The Greek Poet

I’m trying to read the work of a Greek poet
I have tried to read it before until overcome by tedium.
I’m trying again.
I read slowly while pain is dripping, an awful lot of flowers
In her verses, heartache and all that.
Some of her poems are good but they suffer from being placed
Among mediocrity and it is painful.
Her book is too long and that perhaps is the problem with
All poetry is “too long” twenty pages are enough
To keep reader interest, but publishers want longer books
For their own reason. Too many poems spoil the cream
Of poetry.
I've put the book back on the shelf of dust, pick up
Another book of poetry that is mercifully slim, after lunch
I will try to read it.

The gush

    The moon is full not completely round
but elongated and so near I can almost touch it.
A pity the moon only reflects the sun
it diminishes it somehow.

The Chines planted apple trees at the back
of the moon
if they bear fruit, it will be bitter and never harvested
it will cost too much to pick them.


The apples will fall by themselves
down to earth like bitter tears
this should teach us not to tamper with nature
it will take 154 years before a moon like this reappears

The Hamlet

In a deep valley, where winter sun doesn't reach
Time moves slower than normal and so damp
You have to wear a rain coat even if it is not raining
I came across a hamlet so muddy that dogs have
webbed feet,
duck tails and bronchial bark.
Only women dressed in jute sacks live her together
with ****** sons
who sit in dark recesses and sleep in the pig sty,
pull faces and laugh at nothing in particular.
Beans, pig fat, garlic and boiled cabbage is their diet,
and the women love death, waits for one of the fools
to die so they can have an ****, pull hair
and scream all night.
Seen from the top of a hill the hamlet looks
charming and rustic.

The happening

On the balcony sat a raven it had yellow eyes
It crewed with delight.

Ill in bed the flue, a stream of transpiration
turned into a raging river.

Transported me to the sea which was cooling
and calm lowered the fever.

The raven had fallen to its death into the canyon
of high rise flats.

A man picked it up his dinner of the day saved
he wore a feather on his hat.

The has been

He sits with his hand folded and unfolding
the only part of his body that moves
his face is in the shadow.
His eyes are watery and blank
he appears tired looking for the dream which escaped him.
Sadness cut deep lines in his face, that of a loser´s
a coward that never took the final step.
It doesn´t matter anymore; life cannot be re-lived.

The surgery

I’m waiting for a friend of mine
He is having heart surgery tomorrow
And it is lonely not having friends around
The day before a serious surgery
We’ll not talk about illnesses’ and other
Subject related to hospitals.
Not talking in hushed voices but about
The calm sea and seagulls: I know it is
One of my favourite subjects.
Talk about everything else to keeping
His mind of tomorrow.
The hospital is in Lisbon, and he lives
In Algarve and have to take the bus
But that is ok; busses are modern now
And have a toilet and an ambulance will
Take him back.
Having had the surgery also I know, how
It feels like being alone, so I wish him well.

The Heat elsewhere
  
It is hot think of switching the air-condition on
but I think of the refugees from Syria waiting for a gate to open
Israel will not want to become a nation of ******.
Jordan like ways has a million refuge and political problems
but if Europe pays them enough can take in some more.
The refugees are sweltering in the hot sun many have not
tents and there is no shade in this no man’s land hell,
I hope the Red Crescent and Doctors without Borders have
the courage to help, all I can do is send money and
not switch on the air-conditioning.

The heroine

The neighbour on the other side of the narrow lane
was a ****** addict but had been “clean” for several months
and he had become a fun,  a learned man to converse with.
He was not in his house, but the tape was playing the same
song over and over again “don't tell on me…” I think.
It was dark outside I stood on the terrace and saw his shadow
at his door and knew he was dead.
His shadowy appearance shocked me I had seen a ghost,
went inside and said to my wife Victor is dead.
I saw his last thoughts. Nonsense,
she snorted you are frightening me he is out with his friends,
with “friends” she meant gays, yes Victor was gay in a small
a society that frowns upon homosexuality.
They found him dead he had succumbed to the craving
had taken an overdose of this devilish stuff.

The Hidden kiss
My niece rang from Russia last night
she knows I love her, and she is immensely kissable.
Between us, there is an ocean of age and nothing
impure passes among us, she enjoys being loved
and I feel uplifted when she visits us.
We are two ships sailing in a stormy sea of love
and not colliding she is my sister.

