The failed Revolution

In my childhood´s town, there was a blue neon sign
On top of a five-level building, “Jesus Saves”.
I asked my mother what “saves mean.
Souls, she said without looking up as she was reading
the communist manifesto dreamed of the day when workers would take over the factories
and throw the obese capitalists into prison.
She tried to emigrate to the Soviet Union. but she was turned down
she had no skills other than putting sardines into tins.
Mother made gruel that day, and I was allowed to scrape the brown sticky residue in the ***.
A famous over-rich capitalist sits in jail in Siberia
He has the internet and can talk to his friends. I wonder what
my mother would have thought of this.
He had been found guilty of stealing his oil
to avoid taxation.
No, not, the revolution mother was dreaming of.

The failed writer
For twenty years he has written down
what came to his mind, in the end, many books
with his name on a bookshelf.
There they reminded unsold, unloved collecting
the dust of time.
He tried to sell his books on Amazon and in shops
when that failed he gave books away to people
too polite to say no.
He danced a summer night declaring he would
be a writer his girlfriend laughed and laughed
till he put her head under a lake, walked home
and wrote some more.
They will never catch him now his name
is erased by the longitude of sad past.

The Failure
When I was bored with sea life
and walked ashore in Santiago
I could find no work except in house of ill repute
throwing out the rebellious and for some reason
became a father confessor to the women, not a good start
No one wanted a book- learned man who had read Nietzsche
so when the money was gone it was back to sea.
any ship would do as long as I was paid so I could leave and
try my luck. I got a job on a Liberia type ship that looks as
it was ready to sink – it did after I left- for some reason
the ship was going to Norway it is a mystery we got there.
After years of self-disgust, I had a heart attack and the state
gave me a sick benefit which was not enough to live on
in Norway so I want to Portugal and stayed, there deep in
the interior and spent my time walking or writing
alternative poetry with little success, which disappointed me
that not being knows, until I realized it didn't matter
I had found my Shangri La and that in the end is my goal in life.

Fairground of the mad

Around and around it goes
Lies are better than truths
Honesty is for fools
No one believes the politicians
Or anyone else
Opinionated *******’ rules ok
In a world that lost its
Moral compass its humanity
If you are not greedy for power
You are a loser.
And since everyone is lying
You have to take sides
Pretend you believe one
Side – best lies- over the other
And the carousel goes faster
Till we all fall off
And ask nature for mercy

The fall of the west

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

The fall of communism

When free of the burden of communism
and many states became a democracies
it was a great feeling no one telling people what to do.
This and a free press became a burden for the public
who seeking order turned to the right.
When Neo- fascists came to power people rejoiced,
at last, someone to give vent to their prejudices, say,
people seeking refuge from war and most of all
the ancient hatred of the Romany people was provided free
rein. Nothing new here people everywhere are
unpleasant hate what they do not understand,
from there to concentration camps, the road is short.

The farewell
She had to see a doctor once a month, uphill most of the way,
"When I'm grown up I'll buy you a car so you don’t need walking there
She smiled, patted my head knowing well I was
not practical or very smart.
I was forty-five and mother was eighty when I finally bought a car,
an automatic, easy to handle but I had no license. For that, I needed to
learn many new rules

Ok, carried her down from the second floor flat, she was feather
light hoped we would not get stopped
So we drove to the coast, she wanted to see the sea.
Down a narrow lane and I was worried how to turn and drive back.
On the way home we stopped at a café, we drank coffee and had a
creamy cake each and everyone was kind to us.

Mother was tired, went to bed, in the night she called me, She wasn't well:
"drive me to the hospital," she said.
I did. the staff took over, they gave her a room of her own,
I sat by the bedside, looked at her folded hands; like a sparrow's folded wings.
She closed her eyes - we didn't speak
and after a while when the sparrow didn't flutter I knew she had died,
for a long time I sat there pretending it had not happened;
mother looked so at ease I was glad that she had had a good death.

