Doris Day.

I had something on my mind but Doris day
keep coming in making me hum one of her songs.
There was a foul *** ****** in Milan which
a man confessed to, but it was found guilty
she had precipitated in the deed and was jailed,
bet she didn’t bother to sing one of Doris Day's
songs. Four years later they found her innocent
and set her free she hastily went back to
the USA, which was a shrewd move to a new court case
found her guilty again and can't go back to Italy,
a shame really she after four years in prison spoke perfect Italian.
The latest I heard she was going to
Norway for her holiday, fishing for salmon I think.
I have studied her face, something about her eyes
tell me she is a psychopath, but what do I know?

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.

Do we live too long?

I have been listening to a program on TV BBC about Health service
which in Britain is said to be too costly because we are living longer?
Longevity should be celebrated and not seen as a burden
like the old should be guilty of being aged.
Portugal which a relatively poor country, take the Health service
for granted, but of course, it is a country where the timeworn are respected
When I collapsed at home in Portugal, it took the ambulance
twenty minutes to get here just in time to get my heart started again
I was fitted with a pacemaker, and it didn't cost anything.
In Britain, the ambulance would not have been in haste, and I shudder
to think what it would have cost had I lived in the US.
We should be grateful for the National Health Service in Europe.
It is the young and the rich, who want to privatise the service,
the young because they can't imagine getting old, the rich
because they will not pay more taxes and use private health service
of the posh kind with soft seat and no waiting line.
I'm glad I live in a civilised world where illness and cost do not include compere
where saving lives are the mark of culture.

Downfall  of a humble man

Once he wore a uniform he had reached
the apex of his profession had staffs supplied
the ship did the books and administrated.
It was the best of times and too tired to read
to relax and to think about life meet chandlers
and customs official who had stories to tell.
Seen from above his position was modest but
coming from poverty it was an achievement
he and his family were proud of.
The downfall came quickly crews on ships were
drastically reduced soon he was the only on
left in the catering line, he hung up his uniform
back to the galley, cleaning mess halls and toilets
the days became endlessly long, no time to read
only waiting for his stint to be over.
A heart attack caused by the loss of dignity and
long ours his education had come to nothing yet
the illness was the beginning of something better.

Down syndrome
It is like a landscape that labour under dark clouds
when I remember, the call I got from former woman friends
she had broken up with me because she was pregnant
with Dutch fellow from Amsterdam
15 years later she rang me -I'm old fashion do not change
my phone number often- the Dutchman had gone old and
returned to Holland, that his daughter was really mine
if I would come and say hallo.
I went to her house but wisely had my wife with me, my
“Daughter” was 14 and had the Down syndrome, a nice little
person who likes to hug and kiss people, I had no knowledge
whether she was my daughter or not and there is nothing
about this disabled child that reminded her of me except she
has diabetes.
I could have taken blood test to ascertain if it was my child
I didn't want to know the result, didn't want to be bothered.
My wife was angry said I was egocentric, so I agreed to let her
visit us for a few days every month.
The woman I had *** with, twenty years ago says the girl need
this and that, new shoes but, not bought at a Chinese shop
I ignore that and walk her about in the village as I did my dog,
stroke her hair tell her she is a nice girl,
but no, I can't get it into my head that she is my daughter.

Down the dumps

Fog everywhere, walking on a mass of corpses
sludge of rotting flesh, sinks deeper into arms and legs
embracing me like I should be one of them.
Swam ashore in the lake of loss, soup of death
banks of bones.
A woman in white helped me up; she too
a haze and disappeared.
Totter in a desert of nothingness, heard footsteps
death wanted me to return to the lagoon of
reconstructed dreams.
Heart pounding, but there, the horizon’s dawn
the sun of life warmed my face if only briefly.
The sky rained the blood of the evicted.
Drops of rubies, in each one, the nucleus of me
lies and delusion engraved.

