing hymn sheet.
  Too much freedom is painful
  for the people who think
they have the right to speak freely.
Order is the word we hear
we must restore order.
Our liberty is a stake
we must wake up against consumerism
and don´t be led astray
rise up against ****** now
tomorrow it is too late.

Angst in the night

A nebulous soul was looking for a body to possess,
I was in a cocoon of dread pressed down
could not breaths
The thing, this being was stealing lungful of air.
Terror is a kitchen in a basement, with a floor made
of rough planks from sunken ships, white as the bones
of dead mariners
It has no smell,
Colourless,
And bloodless.
I got up and lit the night- light, the room was ice cold
the dog came with her body gave me warmth.
This misty being had tried to take my body its hunger
for life was endless.
In the morning sunlight warmed my face
my dog had come from the past and saved my life.

Cremation
A man was running to the tobacconist,
Bought a packet and hastily opened it took out a cigarette
Lit it and inhaled deeply.
Then his head moved backwards, and he fell and died.
They covered him on a plastic sheet but the cigarette
Was still burning, the layer took fire, cremation.
The fire spread a house was burning the fire engine came
Spayed water and the ashes of the smoker disappeared
Down a drain.
They opened the drain found some black stuff and a shoe
That might have belonged to the cremated, well it
Was something, enough for burial, and what nowadays
Is called closure.
The tobacconist took this as a sign from Good only
Sell the angel’s dust.

white supremacists

are not necessarily bad people
they are frightened of losing the privileged they thought they had
it was an illusion anyway.
They fear drowning in the sea of the unknown
the people, mostly working-class you see marching in the street
are not the dangerous ones; they can be curtailed.
What we have to look out for are the wealthy people they tend
to be right-wing without saying so.
They have the power to alter democracy to their liking,
that is keeping the masses at bay and do away with workers unions
and other association they regard as an infringement
to their goal of total dominance.
The idiots we see waving **** will bend to the will of their leaders,
and some of them can be used as a private army keeping the peace.
For the rest, they can regret their foolishness.

The stupid working-class

It is odd is it not, the working-class
have no idea of how powerful they are.
Can you think of a world where no one cleaned the office?
Build roads and keep street passable?
Yet we treat them with contempt.
Can you think of a couple who needs four jobs?
to pay for the ever-increasing bills
While rich thanks to their toll buy yachts?
The most obscene of all, we buy magazines with photos
of them and their riches, and we admire them,
Not for one moment do we think we could make them
penniless and homeless by stopping work

From Russia with love

Russia is a strange and great country, not quite in Europe
and not quite Eastern, they react to mayhem but seldom
intimate it; for those who are history less they won
The brutal war of 1940 and 1945 by breaking the back
of the German army and making it possible by Britain
and the USA to take the credit.
Norway has up to know had a warm relationship with
this giant, in the form of a barter system, we gave them
fish and they sent us cars for everyman.
It was not the USA that made car ownership possible, but
Russia flooding the market with cheap cars as foreign
cars were hard to come by.
The cars where called Moscowitch and were fundamental
no heating system and a tortuous suspension, but
for the first time, every man could be
a proud car owner.
For those who remember, it was a dreadful car but
nevertheless, a car.
Lately, to our regret the relationship has suffered, this
Is mainly by American political pressure, and partly
by the Norwegian oil industry that has made her
a wealthy country.
This newfound arrogance is miss-placed and silly
we must treat Russia as the friend she is and not
forget we own her a depth of gratitude.

Friday shopping

The farmer and I went shopping every Friday
(horse and cart) to a small town at the lowland, the shop had a stable.
This place had no café or bars; the farmers congregated in the stable
And drank from a bottle.
The farmer in an expansive mood gave pennies to buy ice-cream
It was not much of an ice- cream; I walked around looked into shop windows
Selling things, I would not dream of buying.
When I came back the cart has fully loaded the staff in the shop had
Seen to this, outside the town the farmer fell asleep I took the rain.
When we came to the steep hill, the horse stopped I had to get off and help push.
On the home stretch, the farmer woke up, took the rain chewed tobacco
And looked sober as a priest a Sunday morning.

the tapered

It started with great ambition six lanes motorway
after some time it narrowed and became a 4 line.
That didn´t last it got narrower two lines will do.
then on the road with a line in the middle and that was
OK as well til the asphalt disappeared driving on grit
causes many punctures.
A track, get off an walk to reach the blue mountain-
when getting there, it was slippery and cold.
There must be another mountain that fits the dream.
The highway was optimist youth pointing out stars
not seeing the road got narrower, and it was too late.
The trail is for old men who wait for a miracle or
for someone telling them where to go when the path
leads them to nowhere in particular while dreaming of dancing nymphs in the glade.