The farm-hand


As I was writing words, I had strung together
trying to stack them neatly and make a small story
not a poem I care not about the touchy feely stuff
but I had formed an iron- clad ending when
the electricity took a break.
Not that I complain we live inland and with a bit
when rain makes, things go wrong
but I had this killer ending and wouldn't let the flame
of inspiration die out. 5 hours later it came back, only
when you sit In the dark for hours thoughts fly so much
to remember that the killer line was quite forgotten
As I said, I'm not a poet just a worker on the field of
words doing a bit of sowing, weeding, and plowing  
I'm a farm-hand and not expected to worry too much
about the harvest but nevertheless take pride when
the cabbage is big, and a carrot is long, no exotic fruit
or rare orchids roll a cigarette sit on a stone fence
and sigh over a job was well done

The Fear

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

The Fear
Now that it is Christmas, Nordic Jul or Hanukkah
there is much talk about the soul
like it should be an identity floating about
as a body less person.
To believe in a soul apart from body is a fallacy
the last bastion for dreamers,
those who believe in an afterlife
the will to accept death is the end of life.
Whether you put hundred on a grave
it doesn’t matter for the dead only
the florist thrives and
those who in the night steal flowers
for a lover; body and soul are
inseparable but there are times the soul
disappears first by Alzheimer
one hopes the body will join the absent soul
before memories has erased
the life the remembered.

The Feast
The vines are deep green no budding grapes yet,
that will start life as small verdant glass pearls
slowing turning dark red and sweet as generation
before; the essence, of sun, rain and rust red soil
and caring hands. And when the pig is taken out of
its stay and slaughtered in November, there will
much wine drunk and the delicious aroma of roast
pork will be a part of memories of families sat on
a long table in the yard and dogs with full stomach
will love humanity for all time. The sow left behind
piglets and one of them will be the chosen one, so
the tradition can continue into the future.

The Fest  


The Christmas Eve began with smiles and laughter,
where I come from Christmas day is a hanger over day
after excesses the night before.
Plenty of food and drink, aquavit and beer this was long
before wine came the in thing to drink and we sang and gave
presents and had a jolly good time for a while.
Someone made a sarcastic remark that was met with
a bad-tempered answered, suddenly everyone remembered
a slight going back twenty years ago and more
A fight broke out the yule tree ended up in the snow
police were called to calm things down and mother
came out of the kitchen serving coffee.
Next morning my father went out and collected tree decorations,
good for next year's Christmas party he wearily said,
and for once no once no one was arrested.

The final hour

He was as pale as a corpse floating in an icy Nordic sea.
Motionless in bed he opened up his eyes
don´t know if he knew it was me, but he stared at me for a long time
I became dragged into his death.
He closed his eyes.
No one could do anything for him, except holding his pale hands.
He entered into a coma, and the nurse says it could take some time.
There was no doctor in the room he would appear when the nurse called
him the patient had died, he listened with his stethoscope
nodded and left the room; his profession sees death as a personal failing.
At home, I had to tell my wife her brother was gone.
A relative came to organize the funeral like the size of the casket and
what mode of disposal she wanted, you need a cool head for this
and I couldn´t remember his name

The first dance

My outing into the big world was to go every
Saturday to the local cake shop eat cakes and drink coffee
But now I had to go to a dancehall
I noticed there were several women no one asked to dance
I asked one of them she said no, I asked the second one
She said not too, totally destroyed I looked for the exit.
Surprisingly there was a woman by the exit who said yes
Without being asked.
My dignity restored I danced with her several times
There was an alehouse near she wanted to go there
And I was only too happy that a woman spoke to me.
She drank several beers and when I asked to go back
She told me to *******.
I walked home alone

The first Flower

The first winter after a long war was cold
but today the snow was slushy the beginning of spring
It was a poor street house had not been
painted for years, not much food and the ice was
reluctant to let go of its pale grip.
It was then I saw it along a wall of flaking cement
a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright
it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity
I understood and saw it all.

The socialist

Spilt coffee on the kitchen table
the liquid formed the face of Jesus, as painted by an artist.
The face has idealized the sum of we hoped for
handsome and not old.
Jesus was the Assange of his time, a contrarian telling
us the truth; we don’t like being told the truth.
The church, the capitalist of the time, adopted him
like he should be one of them.
They only did this when too many believed in his teaching
and the put quotes in his mouth what he never said.
Born in a stable by a lower-class family who was behind in rents
and thrown out, his father too up carpentry which Jesus
was no good at doing
He was more bookish walking around critical of the regime
which arrested him and then crucified him as a warning to
his many fans, but his equality talks are still around today
we call it socialism.