DR. Congo
I saw the villa Joseph Kabila bought in Algarve it is to be a bolt hole
when he has to flee Congo, he has blood on his hands perhaps not
enough for Hague to bother about, like so many African presidents,
he has robbed his country to destitution.
Perhaps this echoing country, with forests is too big to be governed
especially since no money is spent on  new roads; Kinshasa its capital is
run mostly by mixed races, not even they can keep order and people
throw all their ******* in the street.
Joseph Kabila, Joseph's father, tried ordered a thousand wheelbarrows
gave a job to ditto street cleaners who sold their wheelbarrows and
consequently lost their jobs. But these setbacks are not the problem
Congo is too rich in minerals, oil and timber and the big international
businesses have descended upon the land corrupting all in its wake like
a locust plague they have failed to get rid of and they have no interest
in making Congo a nation which, it will be when it is a more modern.  
I looked inside the villa it had cavernous rooms gold and glitter quite
fitting for someone who doesn't know the value of anything but gems
and never mind the culture

A dreaming journeys
  
  A leaf floats down a river
It never made a decision
“where are you going doc?
Back to the future?
No, I have been there now
We are going to the future.
From afar the leaf hear
a woman sings
“Let me call you, darling.”
What an idiot I’ve been.
What’s left is the ocean.

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.”

Dreaming right

Watching an entertaining a program on TV a talk between
an Astro-physicist and a biologist, the astral-man was loud
given to interrupting the biologist, who was mild-mannered
English gentleman, I had read one of his books.
“how do we know we are not dreaming? Said biologist
Perhaps wishing he was.
I went for a walk when coming back home, I wondered
If I had been dreaming the walk, as I’m not fond of rambling.
To be sure, I took another walk.
Coming home, I was tired, but sure I had not been dreaming
or had I? but I was not going for a third stride.
I switched on the TV to watch the “outdoor man.”

Dream makers

Through grimy windows, I can see
Santa and his elves blowing
bubbles, goblets and vases heat
and rolled up sleeves

Outside, large flakes of snow
dissolve on asphalt.

From the bar next door
red shadows and empty music leaked
out and into the gutter.
Hard smiles, and much wine, nicotine tongues
meet experienced lips.

Behind the bar a baseball bat,
the cheap scent and fake rings,
loneliness dances with greed.

Dream night

My wine glass is full of moonlight,
drank and floated dreamily, on a carpet of night.

Couldn’t resist the moon’s pull, my home bathed
in a spectral light, both beautiful and mortal.

Flowers in the garden were deadly pale, olive trees wore
silver capes of unrelieved sorrow

This nocturnal landscape isn’t to my liking, put me down,
red, green and golden are my colours

But I did glimpse, behind the tall mountain, night’s ultimate
sacrifice, giving birth to dawn

Dream night

My wine glass is full of moonlight,
drank and floated dreamily, on a carpet of night.

Couldn’t resist the moon’s pull, my home bathed
in a spectral light, both beautiful and mortal.

Flowers in the garden were deadly pale, olive trees wore
silver capes of unrelieved sorrow

This nocturnal landscape isn’t to my liking, put me down,
red, green and golden are my colours

But I did glimpse, behind the tall mountain, night’s ultimate
sacrifice, giving birth to dawn

dreamy landscape

I followed a narrow track leading up
to the mountain that has a flat, earthy soil.

The dog refused to follow.

On top the sun was  hot had a dizzy spell I saw was a patent donkey
before I fainted.

Someone carried me to a stream with clear water
I drank and found a lump of sugar in my pocket

when I looked around, I saw no one, went to sleep
I used a soft stone as a pillow.

When rested, I walked down on the other side found
a nice bar telling what has happened.

No, no leave the little people alone
we need them more than ever.

They sing for us when nightfall and unafraid
we sleep well and live long.

When coming out of the bar, my dog was waiting
she found a track around the mountain

she led the way looked back to see if I was safe
I had been too long in the bar.

Now I could hear the murmur of their voices so blessed
that dog stop barking.

I slept all night and had no nightmare of a coming war
the scent of thyme seeped down into the valley.