I have often been worried about her when she navigate
too close to rocky shores of the coast that brings
nothing but divorce and heartache.
She sails in calm water now since she met a three rigged
schooner her age, at anchorage in the bay of love
and I think of Edward Munch's fabulous painting:
“A Kiss by the Window”

The Hideous Heart of Scandinavia

Morning in Oslo, from my hotel room I see many roofs
most of them of the same design; tidy, I wondered if they
employed a roof sweeper.
Social democracy in action cold and efficient not given
to surface passion, even their homegrown terrorists is
boring but dangerous.
Streets in Oslo are clean too so spotless they look
somehow defenceless and slightly obscene.
The citizens are restraint, tolerantly wait for traffic light
to turn green so the can cross even if no cars are coming.
But there is another Oslo especially at weekends
when people drink an enormous about of beer fight breaks
out and knives shine in moonlit nights.
The lust for ****** hark backs to a shared cataleptic
memory; and you know there is a pent-up passion
In the hideous heart of Scandinavia

the high Jump


Over the bay, I saw a rainbow dripping colours
into the turquoise water.
Nothing can be that beautiful I have seen it all
Jumped from the balcony but the terrace underneath
ours was bigger.
Nothing was broken the flat was empty except
for a Picasso painting and one by a man called Larsen,
concluded the people who lived there were Norwegian
I walked up the steps to my flat, let myself in
the rainbow was gone but on the surface of the water
I saw spilt diesel oil that often has a rainbow
colour but lacks beauty.
Where have you been, she said.
Nowhere really just jumping about a bit.

The virus

This forenoon
is like a new summer day
people smile
behind mask.
their eyes sparkle
like the worst is over.
Superman,
not the movie one,
is in hospital.
the hope is, up from
the sickbed
the Phoenix will fly
on fluttering wings of peace.
failing this
we put our hopes
in prayer
that he might not suffer.

A horse
                       My faithful fjording
Go into toy stable the day is over
The little boy will come and stroke your neck.
When a boy is a man he will
Sit on the cart, but not load
It too heavily
And when you and he plough the field
He will give you rest
A slice of bread or an apple
If the cart is full
After shopping in the village
He will get off and help you pull.
When the day comes
When you are too old
He will set you free on a field of green grass.
He will visit you often
You will be glad and try to jump on ancient legs.
The day will come when you can't get up
He will kneel beside you and give you rest.
And when it is over
Man and horse alone
The man will cry for no one to see.
You will become a star and shine on the man
Who made you happy.

the horse of dreams

I never had a rocking horse, but having read
about rich kids having one, I wanted one too.
On a dump, I found the tail of a rocking horse
fastened the end to the gate into the yard.
Sitting on the gate, swinging through and thro
and for a moment, I was Hoppalong Cassidy
till the hinges broke, I fell off.
The owner of the property swore, thought
it was the work of hooligans.
Years late, mother found the horsetail behind
the wardrobe, by then I was grown up
and didn’t bother with childish things.

THE HORSES
There was grassland with a river crossing, a natural barrier.
White horses on one side, and muscular brown horses on the other side.
If one looks well, there are foals of mixed race, they good genes and will
in time carve out their land, higher up, near the hills and water.
When farmers wanted a horse for ploughing, they lassoed a brown horse,
for lighter work, like driving the ladies to the church in a buggy, a white horse
was chosen mainly because they were malleable to handle.
Tragedy struck, developers bought the land, houses were built, filling
the grassland with noise streets and polluting the river.
The horses fled to a sparse mountain ***** on the grass, and many
starved, their life span short, and the puma was a constant threat.
The horses mixed freely they had to when their survival was at stake.

The huddled masses

They came here
from war and starvation
to seek
freedom from religion
and  ethnic
disharmony.
But some came
to sow
unrest
turn time back
to the
period of war
******
and
no freedom of speech

The huddled masses

They came here
from war and starvation
to seek
freedom from religion
and  ethnic
disharmony.
But some came
to sow
disharmony
turn time back
to the
time of war
******
and
no freedom of speech

Human cannon
They shot him out of a cannon and lost his legs
He flew low over a forest that took his arms
And torso, his head landed in a hexes’ glade
From trees dripped gore like strawberry jam
They flew up with their brooms collected what
Was left of him and made a stew, and he
Thought what a blessing they didn’t get his legs.
Children out, picking blueberry put his head
In a plastic bag, which the gave to the doctor
Who put him un a glass jar? And when
The last patient was gone had a few drinks
Asked question the head could not answer.
Eventually he- still the head-was packaged and
Sent to a museum.
A museum is a spooky place at night stuffed
With dead animals and there is no lion’s roar.
When the interest in his had abated
They put him on a top shelf where the head
Gathers dust while wondering why he is not
Thirsty or hungry.