The first voyage

My mind goes back
To a faraway place when I joined
My first ship as a mess-boy.
How sick I was, throwing up
My supper.
There was no reprieve
get on with your job, boy.
I did, but remember the ghastly
the smell of soap suds.
The ship was going to Baku
Then a part of the Soviet Union
And the black sea wasn’t black
But full of ice.
The town of Baku was sparse
On streetlight but safe
A kind solder followed us around
We drank white wine, and I threw up again.
Memories last long I never drink
White or sweet wines.

Fishing boat

A man bought an old fishing vessel
it had a steering house, but the door was rotten
he got a new door a painted it sea green.
Sometimes he forgot to close the door and a sea lime wave
swept him on to the deck, when tried to find the handle
a flounder hang on it he slipped hit his head on the ladder
on the step leading into the steering room.
He painted the door black but when he after navigating
rough sea he turned and found the colour ominous, so he
painted the door in rainbow colours, this made the head spin he opened
the door, but the emerald sea came in.
washed him back on the deck.
And I have no idea how to end this story ends, but his boat
was full of tunny fish.

The Flash

When the is thunder and lightning fall to earth
let us call the lightning “Flash” when hitting the ocean
it does not die but sinks to the sea like a bubble
waiting in a cataleptic slumber.
When the call came, they rose from the shaking sea
upwards and behind the clouds.
The meteorological conditions had taken a turn for
the worse, clouds were running out of flashes.
The vain Thor, with his hammer, striking an anvil was
not effective only produced small glimmers that
didn’t reach the earth.
Thus, fortified clouds were ready for the winter.

The Fluidity of war

We live in a strange and relative time.
Russia doesn’t want war; Putin has made his mark
we respect him; the USA understand his concern
If you cast your mind back to the Cuba crisis in 1962
when the Soviets had bases in Cuba, the USA demanded
the Soviets removed the nuclear weaponry and the bases.
The USA has internal problems so serious it can split the union;
border conflict is of little interest.
Ukraine doesn’t want war, asks Europe not to meddle.
NATO has proven it has gone a base too far and should
be dismantled for the sake of peace.
Britain is recalcitrant bang, a big drum, no listens.
What interests the USA today, China is spreading?
its wings across the pacific that’s a pressing concern.

The fly

Mother had gone to work
I, a precautious child, was ill and at home.
By the window I caught a fly
pulled its wings off to see how long it would survive.
It didn´t.
Overcome by guilt I burrowed it in a *** plant.
When mother came home, I told her,
I think I wanted to be punished for my sin
she said nothing.
It is easy to love a new-born lamb or a cute kitten
but all life is here for a reason.
It is unsightly life that tests us as human beings.

There are forces

That tries to plunge us into a war
A super- natural energy
Who wants absolute power?
Enslave mankind to be sure
They cannot
Be challenged or obey any law
Their dark heart of hatred
Is based on lack of confidence
They envy our ease
Has an inner hunger that will not
Be satisfied
Before it destroys them
They cannot live
In harmony
With themselves
Or others
Are they of this world?
Or the work
Of beings, from another
Planet
Trying to look, human
Wanting to go home

The foreign bird
I knew him well trying to blend in
Speaking the language too flawlessly
So, the embarrassment when he
On occasions, got it wrong.
It was not his mother tongue so
His speech was too slow and learned.
Made the language into disharmony
In a country where people speak
The tongue with a certain insouciance.
He, although people are polite, hasn’t
Got many friends they sense, I think,
His tragic loneliness like an echo
Of a country, he left behind that he
Instead of embracing his otherness
Tried to hide it.

The Foreigner

What does one do when your pension is small?
He lived in an industrial town in England not green and pleasant.
Rows of brick houses, a tiny front yard too narrow for a car.
He could not thrive here; going back to Sweden was out
too expensive he would need help from the state to hand him accommodation.
He settled in Portugal, a country he knew little about
low wages, and he could get by with his modest pension.
He bought a ruin, fixed it up, and had a home of his own.
He never learned the language, can go to a café, no need to speak.
He had planned to live out in his house, but elderliness and illness
stopped this dream.
He sold his house moved in with his partner,
she has a big flat
and he helps pay the bills.
Life is good, but when he closes his eyes, his thoughts go back
to his small house and a dog, he had.

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.