Dreamy spring

Spring sun, I sit in the yard surrounded by high walls
for privacy, alas, it is to hide my fear of people and
the boredom of ordinary, talkative life.
Nevertheless, my view is splendid the sky, and clouds
making faces of people I knew, sometimes into ugly
monsters with sagging flesh and a toothless grin-
cirrus cannot make visible teeth- a plane overhead
makes a pale jet-stream.
“Are you using sun-cream” a voice from the inside
hollers; spring sun is a friend it warms does not burn
the August sun does that.
A tank regiment of grey clouds hides the pleasant air
I feel the cold and scan the sky for drones, hide indoors
till I see, through a crack in the curtain, all-clear signals
time for a walk before lunch.

Dresden

As the war was winding down
it was decided to bomb Dresden
It had no industry and had no military target.
the bombing was vengeance
Ten thousand people were killed that night
mostly burnt to death as the attack created a firestorm.
This was ******.
The killers got medals.
With the war on the thought was a dead German
is a good German.
I think this outrage prolonged the war.
It took years before the atrocities saw the light of day,
excepts India and Kenya, few knew Britain
could be party off mass ******.
The Albinos has been revelry to many carnages and
gotten away with it.
It is time for an apology to Dresden and her people.

Driving home
Driving back to Algarve we took the long road
more cafés and restaurants by the roadside and not
so many crazy drivers.
The restaurants were full of Portuguese people on vacation
they like their lunch in this country
Grilled chicken
Grilled meat
Grille the unspeakable innards
Stewed meat
Bacalao with cream
Red wine
Fresh fish
Beans in its many variations
Water, cold from the well
The worst of the summer heat had gone good mood prevailed.
People talk in this country
at the same time.
The din of happy, eating people was symphony of summer time
a few weeks of freedom, the paying of bills could come later
I love this country called Portugal even when I’m in a hurry and
the women in front of me and the check-out person talk about
grandchildren.

Drones
The agreeable weather persists it worries me sitting in the yard
I was going to read the papers, but cramps in hands prevent me
so I study two flies circling they could be miniature
drones sent there to spy no, stop this persecution complex now
the political editor of the Guardian is not spying on you.
There so many drones now the grey cloud one sees are drones
flying in formation and the sun is a giant mirror.
There must be a regulation the government will demand to fly
wherever they want for security, a word loaded of falsehood
and lies what they don't want you to know is called security.
We the people may get a small drone that only flies 50 metres
over the house and not be weaponized “the right to have drones.”
Is not in the constitution
Do not make love to your wife on the patio or in your garden the eye
in the sky sees you and you will pay a hefty fine for lewd behaviour  
We will have to suffer drones
till some clever clogs find a way to shot down drones with a laser
rays or turn the drones, so it goes back to base and blows up
the hut where the controller sits pressing abort, abort to no awhile
desperately throw himself out of the window and run.
The two flies – drones- have disappeared, this makes me annoyed
so I'm not worth spying on , is that it!
On the roof, sits a seagull it is one legged used to be the king of
a cliff in the outer sea, it was dethroned and came here  to live
out its retirement on leftovers, at night it shrieks in despair

Raindrops fall in the lake a ring of embraces
Soft and shy as a maiden’s kiss,
Welcome back my lovelies you have been a way too long.
On big leaved plants on the lake’s banks, pearls
Large and small glitter in the evening light for now
They too will fall roll into the lake, which will be whole
Again, after a summer with no precipitation.
The lake had become muddy and most trout died out.
Now it will be full and blue, admired by the sky.

Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.

Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.

Drowning animals


Humanities problem is that we don´t care
about animals well-being, there is scant respect.
A ship, probably old, took a freight of thousands of cattle
to an Arabic country so they could be slaughtered
according to religious law.
The ship sank in a storm.
Can anyone imagine the horror and suffering of animals
drowning in a sea of not their choosing, and how many
animals the ship carried to their horrific death?
This trade-in live animal is a sin against decency; it does
not for a moment regard the stress the creatures suffer.
Is there not another way.
There is, but this lucrative brutal trade will not stop unless
done so by law.