The hummock

There is a hill behind the houses round and soft,
I call it a mother hill it welcomes you and murmur
How do you do?” and let you sit on a boulder
to enjoy the peace.
If you sit too long enjoying your sentimentality,
it wakes, the boulder gets cold and hard to sit on.
The wind suddenly blows, has a fragrance of Siberia and *****.
So, you walk around to keep warm and see wildflowers
hiding behind big stones.
You cannot pick them if you do? They will wizen and bring rain.
Walk gently now the aroma of spring is in the grass.
Behind the knoll, it is October grey and out of sight where no trees grow.
It is the mother´s hill burden concealed from the world.

The Hummock
There is a hill behind the houses rounded and soft
I call it a -mother hill- and it welcome you and softly
Murmur, how do you do and leave you alone to sit
On a boulder and think how incredible life is.
If you sit there too long enjoying your sentimentality
It wakes you up the rock get cold and the northerly
Blow that has a fragrance of Siberia, reindeer and *****
So you walk about to keep warm and see wildflowers
Hiding behind stones, but pick them you cannot they
Are not yours will wizen in your hands and bring rain

Walk softly now the aroma of spring is in the grass.
Just behind the hill a hillock grey as October fall, but
Out of sight and no trees grow on it scrawny side it
The mother hill's burden which it bears with fortitude

The hurts in poetry


the touchstone of poetry
is the beauty of the pain of longing for lost beauty
walking an old track looking for the lost
I nearly stepped on a rabbit it was too late to run
we both pretended we did not see each other.
When the rabbit realized there was no harm it got
up smelled my shoes and slowly jumped back into
the bushes.
The forest was silent I had lost my dog she liked
to chase things she saw but made a lot of noise, but
there was a deeper muteness
of course, it was wintertime and hunter were out
with their dogs not today though.
If a hunter´s dog was not up to the chase if was
left behind it had nowhere to go.
The dogs in the village wouldn´t make it in, poor thing
cold and no food, how can we be so cruel?
It was left to my neighbour to find the lost dog
and end its life.
He could no rely on me since my dog was rescued
by insensitive people, and he already had five dogs.
The beauty was to see the rabbit leave not afraid
what do I know it might have thought I was a tree.

The Illness
I was driving home had been to the shop and bought
two bottles of beer, thinking of the scourge of alcoholism
that had befallen my clan.
My grandfather lost business and his bakery because of it
(back then it was weak character) two of his children of four
had the illness, mother was one of them.
I was a fall down drunk too, but I left the country and anything
associated with the past, as they say, lived happily ever after
I like my glass of wine, and a few beers, it would be sad I
couldn't enjoy this extra it lends colour to my timeworn age.

I sometimes think I'm a disciplined drunk, never
Drink before 8 at night, not a lot, not too little
just enough to deflect the dimming of the light.

The Illusion

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

Today is the impending

Christianity appears tepid we do not think of it
as a centre of our life.
I dislike all religions they are fairytales for adults
that demands to be taken seriously.
Ladies decorating the church with flowers while secretly
lusting after the vicar.
We remember Blair and Bush both are Christians
in its name, they invaded Iraq and killed thousands
of perfectly innocent people,
The Christians have for hundreds of years and foisted
their version upon masses who already have a god.
The occupiers of Palestine belong to the western culture
and they will be the biggest losers when the weakness
of our insipid culture cracks as the world implode.

The Industrialist


When the shipping tycoon
in my hometown, died they
dipped him (Best suit and shoes)
in liquid plastic and
when dry they put him on a towering plinth
so he could
watch over us for all time.
Birds took a great interest in
the statue and soon covered in green goo
it was high up in the air and difficult to clean
birds were declared illegal immigrants
and shot dead.

A night bird, (perhaps an owl),
pecked holes in the statue’s
shoes, the body inside, now slime,
ran down the plinth into
the drain and down a gutter,
the plastic casing imploded and
hung like a ****** in a window sill
of a house scandalized
by unproven rumours.
Since seedy facts about the tycoon’s
shady dealings and ****** custom
(*******) had since came to light –
as foam in a sewer-
no new statue was made.

