Falluja
Don't worry if you have forgotten about it
the main stream press wrote little about it.
I'm thinking f Falluja when the Americans
dropped phosphorous bombs on people and
killing 350 thousand Iraqis to free them from
the tyranny of Hussain
The Russians have bombed Aleppo and their
bombing stopped the war, but all we hear is
How brutal they were, the commentators and
Paid journalists go never stop writing about it.

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.

Family drama

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A couple, in their late fifties, is coming out of the supermarket,

he sits in a wheelchair, she is pushing him along.

He is grumpy swears at her perhaps she had spent too much

money on groceries

She loses her temper parks him on the pavement and drive off

While he sits there smoking a cigarette.

Five minutes later she returns helps him into the car, fold

the wheelchair drives off.

On his lips a smile quivers, triumph or love?

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Le marriage est plein

De grandes esperances

Irrealisee.

Family drama

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A couple, in their late fifties, is coming out of the supermarket,

he sits in a wheelchair, she is pushing him along.

He is grumpy swears at her perhaps she had spent too much

money on groceries

She loses her temper parks him on the pavement and drive off

While he sits there smoking a cigarette.

Five minutes later she returns helps him into the car, fold

the wheelchair drives off.

On his lips a smile quivers, triumph or love?

Â



Le marriage est plein

De grandes esperances

Irrealisee.

Â

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Family Gathering

He dreaded family gathering and now
he was in the middle of one.

Tried to lasso the wind (Samuel Johnson)
of old slights remembered.

They turned to him called him a coward
always siding with his mother or being absent.

He just sat as not hearing the coward bit riled
as usual he absented going into his den.

Family life

I ask myself what is wrong with borders well-defined places
with interior freedom and rules;
yes rules, the liberty to do what you want leads enslavement
break- up of families and chaos.
What's wrong with having your banking system and our
money of choice with a picture of a nationally famous, skier
and what Is wrong with discipline,
children becoming a little monster because we are so liberal
We talk about their right…what rights.
Look out of the window in any city what you see is flotsam
People who have no purpose a river of drugged people
Who never learned a thing?
What is wrong in saying a people can only absorb to fit
In refugees at a slower speed,
by all means, they are welcome
we need educated young people, in Europe were women
no longer care to procreate.
The glass ceiling is more important and men to think
their career comes first, and children are neglected
sent to a psychiatrist who prescribes pills knowing well
what the problem is.
But of course, we can say nothing and if we do, are
called  a fascist

Family life

I ask myself what is wrong with borders well-defined places
with interior freedom and rules;
yes rules, the liberty to do what you want leads enslavement
break- up of families and chaos.
What's wrong with having your banking system and our
money of choice with a picture of a nationally famous, skier
and what Is wrong with discipline,
children becoming a little monster because we are so liberal
We talk about their right…what rights.
Look out of the window in any city what you see is flotsam
People who have no purpose a river of drugged people
Who never learned a thing?
What is wrong in saying a people can only absorb to fit
In refugees at a slower speed,
by all means, they are welcome
we need educated young people, in Europe were women
no longer care to procreate.
The glass ceiling is more important and men to think
their career comes first, and children are neglected
sent to a psychiatrist who prescribes pills knowing well
what the problem is.
But of course, we can say nothing and if we do, are
called  a fascist

Family Matters
There is a family nearby argues a lot fall out then makes
friends again with a glass of bubbly and an embrace.
As it is, I have fallen out with an assortment of relatives
who have stopped sending me pictures of babies which
is a relief not seeing them or their ghastly infants again
My solitude as a hole in my heart I'm Mary Celeste
a schooner found with all its trimming and hot food on
the stove but no one to ladle it out and acerbic wit falls
like an anchor chain into the sea of incomprehension,
is he making fun of us; yes, but only gently so.
I must get a dog hate walking alone I used to have one
it liked my talk demanded nothing but love it is easy to
give to a creature that gives unconditional affection
I have drowned friends on the Facebook they didn't see
politics as shifting sand and could accept we are entering
a new era and a new explanation for our human conditions
is needed instead of the corrupted social liberals who are
idealists of a utopia, we shall not obtain.
If I had a grandson, I could take him fishing in the dry lake
he would see what I once saw go home and tell  his mum,
who would shake her head and say you are turning   my son
into a dreamer, one fabulist in the family is enough.

Farghana Valley
the splendour of a mythical dream.
The fabled silk route
snaked its way through here,
bringing new culture, silk and jade,
and no drones filled the night sky with fear
In this valley of ancient dreams
beautiful horses made the landscape enchanting.
Civilizations come and go; yes, religions too
Those who claim to have the key to the ultimate truth.
Our time will also be cosmic dust in the history of man,
but the valley of Farghana shall endure.