PARKING SPACE

Where I parked my car, near the building
for a long time, there was no protest, or so I thought
someone and they are always anonymous,
rang the police who has little to do in the pestilence
time, I had to move the car and pay a fine I was
blocking someone's walkway which was *******
the sidewalk is so big you can park two tanks
side by side and still have plenty of room.
If someone in the building had told me it was illegal
I would have moved the car, ut this not the way
it is done it has to be faceless and whispering
not a part of the Portuguese psyche I care about

life span
I’m at an age when people tend to die
As our life span has come to an end as it must.
I go to bed every night sleep well
And doesn’t think I might continue the sleep
The point is irrelevant should I not see a morning
I will not do such a thing as I will not know
Of every morning before I died,
I friend of mine was told he was going to die he
Travelled to places he had never been before
To enjoy the beauty a busy life had not permitted
Him to see back.
In the end, it was rather futile as the end of life
Erases whatever beauty you have seen.

Nature and love

When a male meets a female and sweet music appears
In the animal world, a jaguar couple stays together for days
but as the mother feels to the sense of motherhood the male leaves
his job is done, and he climbs up his lonely tree.
And it is nature´s way.
Something similar should happen and often, is when a couple
have had a few offspring and the father has brought the bacon home
he has become superfluous.
He is jealous of his sons feels sexually attracted to his daughters,
and fatherly love is an abstraction. The mother jaguar takes over
to teach them how to hunt and survive and not letting them go before she is happy, her brood can make it alone.
A male jaguar sits in his tree and waits for a female to come along
the act of impregnation is his only job.

Two liners
He sat on a square stone under an olive tree
contemplating his afterlife.

What if he came back as a donkey in Sudan?
Or dromedary in Sahara.

He could become a dog like the one at his feet,
The dog looked up, wagged its tail slowly.

Pondering this he came to the conclusion
He wanted to be a long-lived olive tree.

The olive tree in Portugal, if in Palestine he risked
Being set aflame by settlers

Falluja

Who can forget this place?
When the American moved in, they shot
anything that moved,
families at the dinner table and women
hanging up washing.
A badly wounded enemy, “a soldier”, was hurt,
the only one alive in the room,
he cried out in pain and was promptly shot dead.
An embedded reporter saw this and wrote about it
he lost his job and was called a traitor.
Then ISIS came and nearly got till Baghdad,
the brutal dictator who ran the country and made
It into a modern state, women, didn´t have to wear a burka
and could go to university
That ended to when the Islamite took power, today
Iraq is a totally corrupt state; it has free election and democracy.

Easter Sunday
Beautiful spring morning the sun warms his face
but he is not feeling well, drank too much wine
last night out of boredom.
He had wanted to write of resurrection but no words
came mainly because he is unable to believe
of the possibility, as it flies in the face of life itself.
Also, he was thinking of his resurrection, no one else
to start life over again and get it right this time.
His life had been a failure intermingled with hope
that one day, he would be content and successful.
Now it was too late and the coffee he had made
this morning had gone cold and stale.
He smiles bitterly and says to himself, you are
an angry older man unhappy and argumentative
and spends his remaining days watching cartoons
not caring about the suffering of the world.

The tower of hope.

