In ancient time

The ninety seventies are up in patina, a yellowish colour
of the ancient when I was young; and for me, it is still
not far away and remembered as a good time, mainly
because I was busy finding my feet
In the interim 50 years, much has changed, now is not
a good time to be young, the world has aged badly.
1970, the last man guillotined in France, but thousands
have died in civil wars at the hands of war machines.
The attention span is lower now than before, atrocities
like the Iraq war is forgotten, even Libya reduced
to a failed state is in the limbo of being in the past, future
and the ever-present now.
We are blasted with news that rolls so fast we have no
chance to take it, is the leaders want, you must not think
to see through their lies, lest you should disagree.

Ancient wars and potatoes

It is the biggest potato farm in the world,
a giant field of tubers as far as eyes can see;
new potatoes boiled with a pat of butter; delicious, no need to slam in a lamb.  
Once a battlefield thousands of Russians and
Germans soldiers bled to death here the soil grew fertile,
absorbed all flesh only bones and uniform buttons left.
The soldiers didn’t die in vain, saved from old age debilities, Alzheimer,
renal diseases, hip replacement and triple bypass.
I found a rusty gun, a German Luger pistol it fell to pieces in my hand,
bullets inside still intact, owned by
an officer telling his men to die like Prussian heroes.  
Long furrows of edible tubers, made into fries, full of fat,
grandchildren of dead soldiers are obese and only fight virtual games.

…And It Was Her Summer


“Go back to the children’s home, she said I have no work and
can’t afford to keep you” Late June afternoon she sat on a bench
with a man, I didn’t know. The man smiled I didn’t like him, but
took the coins he gave me to buy an ice –cream for; I was still
hanging about so mother got up and slapped me across the face.
” Get lost you, stupid boy!” My face was burning I threw the coins
into the lake and ran away. When I stopped running it was night
and I could see sheep in a field, I was tired and cold, thought of
seeking shelter in a little wooden church, but it smelt of fear and
I thought of ghosts, so I walked on till I came to a workman’s hut
near the road, it was easy to get in; here the smell was of coffee,
and kind men in overalls, perhaps one of them were my father?  
It was morning and warm sunlight when they came, they were not
angry, but gave me milk and bread and showed me the quickest
way to get home. The sky that day was enormous and from a hill
I looked down to the town, I could see the school building it must
have been early, no children in the yard; but I just sat there and
could not understand why my mother didn’t want to see me.

tabula rasa
when we are born a child has no memory
one can say clean slates, after a few days they pick up
the basic like crying when hungry
from there on we fill the baby with what we know
a knowledge handed down from our parents, and the child
when it learns to read beliefs without reflection
what they are told must be the truth.
sometimes the child has a new thought, and it says what if this
is not valid, that is when the memory it didn´t have
is remembered, something that is clean and true about the life
we live an illusion made up of a generation of lies told
to keep us docile, most children dismiss this idea and go on
playing football, but a few listens to the voice of verity
and not knowing how to shut up tell everyone that life is more
than they have ever imagined.
those children are embarking on a long track that sometimes
leads to jail terms and sometimes to an early death
by those who know they are speaking the truth but try to say
the child has a criminal mind.
the road ahead of the few is long, and there is no happy ending
except for the knowledge, they have given them comfort

Edward Hopper Painting


Badly lit street, through a partly steamed up
café window I can see an Edward Hopper
a man dressed in a brown suit and hat which
he keeps on while eating fries and drinking
black coffee, trying to slow down time.

Wears his underwear too long, doesn’t
change beddings for months, his depressing
rooms are unaired and a smell of loneliness;
middle aged and divorced he just exists, and
has a loser’s look of unspoken despair.

A émigré's Dilemma


I have lived in this foreign country long, longer than I should
Many seasons I have seen, my hair is grey and brow wrinkled
seeking an understanding of a life that makes no sense.
I know their culture, have read Fernando Pessoa, sing their
songs, but I came here as an adult, but my heart is not there.
I wanted to be a part of this Iberian country, but when
remembering a lullaby, my mother used to sing, when the party
is over, I know I’m a pretender.
I have lived here too long, but if I go back to my old country
I will be a stranger, in a town where no one knows my name,
and I will dream of a mythical Portugal.