The Inheritance
                          My ffather had a stammer
And lonely drinker
Sat under bridges
                           Those that span quiet canals
He drowned
Dog came home alone
Wimping  
                            Mother, tired took to bridges also
This pleased the dog
                            The canine came home alone
This was an inheritance I didn't want
But could not avoid I sit under bridges now
                             The dog's   too old
I walk home alone.

The inmates

The young prisoners with slingshots
fight an army that shoots back with sharp bullets
The young keep on fighting
An enemy that knows no mercy, control the water
supply and electricity.
How many young men and women must die?
Is the enemy willing to commit mass ******?
to eradicate a race of people?
The world looks but says little and some elderly
ask: why can't the young prisoners behave.

The Inn
Many years ago an uncle of mine
told a story what happened at a small hotel
near the sanatorium, the guest had been visiting loved ones.
The evening meal consisted of meat cakes in gravy with
stewed cabbage an boiled potatoes, Norway is not
famed for French cuisine, but they ate well.
In the end, there was only one meat cake left
and the landlady urged the guests to eat all,
no one wanted to so she switched off the light.
For a moment a stunned silence, then a high pitched
scream alarmed she switched on the light
a man sat there with five forks stuck in his hands.
On reflection, the story has a tinge of sadism,
and I cannot vouchsafe if the story is true.

The Intemperate  

Alcoholism is an irredeemable illness
often compared with diabetes which is also incurable
however, with diabetes, it is possible to reduce it by
taking insulin and avoiding certain foods.
However, you can't cure intemperance by drinking beer!
He was a well- known actor had everything to live for
When in Algarve the old discredited counsellor
tried to get him to go to AA.
He blankly refused said he didn’t want to live
since his wife had died of cancer, which turned
out to be eight years ago.
One day he met him struggling to get up a hilly street,
He stopped offering a lift, but the actor in his cups
told him to “**** up”. Later that night he came to offer
his apologies threw up on the kitchen floor the old man
got him into bed.
In the morning he had raided to fridge for beer know
he wanted a proper drink, and he was driven home.
There was nothing the old therapist could but hope.
The news came he had died at 56 killed by *****.

The interior landscape

Here in the landscape of bushes and crippled trees
silence speaks of the final peace.
Grotesque dead trees with grey boughs stretching upward
appealing to a fairytale God:
“Give us today a new life.”
There is only one god with many names
you can't trust him to hear your whisper in the wind.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to endlessly
going to casinos or nightclubs, unable to be alone the noise drowns out the ghost of god.
Pale faces seeing a horror behind you or into a void which
is the biggest punishment is to be forgotten.
I shun not this landscape as it has been abandoned by man
can only be peaceful.

The intervention


It was four in the morning when I awoke sitting in front
of TV that was off; again I had ended up in a middle-class
the neighbourhood in, a close with suitable trees.
I shared a fence with a police inspector who wore a tie
when mowing the lawn, he had two silly daughters and a wife
so fine she never let the wind pass her through her narrow ***.
I family who thought they had reached the pinnacle of civil living.
I have so easily been seduced by nice houses and people who
speak posh coming from poverty it impresses me.
I went to work; my wife was still sleeping, when I came home
A group of people were, it was called an intervention they
was trying to convert me to sober living, while they were
talking I mixed a gin and tonic, some of the men licked lips.
Told them I drank because they were so ****** boring,
being drunk, was the only way I could tolerate them.
I rang a travel agency, took a plane to Algarve for a holiday
It has cost me a divorce – pleased by that- and my house
that I didn't like, and the holidays continues.

A War Hero  


The big gull stood on its realm, ocean cleaned rocks
of the outer sea, snowy white chest, blue/grey wings
that spanned big as an osprey’s, yellow beak and
clear green eyes, but when a hint of red anger in them
gleamed other gulls flew clear.

When the ocean is irate and breaks over rocks it
take abode in a coastal town where it is well know
and famous, for once it shat on Adolf ******’s hat as
he strode from his yacht and a band of Quislings,
played Austrian oompah music  

Domestic Nazis went to the shoals, tried to blow
them up, but the sea was white topped their boat
sprung a leak and they had to be rescued by local
fishermen, who were told not to speak of this affair;
an impossible request… of course.    

The seagull became a symbol of resistance and
also showed how banal dictatorship can be when
it puts a prize on a gull’s head and hunts it with
flying machines. Vanity is silly as pride and fools
silver, fishermen and war heroes know that.