I think of the Vietnam war as the poorer classes war.
Soldiers were drafted, and they could not get lose,
in-growing, toenails or not. The war was lost before
it began on one side the US Soldiers who wanted
to go home, against those who wanted them to leave.
In the USA, war is fought, not for freedom
of the oppressed but for mineral and oil therefore
they end up on the wrong side of history.
The people of America have the freedom to argue
what is right but have no right to act upon their view.
It has not always been like this but the capitalist
the system got the power and smashed workers- unions,
the wages got lower and deep poverty was blamed
on the poor, the victims of the system were lazy.
The USA is a profoundly unhappy country who see
Washington as an enemy, hence the selling of arms
ready to act when the dream comes crashing down.

The New I
I have travelled far and crossed the oceans
I have seen the unseen, the grotesque we are
Capable of doing, but I have also met kind
People I never sank into the abyss of cynicism

I have seen flower no botanist has, but I keep
It a secret the nameless will remain hidden.

Rejoice for I have found my modest personality
Oblique I was nor here nor there and confused
Semi-transparent waiters passed my table.
Erased me from their memory like a cellar mouse.

We have been here before

It is the same old story of pride and glory,
the rich are moving into small romantic villages
prices are going up the poor must leave
and small shops close converted into housing
for the London mob.
It can´t be stopped the bus does not go there
any more.
New restaurants, but not for the locals
too dear, but the lucky might find a serving job.
One day the well to do will leave like the locust
the damage has been done
it takes a long time for the village to settle,
perhaps a library would help

Navy and dishes

I had kitchen duty on a fateful day
when the dishwasher exploded with an almighty bang.
just as I reflected on the irony as the only one trained as
a caterer I had to the dishes,
A royal navy is a strange place something to do with ranks
not so much about what you know.
The captain thought we had come under enemy fire and sent
an angry signal to the nearest ship.
Later that day when transferring oil to another ship there was
a collision and we had to go to the nearest dock.
The captain had to take the blame, which is customary in
the navy; he got a job as a marine attache in Paris.
The next in command became the captain, a good man.
As for me, I was left to clean the pots and pans.

Dark mood


the sun shines on the blue bay
many sailboats out, the breezed is in a friendly disposition.
Many white sails the people in boats have a joyful day.
I’m not a participant only an onlooker, wishes
That one day I will wear a captain’s cap and bark, hard
Starboard or too much sail watch out for the boom.
I play happy but want to go home when is it going to happen?
I need a weak to sort out things like cleaning the house
Someone else can look after her for a while.
At this time the almond trees are in bloom the grass
Is profound verdant, new spring has begun, I like to be there
Bearing witness to beauty, before the war starts.

indoors


since people outside wear masks
and I can´t see if they laugh or cry.
Since bars are shut.
Since I´m reduced to look at ladies handbags
in the posh shops nearby
there no point going out.

Poetry writing

There are times when I read some poems,
nice words knitted together to be harmonious
and makes life into a Hollywood romance,
we cry sentimental tears over the trivial.
My almond tree looks like an oversized spider’s web,
it pains me to look at the tree,
but I also know, say, a month from now
It will strew pink petals on my way be verdant,
a princess in the domesticated landscape.

The truth-teller

the truth is round, a big rock in an open field, clouds are
no shadows to cast as to diminish its splendour.
shot by arrows of angry lies it shrugs and stands its ground
until it is hit by the arrow of doubt which rocks the rocks
foundation; what if the verity was wrong and lies are verity
needed to make the world function as an identity
that falsity is valuable in human's everyday discourse.
The rock shakes and turns into a sandstone where everyone
is free to tell their version of the sacred truth.
“ it is what it is.” the lord of the temple of doom said and
now we are free to tell our version why we have constant
wars are to save our holy democracy.

The virus bites

I was going to my cardiologist tomorrow
her secretary rang and said it was not needed
the doctor would call me at noon.
I know as she, that I’m at an age where
if I get the virus the likelihood of survival is slim.
I know she will urge not to go out for weeks
I agree but will not obey totally.
As I write this Macron is speaking, he stresses
the importance of industry must survive.
Those who have nowhere to go, sleeping out,
will most likely not survive this is not spoken
of but it is there and the idea of this
Is not of concern, but we cannot say this,
we are humans and every life are equally vital.