Agricultural words

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

The Farmland

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

Fatal attraction

The is the sweetest, people friendly poem ever written
it is about moonlight, stars so clear so near you can reach
up touch one of them and make a wish about love, but be
stars can be icicles so cold your finger might fall off.
This a poem about a woman in white floating on a transparent
lake, and it is not Vivian Leigh who is visiting us once again
casting her spell over Sir Olivier should you be a film fan?
No, this is a bigger love story that encompasses all humanity,
but buggers me if I know what it is that no storm can stop
nor flood, this, the fatal attraction of men and women in disharmony.

Fatima  

A lady rich, perfumed and dressed splendidly was driven
by her liveried chauffeur to Lisbon when she, at a certain
point asked her driver to stop; yes the rich also need obeying
****** functions. Later she looked down into a valley where
three children were guarding sheep two of them were eight
the oldest one eleven, the lady waved her manicured hands
and said something the children didn't understand  
except the oldest one who told the other two it was ****** Maria
who had blessed them and warned them of secrets that could
only be told to a priest. When the children came home, they said
what they had seen, but the secrets the oldest one told a priest
and the secrets are still kept in the Vatican.
At the place where the children have seen ****** Maria, pilgrims
came the blind, the sick, the lame and the mad looking for a cure,
and today it is a holy site with hotels, shops, and restaurants.
Pilgrims keep coming, some walk for days to atone for sins they
might commit sometimes in the future, what a wondrous thing,
how irrational truth can be a diamond in the heart of worshipers

Fat woman in a tree

The old carob tree by the roadside had grown big leaning partly
over the road and trucks often brushed against branches which
caused the tree or the person in the tree to scream.
We didn't know a fat woman lived in the crown of the tree it was
chopped down and its timber used to make headboards and
kitchen tables: the fat woman who had lost her tree took abode
in cracks in the wood and she was vengeful.
Those with a wood kitchen table found their food disappearing
and plates unexpectedly fall to the floor; it got so bad that many
got rid of the table and bought a plastic one, which is the nearest
one can find in a soulless product.

For those who had bought a headboard of that tree, it was worst
plagued by nightmares they struggle to get out of and the evil woman
sat on young men's chest till they suffocated.
Not all trees are like that only on those where a fat woman lives and
since she is invisible, it is hard to tell which tree.
( Philippine fairy tale)

Fear of rats
When I came to my friend’s house,
Doors were open he sat crying in a corner.
What’s wrong, I said. I think I’m going mad
Saw a rat on the kitchen table eating butter.

Some animals have a streak of humour
They often laugh of our antics.

I went into the kitchen and saw many vermin
Feasting on butter sandwiches, I ran
Out of the house and shouted to the crier
I’ll be back but have to go and buy bananas.

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.

The Female Migrant
A customs official found a suitcase with a forgotten
Syrian refugee lady in it, he took her home blew life
into her and he was no longer alone.
Bought her **** underwear skirt and blouse and
a bicycle pump and no longer did he bother going out
drinking beer with his fellow officers.
A perfect little refugee she was so undemanding
and silent not for her to turn her back complaining
of a headache and other female ailments.
After wild night they had done it five times, she had
she had shrunk a morning there was a tear somewhere
in her *****, that could not be repaired or glued.
With manly logic, he blamed the refugees swamping his
country living off the fat of the land doing nothing and
thus, a love story ended on the scrap heap of humanity.

Feral cats

After a month of rain, sunshine and blue sky, I have removed
the plastic sheet is covering the fire wood so it can dry better.
A cat sits on the top of the wood and hisses if dogs came near,
it's a smart cat has noticed the village dogs are cowards
when met with resistance. The feline around here feed themselves
catching rats and mice, mind, they eat your food too but
will not sit on your lap and purr.
I have just been feeding an elderly dog left behind by hunters,
shouldn't do this when I go to Cascais who will feed it?
It is tough for a dog to have no home.
Have lit the fire; the wood emits an intense aroma of nature,
think of the curtailing of freedom in Europe; the press has been
tamed, they can print whatever they like as long as it is not
The Truth on how we are ruled; then it is called treason, what's
left are soft **** and TV quiz.