The army intruder

I live near a stream that has been running dry for years
into a winter lake that has been drained to a helicopter pad
trees around wear dusty uniforms.
There is edginess in Europe after many years of peace
the warrior monster is waking up.
The monster is ****** erratic and can strike at any time
asks for more weapons.
We think we know who the enemy is, as usual, but we are wrong
as we listen to the voice of antagonism.
A new page of history is written; we must make a choice
Not wait till millions of people are killed, the last bomb dropped
when a poet writes about the war, be “the guardian famous.”
The new peace will only last so long because the human mindset
is set on war; this is our tragedy.
The voice for peace is as puny as children cry in the symphony
of the battlefield.

The Invisible

I'm the old man walking his dog passed your shop.
People see me and they don't I’m a part of the street scene.
For you, I pause outside to see you looking into the big mirror
adjusting your hair.
You dally a bit, hope someone will come fill your time,
lives alone, no one needs you at home.
Finally, you switch off the light, except the one at
your window display.
You walk passed me see me not, cause I'm
the old man out walking his dog.

Their Future
The was a sea in Russia that disappeared sand dunes,
rusting ships and rib cages of sailors sticking up out of
the ground as a warning, fight nature be prepared to lose.
The Aral Sea it had fish aplenty, now it is a ghostly place
Was the wind stirs extinct sea into a colourless pallid
greyness that tells us how the world will look like in about
a hundred years. The Aral is far from our light fantastical
it is hidden the cadaverous vastness of Russia, The land
around may have changed names, but it will always be Russia.
Do not walk across the sea at night the place is haunted and
you will see the future that is too awful for a mere human
to take in, after all, the suffering that will be visited upon your
grandchildren, your soul will ever find peace as there are such
a thing as ghosts scaring souls... it is your grandchildren they
will not give you peace and no grave is deep enough to hide
you from their wrath and the world your greed destroyed.

The Islamisation of the world

Birds began falling from the sky, first a few but then
millions of birds fell dead to the ground one had to take
cover for not being killed by the mass of feathered deaths.
The sky was poisoned by our underarm sprays and other
stuff we used to cover our natural human scent, days of
silence but not for long, insects had no enemy bred fast
and we slithered ankle deep in bird droppings.

Summer,  not a pleasure everyone sat indoors feeding
canary birds while swarms of insects clouded the sun.
a burqa that covered the whole body was the solution,
aftershave lotion and perfumes were forbidden and there
were aroma patrols walked around the neighbourhood  
50 lashes and six months jail for anyone who wore the slightest
a whiff of perfume; and overnight we became Muslims.

The Jester

The circus's princess, call my receptive ears picked up
the euphony appealed to me.
The call was not meant for me, her heart wished
for the dashing lion tamer.
Me, the clown, she liked to tease I took my mask off
and entered the lion’s den, the animals rolled over
laughing, as only big cats can do, as did
the audience, the lion tamer was not pleased I had
ruined his act.
The princess too was amused too
I'm unconsciously funny, fated to evoke
mirth, but not the sigh of love

The killing of a nation



Women’s right is at a crossroad, the right to education

work for a corporation sitting at the table of decision making

that is useful for business but not unsafe for people.

They are conned we all have conned into

thinking this is the future.



The highest accolade a person can win is to give birth

to new life and bring them up to be sound

and kind member of the society, only a woman can do this

but many of them have forsaken what is important in life

New life.



Every woman in Europe should have five offspring

or the civilization we live in will die out.

Instead, we vilify single mothers for giving birth

we have to pay for we should put them on a pedestal 

for bringing life into the world.



Abortion is killing the nations of Europe, but we do not

understand the implications of this

We become a minority to a culture alien for us

Women who have done their heroic duty

are vigorous enough to run a nation.

The killing of a poet
  There are many sorts of poets those who
extoll the sitting regime tell of order it has brought
their words are recited they win prizes but few, today remembers their names
Federico Lorca was not one of them.
He wrote the truth of the brutal fascistic nature of the state and what
it had become.
He was a man they had to ****.
He tried to flee but on a side road he was stopped by assassins, at the time
he was in the company of a one-armed priest a communist
They had to dig their own grave.
Since Lorca was gay, they shot him in the rear “you like this sort of things
they laughed, these cruel people were killing art.
They also shot him in the groin: squealed like a pig they later said.
This was a Spain of old but the ghost of fascism is still among us we have
To be vigilant.