The unspoken

The tall deep green grass on the plateau
is undulating ominously today as an unseen virus
is formed and breathes down the valley.
Reindeer´s bones are a signal of things to come
the silence of mass- graves is menacing.
Thresholds are defenceless keeping the pestilence
from entering your rooms killing the fire
in your heart and apathy rots from the inside.
Ice cold is the blues sky it will not yield,
the deep green grass whisper the is no escape
join us now.

Menage et Trois

On the farm, I was sent to when my mother was at home for tuberculosis,
I was quite happy, the people on the farm consisted of a middle-aged couple
The sister of the wife and two mentally deficient women did the work
The farm got payment from the state keeping them; they didn´t liven the house,
but in the barn sleeping on straw mattresses. At the time I saw nothing wrong
in this but they were cruelly exploited doing all the ***** work which farms produce.
As usual, I walked around in my own world milked five cows In the morning and
fed the beasts, the cleaning I left for the two idiots to do.
In the house the two sisters argued a lot, the farmers sometimes slept in one bedroom,
his wife’s sister and at times with his wife.
It appears I saw a manage et Trois were one part was an unwilling participant,
which only stopped when the unmarried sister moved out.
When my mother was coming home from the sanatorium, I told her and there
was much laughter in the family.

Not listening

The old poet, a Canadian of Jewish ancestry,
Was tall elegant, wearing a hat in a jaunty angle
Reminded me of Alfred, my imagined father
He had a winning personality.

Remember the coma they tell me and write
More about love, beautiful women and wine.


I used to wear a six-pence; Alfred made fun
of me, learn to play some music, he said
and read your North Pole stuff; that was a long
time ago before the Canadian became famous.

the soul

Why should I write about my soul? I don´t know?
If a soul thinks if the entity that vanishes when the body dies
into the air, we breathe like autumnal leaves on trees?
Was Stalin a good soul with a dark mind or a smart mind
He good rid of (killed) the obstreperous officers
In the red army to **** off any dissent, he succeeded.
Or was he simply a dark soul?
My mother thought he looked charming, but she failed.
To see his snake eyes.
I can´t make up my mind about ******´s soul, his clownish
The body got in the way.
I don´t think, and there is such thing as a soul it is not
Tangible but we can´t call it an aura, ****** had an aura.
He liked dogs and sweet cakes when not murdering
Jews and other miserable, like gay people.
In other words, a soul is a Christian idea that promises
A life ever hereafter how else could heaven have
a place to so many people

New Year
I walk down from the seventh floor.
Take the lift up and walk down again.
Since we can only be out a short time
Like shopping it makes me feel fit.
Tomorrow it will be a new year
Actually, there are no new year it is
A construction made by man
time is endless time is an abstraction.
I like to see January alive, not that
It matters, but I’m human and for a reason.
I can´t explain I would like to see
The spring of another year, although
I know what happened in my life.
Will be erased, and there is no god to
Give me comfort like grasping at straws.
The worst thing about death is the lack of dreams.
The endless emptiness
Waiting for endlessness to end.

The Takeover
Israel has taken over the US
Treasury and all financial bodies
In a silent occupation.
Trump is not only a corrupt president
But he is traitor too
While thee Facebook
Has been showing cute photos
Of playful cats
The giant snake is eating
Our existence
And no one noticed

Workmen

On the way to the bank this morning
four workers were shuffling shingles into big buckets
carrying the load down some steps
coming up with empty buckets filling them up again.
They had sweat on their brows; one hoped they made
enough money for the daily bread.
I may have worked long hours in my life, but not like
this lifting and carrying heavy objects, and I take it
they were poorly paid.
It seems to me people who perform hard physical
work are poorly paid in insecure work
the first to be laid off and end up sleeping in the street,
They are the people we despise
but without them, the world would come to a standstill
yet we pay them a few miserable coins left in pockets
when we change our trousers.