The Ending?

Not quite, but Palestinians have had enough.
They were thrown out of their houses to get space for Israelis.
They are resisting so much. so the IDF has called up reserve soldiers.
But Palestine cannot achieve this alone; it´s up to the world
To finally wake up and see Israel is a pirate state the
Practices apartheid as a matter of politic.
The Gaza strip has been sending a puny homemade rocket
Into Israel, rockets that break a window or two and is big news in the USA
Telling us how terrible the Arabs are.
I despair I watch Portuguese news, which consists of football
And old men sitting around a table analyzing the matches.
Bless Portugal, and football is better than war.

A New Beginning

Think of this, the world has become too hot heat waves
following heat surges.  People leaving their cars succumbing of
thirst waiting for the coolness of evening that will not come.  
The stench of dead humanity and animals are foul of decay.
On the highest building a man fine tinned food, eats and falls
asleep and wake up months later to a world where he is the only
survivor.  No lift he walks down the endlessness of stairs and is
met with a hush so loud he has to put his hands to his ears.  
He walks and walks the stink has gone, but he senses something
behind him it is a lone rat it is as confused as he is and together
with the rat on his shoulder, they begin the search to find a mate
to make the world inhabitable again.

a new day

early morning, silent morning
the building is still sleeping, the few cars
driven by those who start early for work
could be bakers or cooks beginning their shift.
A lone ship is still anchored in the bay
it is an old ship waiting for a charter, the cook
is up must prepare breakfast he has a long day
ahead of him he is on the deck peeing
into the sea and smoking a cigarette before
going back into the galley.
More cars are filling the road and the small
supermarket, near the petrol station, is open
it has a counter and sells coffee and cakes.
The building is waking up toilet flushes, door
slams, voices, a new day has begun.

The new language
It is not the blatant lies that bother me, the truth has become weaponized
In the form that lies are between the lines become a new way of speaking.
I read what RT has to say their news is often the truth with a slant to give readers.
a negative impression of the USA.
The same is for newspapers, say, the Guardian articles about Putin, have an echo of truth mixed with fantasy. that newspaper mentioned has yet to
remark the sputnik vaccine, it did once when it was on the market, but wholly
in an undesirable form saying without saying, the Russian can´t be trusted.
We have now a situation where truth and lies are put in a washing machine
until it is white as snow, the lies are not what one sees unless we the question
is asked what is the political affiliation, with the said speaking or articles?
When we find the answer, we can separate the ***** socks from the clean ones.

A New Love Story
I had stopped at the rural cafe for a coffee it was a day when I was
not feeling a day over seventy she was around fifty and incredible
young her waste was that of a waif at the beginning of life.
She was so beautiful and she smiled inviting me to sit by her table
and I was only drinking coffee. I told her amusing stories of my life,
mostly lies- and she laughed, not a bored mirth while looking at
the time thinking of the right moment to slip away the clutches of
my unwanted attention. Good time has me has a limit, so much and
not more, her husband came in he had been to the garage, had the car
fixed and he told me all about it down to the smallest dreary details

A nice man with oil on his hands and I hated him, but I could not **** him
and claims his wife as mine, the thought faintly amused me,
and they drove off. I loved her immensely and she reminded me of
my wife's niece I love her too, perhaps it was her but I was too old to see
as handsome faces take on a mask of a smiling Janus

a new morning

I have a new phone the old one only rang
when feeling like it and that is not good enough
when someone takes the time calling me.
It is morning, and I read in the newspaper
the USA is upset because the no longer has free rains
in the south China sea.
When big powers talk about defence, it is not
what the mean it is about forces, perhaps with the exception
of Israel the lilliputian that wants to be big
and has partly succeeded but her feet are made of clay
she can so quickly lose it all.
The rest of the stuff was wasted ink about silly politics
and the dreaded virus that might, in the end, **** us all