The forever tourist

He woke up at two o´clock in the morning
he had to take a train to the main city at four
his wife said the train didn´t run on Saturdays or Sundays
he ignored that she wanted to sleep a bit longer.
The main city was full of soldiers who spoke in a guttural tongue there was no place at the inn,
but a porter found a sofa for him in the hall
where soldiers and ****** came and left during the night.
Cigarette smoke and perfume was like a fog in the hall dancing to the tune of
the activities in the rooms.
He got up early for breakfast then borrowed a pair of skis
it had been snowing in in the night still was, big heavy flakes
fell silently covering the sinful life at the inn, in a blanket
of forgiveness.
As a high-ranking officer, he was going to a staff meeting
the enemy had occupied it and shot the guards defending
the castle-like building.
In front of him a tall mountain he began climbing.
At the top, he could see the forever and a bit more and saw a beautiful valley with lakes and palm trees.
He skied down the mountain so fast he could not stop until
he fell into a lake of white wine and drank a mouthful
of the nectar.
The high-ranking officer had found his Paradise and to hell
with the war fought on the other side of the mountain.

The fox in the henhouse

The settlers are burning down Palestinians olive trees,
No main newspapers care to report the truth the settlers are conniving
With the Israeli government to do this unopposed.
What we a witnessing is the destruction of a people who had
their land was stolen and hounded to elimination by those who chose
to believe what a scribe said.
There have been many massacres over time like what happened
to the Albanians and other minorities such as the Rohingya people
In the hands of the Buddhists.
We have had the Holocaust, but it is the first time we are seeing
The oppressed are becoming oppressors, and they are so successful
That if we protest, they are calling us anti- Semitic.

French emancipation

French women are free, well-educated and elegant,
but spend much time to attract men.
Easy of virtue, yet frantically look to get married to
a wealthy man, who can free them of distressing liberation.

They will intellectualize their misery, see themselves
as Sagan Melancholic, ye yarning to me middle class
housewives worrying about the price of garlic, meet
other wives and talk endlessly about equality.

The full moon
Is not showing off it shines
For no one in particular
For you and me and caterpillars
Climbing a tree
The new moon is growing fast
A teenager on the make
But when it nearly full it loses
Interest in the near things
And just shines
As it is the only thing, it can do
Reflecting the sun
The moon is a secondary sun
Trying to warm the night
Nevertheless, lovers swoon
And the werewolf lurks in the bushes

the future

I have been listening and seeing a program
by David Attenborough about the dire state of our world
listening to his voice, I felt his sadness.
He ended with a hope that we can find a way back
to a sustainable future.
I felt the last lines he spoke about hope was not
reflected in his voice.
I think as humans we are destroying ourselves
the USA and the Russian Federation are threatening
each other with nuclear warfare.
Should Biden win the race it will get worse he is
a warmonger and will confront Russia, unlike
the much malign Trump who has kept a lid on things
despite his showman bluster.
I think the eradication of humanity is imminent.
Nature will recuperate, forests will grow but
I fear we will not be there.

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.

The fear

Looking out, the day was dazzling with deep shadows
in the corners and under dead street lamps.
Reticent lips exploded gave birth to a scream which
Shattered the forenoon, only white heat remained.
Window glass dripped became petrified like
were fish eyes glared as the day was punished down an abyss.
Of black, shiny boots trampled all fragment.
But the fiend’s eye was forever glued to the inside
on my mind.

The games we played

I was busy when you rang, I said, I will ring later.
When later came around I rang you, but you were busy too
had no time to talk.
You will sit by the phone waiting for me to ring,
but hurt by the tone of your voice I will not ring before tomorrow.
So, when I ring you will say something sarcastic
I will slam the phone down.
Sleepless and restless, something has to give
I finally ting you to say “I love you.”  
Empty words, what I would have liked to say was this:
“*******, you silly woman.”
Pretence never lasts our love fizzled out.
So long ago. I can´t remember her face.

The Games we play

This is not an English poem, the fear of showing
emotion, look at my stiff upper lip, wrapping
words of love in cotton wool. The truth is, my
Dear, I don't care for you, but my cowardice is
a deep river so profound I can't come and say:
I don't love you anymore.

Flowers sent, the ring I gave was out of pity
and guilt hoped you would sense the chill
behind the gift and frigidity of feeling.
Under a cloud of pusillanimity, we'll wed, live
near a hairdresser salon for you, and a park
bench of Autumnal leaves, for me.