Fidel Castro, the secular Pontiff
The day began with sadness Fidel Castro is dead despite the USA's bilious behaviour
And ill attempt to **** him, he was able to create a health system second to none
And also made the country with the highest literacy on that part of the world which
will stand the people well in the coming storm
He had many flaws democracy as we understand it was not on the list, mind the way
it is practised in the west is not impressive
I towering political giant his place in history is assured on a page of its own and not
lumped together with King    & Queens and other useless historical figure
We expect the lying Cuban mafia will try to enter, bring their I-Phones
and cheap day loans, one hope when they find life will tear them apart that they will
not forsake the socialist revolution and what Cuba was before Fidel Castro and can
so easily a place for gambling and prostitution  again

filial                                                      



The daughter of the dead police officer was polishing his riding boots.
  They were so shining he could use them as mirror which used to do and slapping
  her if the boots were shining enough, he needed glasses but refused to wear them.
Now in his coffin knocked by a car she had to put them on his cold feet.
She was feeling sad but also, she was ashamed of her own thoughts, quietly relieved.
Free now to go out and be a lap-dancer, if she so wanted; heaven forbid,
tomorrow she will dress in black and then she would be free of his tyranny.

Fillers overlooked

Reading the papers and the news on TV channels
the festive season has begun like an eager tractor
there is little time for those caught up in wars;
we will remember them at the dinner table.
A woman was given £8 million as a divorce settlement
she had had aroma - therapy worthy of a queen.
The knee caps of Queen Nefertiti has been found
glinting white In the sand. Now there is a hunt for
her thigh bones and perhaps a tuft of hair where
her ****** used to be.
The finder would be the archaeologist of the year
and have his/her picture in the paper plus a story  
to tell of daring do and near misses and a place at
the board of the Guardian which made me think
if the highborn has classier knee caps the rest of us.

Film Set?
There were many bathers on the beach when a rusty
U-boat surfaced, a hatch opened a man came on deck
he was the captain and wore a German uniform,
a long white beard, sunken eyes yes, he looked weary.
The boat inched into the sand her captain jumped ashore.  
  He walked to the cafe to borrow the phone, had to ring
the embassy but, the number written down on a piece
of paper, was obsolete He sighed, drank a beer said
it was first time in sixty years since he had drunk a beer,
walked back to his boat. Full aft, the U-boat wriggled lose
of the sand bank, found the sea and vanished.

Looking for words.

Pink and blue billows on the poetic sky drip of eager words
Alas, towards dawn, a westerly wind blew cleared the sky
In the morning blank screen lit up when the sun shone.
But the sun passes as it must, the screen greys while waiting
To be written; to be dreamless is a curse, slow death.
Listless looking at the sky, finding blandness but also words
Like other poets, I cannot steal but wish I could.
I end this poem so I can say; that what is written here is mine.

Fire Hazard
When bringing in the hay that had been
drying on the fields, it was fodder for the animals
in winters, the farmer strewed salt on the hay
in the loft, so it didn't get too dry and self-ignited  
From a devastating war, the refugees fled
the thousand who had lost everything and sewn
valuables into their clothing to be converted into
money wherever they settled, a new start with
a little bit of savings
Europe is an aging continent; we need new blood
but we had not prepared for fire, and it burns
several places, we have to be quick put the fire out
before people of narrow sight take command and
Blood will be spilt for an unworthy cause.

Fire Storm
A sudden fire in the undergrowth
a flame that spread so quickly
swallowing up small hamlets and forests
in the middle of Portugal.
57 people burnt to cinders many in their cars
trying to run away from monster flames.
The heat so intense sun a ball of hatred
except for the tourists by the beach who promise to come back next year.
We can't argue with nature, and with bowed
heads fight the fire and accept its vile ways.
Not so in London a tower block housed by the poor
cost the life of 100 people, this was negligence
by the careless using flammable material
those responsible for this crime must stand trial  now
and not let their inequities  be burrowed in  
the commission that will be released sometimes in the future

First of September

It is oppressively hot it as summer
refuses to leave the stage and is overacting badly,
to be a walk-on actor or a decoration in play
about summer, it is jarring.
We applaud, but we are tired of the monologue now
It is a time for the lesser actors

Fisherman's cap

There had been a storm and a 100 years wave
had struck many fishing vessels sunk
I found on the beach a yellow southwestern cap I wondered
if the owner of the cap was on deck
when the mountain of water hit and splintered his boat
into pieces that would drift ashore collected
as winter wood for the poor  
Had the wave knocked him out, and he died unconscious
of the horror of the raging ocean no time to think of
his wife or friends left behind, and fishes would eat him
Maceral are fond of human flesh, I found a finger
once when gutting a maceral, it read “from Maria forever.”
I took the waterproof put it on a stone
perhaps a passer-by might find it put it on his head
not knowing about the tragedy at sea.