A New Planet
For me, it is too late
But had been young I would
Have done my utmost to find another planet
Liveable for humans.
Think of it a planet without border
Not carved up into countries and rivalries
And threats from states with big land.
Just one continent where anyone could travel
Where they wanted no passport controls
Or unsightly walls.
A planet without religion to upset the peace
And of course, no political parties
No rules set by the mighty, the authority
Who divert rivers without asking the people?
In short, a planet for the people and
Animals in the wilderness.
Alas, since humans are settlers.
they will take their flaws along
and in time ***** it up

A new society

Is Brexit more than Brexit
a dream of going back in time
when everything had a human dimension?
To physically eradicate the royalty
to take back thousands of acres stolen
by the aristocracy.
Leaving the cities as a bird sanctuary
go back to the land, a homestead with
a cow and a few chickens.
Living a sub-existence hunting boars
in the evening light; rivers teeming with fish.
Small shops selling the basic foodstuff
and a cobbler to repair shoes.
Poverty and freedom in the land of the proud
and begin the new dawn of equality.

A newspaper and a Widow

The old widow across the hall
has been coughing loudly during the night
I thought of knocking on her door.
Decided against because of the virus she might have.
Well, she is not coughing now.
I have read the guardian newspaper a confessed
paper for “the educated middle-class” I should not
read it as I´m not their class of people nor do I wish
to become one. I used to write comments to there
but was barred, so I use Twitter instead
but it has some good writers, so it is worth reading.
There are times when the paper is left-leaning,
but it easily panics and hurries back to safe middle ground.
I´m worried about the lady across the hall, her husband
had been a high-ranking officer in the army, she is
too quiet, perhaps she is dead, I better speak to the porter.

An Experiment
Yesterday evening I tried to be a vegetarian
Ate a soya chop and the stomach rumbled all night
In protest.
In the morning a pressing evacuation, too much
For the toilet flusher, I had to take out my gift to
Flowers and trees
Using a plastic bag and gloves.
Today I will eat, fried sausage with onion
And mashed potatoes
The vegan food didn’t suit my stomach

Tired Angels

He was a lucky man by his side angels walked
or perhaps flittered a little jostling as they all wanted to be near him.
Absentminded, he came near the fiord walked across.
He was out cashing ***** that clung to the sheer cliff wall, yes, and a plastic bucket.
He got five ***** and walked back the same way the angels sweated he had trusted
(unknowingly) their blind faith in him,
to the point when some of them were at a point of giving up.
Looking after this person is hard. One angle sighed; the others mumbled in tacit agreement.
The angels watched him boil the ***** and eat everything, not offering them anything;
how could he?
We should have let go, one angel said, let him splash about with his bucket.
The thought of this made every angle laugh; one took out a harp and beautiful music-filled sea and
land with everlasting peace and the satisfaction of a job well done,

Angst in the night

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

Angst in the night

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

A night for Romance

Wes at on an upturned boat of the type of “the old man and the sea.”
by Ernest Hemingway used, the night had all the ingredients needed
for romance, full moon and glittering stars on blue velvet.
She gave herself to me, how trite and old fashion this sentence sound
nevertheless, it was so, sixty years ago.
I gave her a cheap wristwatch bought in Genoa it was hopelessly slow.
I think it was in some small sea port in Guatemala or some other
the port on the coast of Latin America and the year was 1964.
Then the night paled I could see my ship it was ready to set sail
to some other destination. And so many years later her kisses
still lingers on my lips.

Animals and Madness
A floppy-eared rabbit is
a cuddly lover
it will not let you down.
Wild boars are ugly
unloved they roam the forest
looking for food
The cuddly rabbit died of old
age and children cried.
A bullet felled the boar and
it fed us a tasteful midday meal.