Unbridgeable the distance between us, I will
go on dreaming, and you will scream at, my
passivity till there is no reason left,
the useless wind brings no seed to replant.
This is how it will end because I lack the gut
to say simply. “I don't love you anymore.”

The Gazelle

I met a Gazelle in Marseille
she was chewing on my jacket
I took it off to keep her warm.
She was hungry, gave her my jumper
not enough.
In Marseille I was naked
She had eaten my wallet also

The Genetic pool

I'm my father's son I carry his genes
He is a part of me this is inescapable
If I hate him, I dislike myself.
Now that I'm older than my father
He is my son you can't help but loving
Your son
Once I saw my father on a bus going
Into town, he reached out to say halloo
I, misinformed, looked out of the window
I saw his tears.
Wish this moment would come back
It is my eternal shame.
My father is my son I think of him gently.

The ghost and a Child

I have a recurring dream I hadn´t been to my house for a long time, remember I had been happy
there with my little dog,
we used to walk in the woods, and when I was driving around in my motorbike, she was glad to see me returning.
I took a bus up, the driver didn´t ask me for money and being rather frugal. I was glad.
Outside the house, a little girl was playing, asked her If she liked living here?
Yes, she said, and I have a dog, she said.
The dog came. It was my dog; it didn´t recognize me growled when I called the dog's name.
Inside the house, a couple were arguing, she said, I hate this house. It gives me the creeps
She sat down where I sat, wriggled a bit (which I liked)
she got up, stroked the seat (which I enjoyed too) but, she was bothered and sat on another chair.
They didn´t see me, I thought they must be blind.
Outside, I asked the little girl if her parents were blind. No, she said, but they can´t see you because
you are a ghost only a child like me can see.

Ghosts you see
It was dusk the sea-mist came rolling in
There was rain in the air
The familiar landscape looked strange
As belonging to the world that had no
Night or the light of day
This was the time of the ghosts those
In Twilight who could not feel hot or cold
They are waiting for a sign a friendly gesture
To be recognised not as fantastic but
A real person just a smile and they would
Melt into the world of abstraction and
Become the air we breathe the scent of  
Flowers and last year's spring
Leaves on trees, fruit in a basket or soil
Dark brown earth from where cabbage grows
And lambs jumping of joy among olive trees
You see them along the roadside not clearly
They are shy all you have to do is to smile
And the spring will be bountiful

The gift Horse

I'm a sensible person
get easily hurt,
when I offered
her car because
because I was leaving
she refused,
had wanted a more modern vehicle.
I sold the car
When she asked for
the car, it was too late
her tears meant nothing
she had made
the cardinal sin looking into the gift horse's mouth.

The Givers


Sunday evening sermon and as the parishioners
leave this up-market church, some are in a good
mood and feel generous towards the beggars at
the door and give coins, others, of moral frugal
hearts are busy reading a leaflet- handed out in
the church- and thus didn’t see the supplicants.

Had a fifty centimes coin in my pocket, which
I intended to the man with the Labrador-hound
as I did so the dog followed the transaction with
serious eyes, as far as the dog understood it, its
master was higher up on the human hierarchy
then me, after all, I was the one doing the giving.

the godless Dawkins
The Professor Richard Dawkins had stroke which made him say
when feeling better: “There are things we will never know.”
I think his sudden revelation or insight is gratifying.
For those who do not know the professor he has written books
about anti-god and made fun of those who do believe in a religion
God is an abstract figure which I knew when nine years of age it
is easy to laugh at vicars and women wearing crosses, but for me
the subject of god is boring

The God Thing
I often think of God but Samuel Jackson’s face get in the way
So know we know god is a handsome actor looking godlike and that is
Ok if he had looked Chinese I might have objected
Death is a conundrum we accept the physical death, but the problem
Is what is happening to our thought from experience?
After a long life, we like to pass knowledge it on but selectively as we
Cannot talk about our blunders and our ****** misconduct
I have lived a totally egocentric life and it is the only way I write
but if I have written something to anyone for whom the big sleep
means nothing.