Drugs


I never showed my dogs any tricks that appear to please
people she grew from a puppy to an adult, mind I sometimes
patted her and she had the habit of using my feet as a pillow
when I was watching TV. when she got older, she got a bit
grumpy when I moved my feet.
Today I watched how they killed Pablo Escobar, a drug trader
a murderous gangster, all his costumers, live in the USA.
As usual in this cases, someone else took over and it will
continue and this how capitalism work.
there is a hallowed family selling ***** in large scale they
by bribing doctors to push this wonder medicine that
that made people addicted, well ***** is addictive whatever
name you to put on the label.
this family still flogs their wonder pills I will not use the name
but they have killed more people than Escobar.

Dubai, the shiny city among dunes built by
                         migrant workers and their blood. Yes, this unparalleled luxury,
                        hotel staff smile like bright buttons, or else. Your discontent may cost them their job, suicide among migrant workers go unreported; so guests can sleep easily in gilded beds.
                       Dubai will sink in the sand when economic forces move elsewhere
                       and this hubris on the parched soil will be a historical interlude.
                      The wind in the night will murmur of untold suffering and
                       the soul of the dispossessed shall whisper words for no one’s ears
                      and shall be goats bleat before sacrificed on the altar of time
                     without end; for this is the universal law, those you enslaved will
                      arise and possess you.

Duck and fox


The fat duck stand on a frozen pond shifting it's appetizing
from leg to leg, must be cold, little snow around too
freezing feet, so why doesn’t it stand on some dry grass?
An arctic fox wearing expensive fur sneaks up behind the duck
But as it lunges the bird jump up in the air.
The fox losses its balance and slides to the other side; gets up
runs with head down to its hole in the ground- by a boulder
that looks like a grazing pony in moonlight. The duck lands
on the ice again, hangs about as lost in thoughts. The Nordic
landscape is perfectly still and the sun is a frozen Florida orange.

ducks
It was an early Sunday morning in June
A man I a rowing boat stealing ducks in the lake,
who thought he was there to feed them,
bagged two before the others got the message,
this was not a nice man with a bag of breadcrumbs.
Two mighty swans didn't like this they swam to
the boat pulled the man out and held him under
the water till he stopped struggling.
Empty rowboat in the lake a mystery, his body
was found next day; an accident they concluded
but didn't mention the dead ducks.

Dysfunctional Family

When we came to my brother’s house,
the family was out, but the dinner was
still on the table and warm, thought of
the mysterious schooner, Mary Celeste.

Slamming car doors and my wife’s shrill
voice had alerted them of our arrival

They were now hiding under the vines
that grew sour grapes, but were red and
nice to look at; the garden looked dry, so
we turned the sprinklers on before leaving.

It is warmer

In Paris
They talk about
The weather
Eat frugally
Hamburgers made of
Indian cows
Turnips from Sweden
Potatoes
From Holland
Gobbledegook
And sign on
The dotted line.

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.

Early one morning

It is early morning the boars are back in the woods

The prostitutes sleep in dingy rooms, and rats are back

In the sewers and cats sleep on a sofa looking cute.

Soon cars will fill the street the traffic lasts till six

Then it dies down but remains until midnight.

Now it is time for the nocturnal animals to shine there

Is much food about the leftovers of our disrespect?

For nourishment which we take for granted.

Two pigeons land on the window sill looks they talk

To themselves, no bread crumbs here, fly off.

The building is a being, comes to life, I hear the flushing

toilets and voices, all are well in the land of humans.

Â

A message to earthlings

  Earthlings, we gave you a planet and you fouled it.
  We had high hope for you since you can reason and show empathy
  but you were overtaken by the sin of greed and arrogance.
  You have exploited the home we gave you
  you had no respect for animals, you let them down and eradicated
  the Tasmanian tigers to take an example, we find it hard to forgive.
  We have released a plague upon you, to teach you a lesson, we wish not
  to eliminate mankind as you will do that yourself.
  Some of you may go to Mars but your thwarted mind will follow and
Soon take the land will declare independence, wave flags about and fight
another state; and squabble over minerals and rocks.
Who knows you humans might find the Tasmanian tiger hiding in a cave?
And since you have blood on your hands, eradicate this animal again.
We will not wish you a happy NEW YEAR you do not deserve one

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.