Animation Senryu
I adore cartoons
Nothing is impossible
Flying is easy

Senryu
I admire cartoons
I can be whatever I want
An angle or an imp

Senryu
I worship cartoons
And saxophone playing elephants
Serpents are charming

Senryu
I venerate cartoons
They show insanity of man
And lightness of life

An island afar

In Tasmania, the sheep were full of sot
a land where white farmers had killed off the Tasmanian tiger.
The sheep’s only enemy was the man.
There were a fire people sought refuge in the water
and sheep left to find their food wherever there was a green spot.
I was in Hobart once, l it must be classed as the most boring city in the world.
people here were eating fish and chips fried in sheep fat
This place of bungalows, secure in their little life in a cocoon of the trite,
do not improve on their culinary skills

An old dream surfaces

Today I have watered my wife's garden; this can be
misconstrued, well she actually has a small garden
at the side of the house, we have cleaner who comes in
once a week and she does the watering, but she is on
holiday. I'm not keen on flowers they are so useless
I like to plant cabbage and potatoes something practical and
filling, if I only had a patch of land and a donkey I could
sell leek asparagus and tomatoes on the farmers market
and I will be a friend of many, as it is I sit and write
Not the best thing to do and win friends

A none Writing Day
The freedom of not writing anything is an illusion
today I will just sit there and listen to the news
Turkey is having problem and it has nothing to do
with me although a poet friend of mine Erken may
be upset several police officers killed perhaps one
of them was her son and I can't send flowers in
case it is not so. I only like Portugal in the winter
when it is cold enough to put an extra jumper on
when sitting indoors....that were the days.

What do I know? Perhaps Erken is a Russian spy
who speaks five languages perfectly  without fluffing
neither a line nor breaking the wind when talking to the pope.
Knows the sewers of Istanbul like the street going home
and analyzes the **** falling from the American embassy
When it is discovered that the US envoy suffer from
diabetes she will be promoted by Putin.

A North Westerly town

It was an okay town when you got to know the place
a well-lit main road a hospital in one end and the docks
at the other end.
it was equality sat in system everyone had the right to a small
house made of bricks, this led to a maze of housing with roads
so narrow it only had place for bikes, the fire department
used bikes with a motor and a hanger for hoses.
The police used roller skates which the citizens were forbidden
to use.
In between the narrow housing, the were small cafes, shops and a place for,
mostly men could get a massage.
If you got lost, all you had to ask for the main road everyone knew where it was.
The language sounded like the sea slapping at the molos built
to keep the town from flooding.
I nearly got lost once I had asked for direction to the boulevard
as it was called, but I turned south instead of north and ended
up near the hospital and since I was in a hurry
hired a bike rickshaw and got down to the docks just in time
before my ship, that was slipping its mooring I had to jump
to get on board.

I´m watching a Spanish crime series
not a gun in sight and the female detective looks normal
and not like an overdressed American actress.
But I´m thinking of the election tomorrow does it matters
who wins, if it is Biden the rough language will change
but policies will be more or less the same.
The USA is run by the big corporation they prefer the way it is.
They are wrong though, America is raked by violence armed fraction everywhere, and I don´t know who they are.
I remember Biden saying once he was a zionist, this I think
he does not know what it entails.
I look at the TV series it appears the female detective, with the help of a male detective, has solved the crime.
New Corvin restriction we can´t go out, not that it matters
I have bought new leather shoes, and they hurt when stepping on a zionist

At the hospital

At the waiting sit my wife is in with her doctor
In front of me to comely women sit one wears
A big bun in the back of her hair, the other one
A smaller bun.
I speculate if this bun difference manifests  
Itself in their nether regions. My moral self,
steps in: don’t think like that the Me-too will
come after you, and that is scary,
A woman in a wheelchair throws up in a bag
Compose herself put lipstick on and wink
At me. No, thank you. I'm not wheeling you around
Anytime soon.
My wife is leaving the consulting room a big smile
In her African face, no, she has not got cancer
Only need knee surgery.
She is a colourful sight wear many rings and
Bracelets, today she is dressed in red and green
And lit up the landscape.
We drink coffee in the canteen while she tells
Me about her pains in her knee.