The good Baptist

Was coming out of a shop in Roma,
I knew it was him,
Long hair and trimmed beard,
The ladies swooned
The Vogue wanted him on its cover,
he wore an Armani suit
a white silk scarf
carelessly slung around his neck.  
Scintillating angle wings quivered in warm anticipation,
will he gaze at them?
No, he had loftier things
in mind, he wasn’t going to
get seduced by beauty yet again,
hailed a taxi:
“To the Vatican,” they heard
he say, “I have an audience
with the pope.”

The Good-Bye

We walked
To the railway station
Mother
Dressed in an old coat
Fastened with safety pins
waved.
She looked so small wanted to leave the train
Embrace her.
The train moved
I waved
As long as I could see her.
Mother was untidy
Hair
On the sandwiches
She gave me.
At the next stop
I bought a bar of chocolate.

the good news

He walked up and down outside the hospital
smoking one cigarette after another worried had  she cancer
after seven hours the tests were cleared
no cancer, but she had an infection, and the shop nearby was
open so he could buy a celebratory beer. ( many)
Her brother had died a few weeks earlier at the same hospital
and he did not want
her to go there, yes, he knows it is silly, but you never know
what tricks fate can do.
Should he lose her, his life will lose its meaning.
He planned to die first and not had to bother with a funeral,
flowers and fake tears and people telling how wonderful he was
which is not true he was a bitter loser.
Jealous of other peoples successes he had hoped to be forgotten
ashes on a blank urn.

The Govemouse


Govemouse is a seal shaped animal, friendly
and they were plentiful often used as Sunday steak
and a must at Christmas when their meat was
used to make sausages and meatballs.
A villager, who had spent many years in France
brought sheep, and a few donkeys to help
carrying the harvest of carrots and cabbage down
from villagers fields.
Wool and meat make a sheep.
The Govemouse, no longer needed migrating down
to the coast, the few that stayed became pets
for the children and cared for by elderly women.
A road up to the village was built and many tourists
thinking it was romantic, but the strange man who
had lived among them took his knapsack and left
for the coast, where he noticed a ship in the bay that
had been abandoned by its owner and the crew had
not been paid for the last year.
They had nothing to eat and since they were paperless
could not go ashore.
What saved them from starvation was the Govemouse
that was happy to be useful again.

The Great Detective

Hercules Poirot stood alone
the lovers he had saved from the gallows
had departed.
He had tears in the corners of his eyes
and said: I, Hercules Poirot, the most famous detective in the world
I cannot understand the nature of love.
I concur.
My wife and I have been together for twenty years.
I love her dearly; she does not care about my writing; it might
upset people.
Her female logic makes me knotted in despair, but what can I do?
We have grown old together, and my nightmare is to live longer than her.
She is the practical one. I see conspiracy theory everywhere.
When Hercules Poirot could not solve the problem,
I give up too and go on loving her.

The great Grief

A black man was leaning his head against a wall crying  
Other somewhat whiter people came carrying flowers.
a day of mourning not for frolicking
On the other side of the river, so many deaths and
A princess was murdered in a tunnel.
Mass grief I was caught up in, full of sadness eyes
Full of tears, I dried my eyes on a laundry slip.
On this day it was allowed to cry lest some should
Think one was overly sentimental and embarrassing
Passers-by.
Meanwhile, I have a mental picture of some strange
People, on the other side of the river of sorrow. laughing
And pointing fingers at a gloomy sky.

The Great War and India
Thousands of soldiers from India's interior
(I.5 million) were sent to fight in the Great War
Many of them died and were maimed just
so Britain could keep its hegemony.
When books were written, and history told
somehow the Indian soldiers were mysteriously
forgotten erased out, until now.
But disquiet lingered India became restless
they served the British grudgingly formed
a political party but the Brits arrested, tortured
the leaders and threw them into jail, but
the idea once fomented didn't die and 1947
It became a reality, India was free.

The Greek- Orthodox Church
The church has deep roots in the Russian soul
The church is powerful the President listens
To the church who want Russia to be a culture
Not infected by the West's corruption of faith.
Where everything is forgiven to the point of
Taking religion for granted.
We in the west being emotion finally dishonest
Is baffled by this worship, but to keep our faith
Clean we must embrace the Russian concept
Of conviction, if we are to find salvation in a cruel
world, understanding that man is also a soul.
I have been watching popular American comedy
If you listen well, they are full of *******
And disrespect of what we need to know
For ensure our survival as people with spirit.