Fishery


He is a fisherman from Guiana
doesn´t do Tonga, but the sea is blue.
His face is a map of America.
He fishes sharks (not Hemingway)
one of them took his arm.
Vengeance is mine, said the lord.
Crap !!! He says
and set red sail for China.

Fishing

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

Flag Days

In the village people are not keen of waving their
national flag about (Portuguese) it’s regarded as
rude boasting. An American, who once lived here,
hoisted the Stars & Stripes every morning and, at
times, tied yellow ribbons on almond trees.

Politely we didn’t mention this banner madness it
was as it never happen; then he suddenly died no
one took the flag down till it was in tatters and
blew off in a winter storm; as for yellow ribbons
the almond tree bears beautiful flowers in spring.

Flanders

In the dawn over Flanders
Wounded horses move no more
And dead soldiers look small.
The stillness is fragile beautiful.

Soldiers in dugouts smoke
Eat from cans
Waits for another the fighting
To commence.

God sighs deeply
He had given us a free will
He had been rash
Regrets his frivolities.

Flanør

I will not write word today
                                             Not on the blank screen
Perhaps on paper and pencil
When writing I feel closer to whatever
I’m writing about.                          
                                         Only my handwriting is so bad
I practically have to reinvent on the screen the poem
I wrote on a pad.
                                         I look long and hard
to find back to the feeling I had when scratching down
a letter, which is a form of conversation with self.
                                        Writing creates honesty
it also creates thinking I reason better when writing
                                       but, as I said, no writing today.

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.

Flashy Snobs

Flaneurs are not only people of leisure
flitting from café to café chatting about the scandals
and what the dancers did.
It a life of glitter and glam the shine of chandeliers
on sparkling copper lamps
Flaneurs are artificial pales towards dawn, a room
at a cheap hotel and waste the day sleeping till noon.
I'm a show off too walking among olive trees telling
tall stories jokes also the like like laughing, waving their
leaves and even if the jokes is not funny they still laugh
polite as they are they have lived long and are tolerant
Have you ever heard the joke about? An almond tree
wanting to marry an oak” this joke always bring wafts
of laughter, I tell it in a low tone as not to upset
the almond tree; I go back to my house it’s full of golden
memories and a washing machine full of ***** socks.

Sea-Gull-chicken

The two baby gulls II have been watching
Have grown rapidly in the last few days
Today they are out flapping their wings
Not quite daring to fly.
Over the circle the mother gull. shrieks
A warning, but it could also have said, fly
You little ******* I will not feed you more.
They hang about on the roof the world is
Such a big place.
Tottering back to their nest behind
The chimney, perhaps tomorrow, I like
To be there when they fly.

Flight of Rococo
The marina was quiet this Sunday afternoon
The horde had gone back to their offices and factories
The pensioners who take vacation in September
And October walks slowly about and eat well they are
Not going dancing, the women will be tiddly and feel
As they did forty years ago, perhaps tonight the hubby
Will be frisky, but having drunk wine he will fall asleep
She has been going in and out of shops I'm outside
Pretending to be elsewhere I think of Goya's women.
Ah, this slimming craze why do so many women think
It is **** to look like freed concentration camp victims
She is tired now sits on a bench I walk around and look
At boats, I could never afford, except for a few ocean
Ship made of wood polished by rough hands by men who
Are not politically correct calling the ship a she that have
Or possess what men like about women

The flotsam
From the deep of unconscious float up pieces of memories,
like torn pictures of a past, I can’t recall.
I see a child standing on a chair seeing his image in the window.
A man, in the street below looks, up smiles.
A war plane flies right through the house and disappear
Old dreams and forgotten memories have no beginning, no e;
they can’t be expanded and made coherent.
A mighty surge of fear passes through me, an unremembered
memory absorbed into my nascent brain before I was born?
The unborn but is silence it can’t be articulated into words.
I listen to an ancient hum to understand a future that has
no conscience of the coming.

Flying high

I fall through the air so dense can´t see a thing
opened up my big, black umbrella
descended in an orderly fashion.
A scythe of a moon gave enough light I could see the coastline
the dark menacing sea was waiting.
Landed on dry ground walked through a mono-cultural landscape
at the sound of endless Fado seeping up from the earth.
A maze of orange trees that bore a fruit no one bothered about
artificial juice can be bought anywhere.
From a hilltop, I could see my cottage noticed the yard light was still on
this hurt my frugal nature.
I heard the din of a desultory air-plane circling around
looking for a missing passenger.