Echo

For those who are dead
the planet does not exist.
must we assume
life on a lone planet does not  occur
but is it a dream?

Writers and poets
think they are immortal
by ink and pen.
But everything ever written
will rot as autumn leaves do.


Heat cracks the phone pole
lost voices turn to tears,
but dries in the sun.
White streaks of intense longings
a lover´s word goes unheard

Echography  

On a bed attached to many wires, my body was prodded
by female hands, at my age, it was not everyday people touch me.
My heart sounded like an old steam-ship battling the waves off Greenland
seeking calmer water; as for my pacemaker, it sounded like
a pump in need of repair.
I fell asleep, which caused laughter from the staff; it is not often
happen to a patient.
Then it was over. I thanked the staff, the finding if any, will be delivered
by my doctor next week, she can also take a look at the lump
In the middle of the chest, the last time I was operated
for this, it was called cancer.

Meeting Van Gogh

The wheat field is blond as a German milkmaid.
Intense heat, in the shade of an olive tree
I saw a grumpy Van Gogh is glaring at me for
appearing in his painting.
My scooter is electric blue and doesn’t fit in.
Easy now, my painter, pretend it is a mule.
The vine, deep green or dark cerulean
soon bottles of liquid pleasure.
The road in your landscape is like a mamba
sneaking its way, killing rabbits blue.
The afternoon sun is fierce, sweat in my eyes
I fall among thistles, and Van Gogh smiles.

Edith Lived here

Black & white photo
A house where
Edith Piaf lived
Casting a long shadow
On a summer street.
Blank windows
The house is unpainted
As always
Edith has gone
Her voice lives on
She had no regrets.

Eggs.
Eggs have an equality about them, I know worked on a farm
collected them put them on a tray, each one had thirty eggs
they all had the same size, but some eggs had shells slightly
darker than others boiled they tasted the same.
There is a possibility that someone once said brown eggs
where somehow inferior, one had a better chance find two
yolks in a white shelled egg, we ended up with two prices
for eggs, the white ones for breakfast, the brown ones for
omelette. When I was an officer in the merchant navy I bought
brown eggs mostly because they were cheaper.
This has come to an end eggs are now mixed there is no choice,
but in the end they all taste the same.

Egypt Galore
I was in Alexandra once
It was unpleasant
People stopped me asked
For cigarettes.
They were standing to close
Crowding me.
Asked if I was a Christian
Sniggered.
I found a bar that sold beer
But from every window
They, the rabble
Was watching me
Making unkind comments.
When the crowed thinned out
I left
Some of them asking me about
Swedish women, they lusted for
*** with willing women with short skirts.
I was followed by their foul breath
Until I reached the gate
Of the docks.
I was frisked by the guards
they stole my money and
cigarettes.

Elderliness

Closer and closer they came
old women with faces made of lava
and stinking volcanic mouths.
Bodies of soil after years of drought,
dead oasis simmered
between thin thighs and haloes
of brittle hair.
They slowly stomped during ancient dust
covered their bird claw feet.
I turned and fled through a thorny bush.
Stumbled into indifference time.
Fell into a muddy lake
and drowned in a cascade of ages.

Ageing dictator

The dictator is entering old age
his face is taken the appearance of a shrunken apple
but he still likes to look masculine.
Sitting wide-legged in a suit that is too tight.
He is not able to hide the beginning of a girth
he finds this annoying and swims several times a day.
He reads a lot but often draws the wrong conclusion
his anger toward the west is understandable
the broken promises of NATO and the USA
fills him with wroth he regards this as a lack of respect
for his beloved Russia.
The war in Ukraine is to say, will you respect me now?

Elderly tourists
  In Alte, today buses were full of elderly people
  enjoying the fine weather, some wore shorts which they
  for the sake of good taste, I wish they wouldn't.
  Alte has higher up the hill a posh hotel with swimming pool,
but they weren't going there like me they had a modest
pension and preferred the cafes that sells tea and cakes,
taking pictures of the church and admiring the charm of
a small town tucked away in the hills before Alentejo begins
and away from the tourist traps by the coast.
I enjoyed the tourists’ gladness I used to be impressed by
by the same, but now that I live here the allure has become
an everyday occurrence that at times, bore me, because
with so few young people here, they mostly find work abroad,
the town may be petrified into a postcard.