Wakeful

The night is endless the pupils of his eyes
are alert and free of sleep, will he make it through the night?
A brain without brakes, first gear not of any help,
restless wandering through childhood, where did it
all go so wrong?
The future is now tomorrow is an incident a lack of meaning
and only leads to another tomorrow.
A swarm of butterflies in the glade he was one of them
promises not kept and now he is the only one left
the dell has turned into a housing estate built for the poor
for those who have no choice.
Butterflies so pretty have turned into a moth fly now
you are alone in the darkest of nights, consciousness
is harmful and brings no sleep.

waiting in a line


In front of the multi-bank window
an older man was transferring money, and like me he got
confused by all the numbers and had to do it again.
I was patient thought of loftier things is hell coal-fired
or do they use electrical energy for the doomed ones?
How is it possible to burn forever without actually burning
and turning into ashes the flames are like a cosy blanket
on a sofa near the oven.
lost in reveries, I didn´t notice the man had gone
a woman who was behind me took his place she had in
her plastic bag sanitary bin this I presumed was because
she was middle-aged and leaky.
she also had a loaf of bread and two tins of sardines food that
was of no interest, she had no right to take my place.

we do not deserve their love

I hadn’t noticed my dog was getting old
it was shocking when I saw her struggling to jump on the sofa,
and her painful awakening growling to herself.
She sat in the sun on the terrace, but she worried
about me sitting inside.
Our walk was short she and I, tired quickly and I thought
I have to buy more firewood.
She had seen her life’s duty to look after me, she tried
barking when someone came near the houses.
We human do not deserve dog their fidelity is endless
and they overlook our fault.
Their love for us holds no reservation. It was a sad day
when she left me.

Love and a door

He was poor but had great ideas of riches
to be equal to the wealthy and meet the same respect.
Alas, he had no business talent his great thoughts
on how to obtain riches fell asleep on a park bench.
He saved enough money to buy an imposing front door
that looked like an entrance to a big villa of the type
one sees in the Bahamas.
The problem was his house was a shack and the port looked
like it was guilty like it was stolen.
Can a door be embarrassed?
The police came asked questions, but he had the bill
paid from the door maker,
after the law left, the door felt insulted became
politically interested everyone has the right to buy
an imposing entrance, he loved the man indoors, protected
him from grins by those who only had a communal
produced doorways.
A rich man was driving past, and he offered to buy the shack,
door and garden, the man refused point-blank and the door
bristled in anger, love is not for sale.

The forest we planted

In the flatland of western Norway
where the wind has no hesitation rolling sheep into a woolly ball
horses turned their **** to the wind hung their heads

Refusing to plough, something had to be done.
Trees were planted and to our surprise survived but crooked and
strong because the soil was fertile.

When the trees grew strong the shielded fields, the land was plough-able
again and no chicken was carried away by the wind
except for ducklings but as we know, they are brainless.

People began erecting small cabins in the woods it was not legal
but the moist hands of the law lived in the towns, and there was a beach
nearby so white it blinded you.

When the law, awoke from the task of checking driving licenses,
they came but could do little except given the cabins a permit which was a bonus for the middle -classes who bought the cottages.

Got permission to build them more significant with white painted fences property
is essential, and gates were set up, no authorized people here,
this proves that money takes preference.

America

I used to love America we never said the USA
as a young ******, it was the place to buy T. shirts, jeans
and white I never forget the name, Arrow shirts
the people full of optimism everything was possible
and the workers were relatively affluent.
the racial aspect never bothered us; we saw black workers
and white workers toiling on the harbour.
I was reading much back then and discovered I had lived
in a bubble.
In New Orleans, I came face to face with racism I hat
met an enormous black foreman he invited me to
the town centre the restaurant I liked he said we could
not go into, you see, they don´t want people of my colour.
OK, we went to a lesser place had a splendid meal
listened to jazz music.
He insisted following me to the ship, and I remember some
white shouting ****** lover. Onboard I read a novel by
James Baldwin, I didn´t sleep that night
Years later coming back to the USA, it had changed was
a more challenging place and there was on the radio,
endless talk
about the peril of socialism and the need to go to war.
I was older now and self- educated, knew it was no point
arguing with people who had been brainwashed.

Armies
A general so proud
Now he is burned to crisp
And we are told by a cowardly press to rejoice.
Revenge!
Don’t look at NATO only a naïve Norwegian can
Believe in this useless rust machine.
What we need is a new army
Helping the French to extract more oil from
Central Africa.
Who is the enemy or not depends?
On how effective the propaganda is, but
As the rule is: Generals are all stupid.