Flying things

I once saw a flying pig
there was a hard wind blowing from the east.
over the bay of Cascais
The wind slackened and dropped the pig
that was alive and swimming ashore
alas, where men with knives waited.
Every café was serving pork in all its form
a pig is versatile for human consumption.
Can't say the same for my little donkey
on the terrace, it costs me a fortune in carrots
but it has sweet-smelling droppings which
I dry and sell to rose lovers.

Follow the rules

The old man sat in his high walled garden
he had been a traitor to his country not
a stern quisling but enough to be shunned
by the people of this town who had hailed
him a  great writer.
His exile was self- enacted he still believed
he was correct his right winged policies
essential for his countries future, but he had
no one’s ear, so he wrote about the seasons
his garden was big and fauns danced
at twilight.
He heard the radio Europe was changing
people were tired of predictable democracy
liberalism, vapid as morning mist, leaders
were far removed from the people, freedom
had become borderless  tyranny a **** that
could not stop the flood of hatred of those
who were made to follow the rules?
Perhaps his time had come the people would
listen to him now.

The Food & Drink
I read about onions it isn't fattening
only it smells so beautiful when fried it is tempting
to add a burger or sausage and that's fattening.
Fried onion added to Thais soup is out of dreamland,
I'm hungry but had to wait two hours, because if I eat it now
I will be starving later. My dream is to eat and drink what I want
and as much I want, alas, life isn't quite like this
Excesses are lovely and we ought to do something
extreme once in life before we end up eating soup for lunch
with water and no wine.

Food Revolution in England

That was what a middle-class paper wrote
and it could not be more wrong.
To eat this esoteric food, you need a thick wallet.
most people in England are poor and since
the food industry has taken over
People, eat pizza, fish and chips and occasionally a Chines meal of chicken and rice.
They have unlearned how to cook a nourishing simple meal.
Yes, we need a deep social revolution.
The paper in question “the Guardian” appear not to notice
the rampant poverty we live in,
Instead, they talk about luxury restaurants where you need a workman´s wage to enter.
To write this article is fraudulent, pandering to the haves
and poking their noses at the hungry in the street.

The football dream

Jesus, the famous trainer for Benefica
football club came to me in a dream
said: I didn't stop drinking beer he
Would not endorse me to be the club's
next goalkeeper.
After a week not drinking sitting on
my training bike in my den, Jesus
Appeared again: said I was too old
for a goalkeeper, thought to play
in the midfield would suit me better.

For a few lovers more.

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

For a few Lovers more  
I was driving along and on the car radio Rod Stewart
sang “have I told you lately that I love you.”
Why do I find it so hard to say those simple words?
I have practised in front of the mirror looking like an actor
who knew his lines but have no talent of imagination.
I bought her a car. Instead, this made her happy now she
could drive to see her lover, and return earlier  kiss my bald
head and say : I love you, thinking of him
I met him at a party and said I love you…for making my wife
so happy, he was stunned into silence.
She stays home now I think he broke it up because every time
they made love to he was thinking of me the zing had gone
it was in the open the affair had lost its dynamism.

The forenoon Show
There is a ship anchored close to the shore
in the bay, I wonder what the cook is doing now
perhaps he is chopping onions for frying
with a bit of meat from lunch or maybe he is
                      washing pots and pans while the officers who have
nothing to do play cards in the mess hall.
The crew stand by the railing looking at the shore
and the bright light, eyeing at their watches
when is the cook ready to serve them some grub?
I turn my thought to Julia apparently she was not
funny enough, a day time hostess has to be relentlessly
hilarious, facile, pretty and dumb.
I wonder how long she will last before a burnout
there many young females dying to get the job.
Exposure, the name in coloured magazines, the interview
by a sycophantic journalist who let the object prattle one
about their childhood which was hard, interfered with
by an uncle, endless is the navel-gazing, but the question
how they got there so fast is not mentioned whatever it was
it has little to do with talent.

The foresight

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

Forest walk

I walked in the woods
the ground was like a posh carpet
easy to walk on
Too easy?
I stopped, looked at the tree they
were breathless and the stillness menacing,
the ground might be ready to swallow me
better get back to asphalt again.

Forever lovey


The mannequin in the dark corner
of the shop shows bathing suits a la 1948.
She is beautiful in her own eyes
and made of Jade.
Dust on lips who cares?
Not a sultry type shows little interest in flirtation.
When the shop closes and she is alone
She secretly smiles and is forever 1948.

For Fatherland

In a country to near the Arctic Circle
every new generation -men and women- had to
throw pebbles into a lake,
until the lake was full and you could wade over,
Alas, a bridge was built,
so futile the pebbles.
Now they are learning how to throw a hand grenade in Afghanistan
and draw funny pictures of Mohammad,
pity about the bridge.