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

Elegiac

The hotel was empty no one the reception area
I walked upstairs and all the room where empty.
The restaurant at the hotel had a grubby air
like human activity swiftly fell on plates as dust.
I looked out of the window it had snowed and
snowy footsteps on pavements but no people.
Evening came early, streetlamps came on and
snow fell on the vacant road keeping its knowledge

I got a blanket from one of the rooms sat in
The foyer waited and had no clear idea what
the waiting was about, maybe a phone call.
Then it was morning her funeral was at ten
but this was not a day for a hearty breakfast
the street had people not sharing my sorrow.

Empty Trolley

The supermarket
Has got its own
Bell tower
Like a modern church
For capitalism
Hundreds of shops
Selling the obvious
Garish colours
An ice-rink
Many restaurants
Selling
Unhealthy food
There is no art here
Very little to see
If you do not care
About
High heeled shoes
And burgers

The ending of a year

New Year Eve
Never fail to
Make me depressed
Tonight I will go  
To a restaurant
Eat overpriced food
And keep up pretence
At midnight
Clink of glasses
And bleating as
The dumb sheep we are
We have survived
This year too
In a crazy world heading
Towards war

Endless is the Road
I have for some time not been eating boiled cabbage and it is
of not the slightest importance unless it has been boiled with
pork shoulder ham. I just say this because we had dinner at
a restaurant  for once I was not driving since  we were taking
the motorway  a toll road where all the crazy people assemble.
Big powerful cars driven by men who have not yet mastered
the mantra my driving instructor repeated: you drive the car it
doesn’t drive you.
I dislike driving on modern roads, they go on forever and I get
the feeling of a prisoner, a man who looks out his barred cell
window and sees only the landscape’s seasons but cannot touch
It inhales the aroma. I shall never be free of a past imagined.
I demanded she stop the car, I was going to walk home, a feat
I’m not capable of, I demanded a cigarette – we don’t smoke-
she gave me 5- milligram ******, as ordered by the doctor, and after
a break, we somehow got home.

Endless love
My brother is a commander
On the high seas
Never speaks to me
Now that he has mastered
Prising sky from sea.
The destroyer of love
But he too must see
It was a pyrrhic win
When the lovers meet

The Endless Road

I'm free today- my mind is on Christmas-
look at a map of Europe and Portugal
it is an old map I used when travel about, before
motorways made it difficult to navigate.
Once I drove from Portugal to Norway with this map,
It took a week but I got there
now one small error on a toll road and we have to
drive for miles to get off and pay for it too.
And there is no one around to ask for help
a café that sells cigarettes and beer and has a ******.
Only endless roads that have no story to tell
it is like driving in a tunnel without a roof.
Get me back on the old country road where
there is a chance to see a flock of sheep or a horse
grazing on a knoll in the afternoon sun.
Or perhaps I'm talking about my youth everything
was easier than even when life was difficult.

the dance of the dead

Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
On green meadows, he walks.
Held up by skeletons
On land fit for horses.
White cottontails
Burrows underground
To the bones of the dead
But they bring
Nothing up
It is not food.
Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
The stream has clean water
Filtered through
Human bones.
Endless wars
In Europa has not ceased.
Forever and ever
You will be my love.
Eternity.
The victims
An inferior race.
Today it is
Palestine that pays
Red is the sand.
Peace is a world
The void of humans.
Forever and ever
you will be my love.
Eternity

The end of an affair

a long maybe ten years relation with poem site
it has got a new editor who is critical of my work
finds it too brutal, left-wing and not sweet.
My work is being blocked out, and this is sad as there
is no point sending in poems that are no published?
Everything must come to, and end ends in death or
divorce, pity I have many friends there
and are used to send poetry a day.
Yes, my work is not for the faint heart it is about
a truth no one likes to hear.
I have though the content mattered
and it up to the reader to decide
So Farewell I will not be sending any work to
“Write out Loud”