The Killing of Floyd

So, the policeman who Killed Floyd by pressing his
knee on his neck, the sentence was ******, but was it?
The police officer accidentally killed Floyd as he was trained to do.
The why police are learning their dubious craft has to come
into focus, the whole police department has to be scrutinized,
and the new “servants” of the people must be accentuated.
To concentrate on one man who is insensitive and stupid does
Not solve the problem of the American police.
First of all, the poorly trained officer must understand a gun
It is not for shooting people who are fleeing, but the weapon is a defence
Only used when attacked directly.
I cannot understand why a single police officer has to bear
The burden of guilt that is pervasive in the American society
is by its nature, overly fascistic and too dependent on the GUN.
The victory (political) can be a pyrrhic one if some people can disregard
Law and order.

The road
It is a long highway
Trees on both sides.
I walk
No cars or busses my way
The road seems never-ending
Will I find
My approach to the little cottage
Also, happiness.
A vista opens
A warm summer day
With my tribe
We understood the unsaid.
They look at me
From a hazy distance
Moreover, ask
What took you so long.

The king of seagulls sat by the window sill
It had only one leg the other lost in battles
Years ago, no it looks scruffy old age had
Taken its toll and shrieking seagulls above
Sensed its weakness and had no mercy
Towards the elderly, it was seen as in us
Society, as useless taking up space.
I opened a tin of sardines and fed its content
To the old gull, I opened another tine and
The early bird looked stronger.
It became a ritual the bird landed on the sill
Also, I fed it sardines in oil.
One day it wasn’t there it had disappeared
Into the blue wonder.
I eat sardines every day now, (had to) after
Buying so many tins.

The king of a snowy country

the king sat on his throne in his underwear
his wife, the queen, was ironing his uniform.
The ambassador of Mongolia was arriving today
presenting his credential a word that made
the king giggle.
The king of Scandinavia is not well paid and
he has to pay for having a cleaning lady
comes twice a week, the good thing is he gets invited
out often as his presence lends kudos to a party
with plenty of food and wine.
The king sighs, his idiot son, is cycling around the park
dressed in jeans and disturbing the gardener.
The monarch has tried to tell his son he is a crown-prince
and should act with decorum.
The king didn´t want to be a king, a title he inherited
when his father died.
His wife comes in with the uniform he puts it on and
feels quite royal while putting all his medals to his chest.
His wife is going to a hairdresser, the king will open a tin
of sardines for his lunch.

The kismet
From sea to ocean
Has been you denied
No giant breaker be
But settle
For the second best
A ripple on
A summer lake

The kiss

her lips had kissed many a man a butterfly
Fragrant and vivid like a spring day in May
Yet not to the point of pollination.
She waited for a kiss that tasted of wealth
She dreamed of a castle and ballgown if silk
Sailing down the river on a boat made
Of a swans’ feather sewn by silky threads.
She met him and when they embraced,
It was as wonderous as when earth and
Heaven became one and nothing counted
At last fertilisation and deep was their love.
At dawn she awoke he had gone, Nine
a month later she gave birth to a golden son,
Her lover is a poet living inside his dream.

The knowing

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

The Lady on the Island

She lived in a big villa with servants, on an island
connected to the mainland by a bridge, she had house arrest
wanted free elections and democracy.
A hero of the west and she got a medal for her tenacity.
The military junta set her free yet kept their power, she accepted
after all, she was a general's daughter.
As a de facto president, she turned out to be a racist, didn't defend
The Rohingya people who their villages burnt to the ground and
had to flee the massacre by the army, she stayed silent and lost
credibility, she was just elite racist didn't want to be a leader of
people who were not of her blood.

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

The Land of dream

Early Tuesday morning when the night
Glides into a new beginning somewhat reluctantly
And no police sirens have been cutting the night
Till before and after sleep.
I will like to go to India. the vivaciousness of
The humanity intrigues me, the struggle to makes a living
Warms my heart, the poverty is holy
The cattle in the streets holier than the statue
Of the man who gave his life for freedom which so easily
Can be lost again when one religion is preferred
From another, they make one set of people arrogant
The other set hateful.
I will be in India tomorrow.

The Land we loved


So the USA dropped the biggest bomb ever made
on an empty space and become overnight
the biggest terrorists
in the world. A weapon like this is mass destruction and
unless it is dropped in a city, quite useless.
The neo-liberal that hated Trump hates him less now since
he has shown some muscles.
It is spring, but with a MOAB hanging over heads it feels
like winter has come early.
Once in the fifties we uncritically loved America, it was
back then a welcoming place but it lost the sense of proportion
now it is a terrorist state with a madman as President.