Another morning
I have been trying to stave off old age
by avoiding old men in the park who ask me to guess
their age, empty gums looks like a burnt down
village in Syria, a war that the west has yet to understand
and by dressing young, artistic like with a big scarf
hiding my turtle throat.
It is a losing fight like leaking ***** in Holland with holes,
to stick fingers in them won’t last long. Therefore
I will embrace the day and talk to the old men in the park.

Another sleepless night

A went back in time litany of failures
What I wanted to do I never did
My happiest time was when living alone
In the interior of Algarve
I walked with my dogs in the woods had
Learned conversation with an oak
While the dog chased rabbits.
Six happy years what more can a man ask.
Turbulent water ahead I drank too much
The dog died, and my loneliness became a burden
Pressing me into apathy.
Well, life became tolerable again,
but my contentment was never the same.
My old house is standing there unsold
It is my life raft should the hard time arrive and
The ship sinks in a storm cast.
I live in another town it will do for now and
I’m too tired to move again, I know from experience
Wherever I go, I will meet myself in the doorway.

Another summer
Summer is over the night arrives hastily
it was a delicious season spent indoors
his cancer didn´t like to sun.
To sit there and dream of summer wine and dance
reading brochure of adventures in Thailand.
Once he travelled to Paris, walked the street
trying to get a whiff when Paris was Hemingway´s
Ezra Pound’s Gertrude Stein’s and James Joyce’s.
Instead, it was another overpriced city
but he went to the house where Edith Piaf lived
her name was on the building and the street
where she had lived had a lived-in patina.
He was not invited, to a literary salon but
Shakespeare’s bookshop took in two of his
modest book

A notion
It begins with an idea
Something read that becomes a sentence
Written down a chain of words
That takes traction a little story is a result.
Other thoughts enter, make corrections
Suggest another ending
No, let it stand as it is perhaps a comma
Here and there, ok.

Antique village

Houses around me are emptying the old, reaching the age of dying.
A timeworn man went missing on Monday, was found miles away,
the local constabulary drove him back home.
He had tried to flee, didn’t to where he had no money.
Behind closed doors in dark rooms, he tries to stave off the fated.
Sunlight unbearable reminds him of the sunrises he will not see.
When a car stops outside his house, he trembles in fear, is a hearse
coming for him?
Voices of children are like the scorn of his elderliness, he longs for peace
but fears death’s endless cruelty.

Posted by the blog Friends of Palestine

The anti this…
We can be anti this and anti that
say, our hatred of Muslims is there but not deep
and is often based on ignorance.
But we have to face the fact that anti-Semitism
is in the psyche in the western mind.
Here we have to differentiate between Israel and
the Jews as there is not many of them  
in that state of Israel, the sitting government
there are Zionists.
What worries me way anti-Semitism is deep-rooted,
we have to be aware of our feelings at all time
but why is it so?
Of course, the Jews are successful people who
tend to come on top in economic matters, if our
hatred is based on envy we should be ashamed
and clean our souls.
After the war and the pogroms faced by the Jews
in my country to behave Jewish still denote
a negative emotion, like greed, and underhand
as being Jewish when it is not.
I blame Christianity too, over the years, has put
fuel to the fire with Jewish rhetoric.
We must come to the understanding that a Jew
is a fellow man with good and bad qualities  
as I have a look at facts and not the myth.

A Paradise Lost  
A dream within a dream that became a nightmare
The Utopia that never existed but what he in delusion
Could not let go  
In the beginning when the locals made remarks but wore
A smile he smiled too, when understood her sarcasm
He still smiled thinking it was a sort of humour till he noticed
The hatred as a gleam in eyes were there was xenophobia
Not possible to smile away,
He sought the nature olive trees, flowers and other plants
But the shells of romance and the hope of finding a Nirvana
Had gone after all carob and olive trees takes on sameness
And the flora was full of stone under sparse grass the
Whither in the summer sun and the rivers muddy and lifeless.
There is no happy valley only scorpions and no acceptance
Of the stranger who wanted to be one of them

A peaceful day  
This day was a non-event woke up at nine had a coffee,
a shower and then on the training bike for an hour
The sun was shining as we had breakfast of boiled eggs
nothing could upset me my wife had been dreaming
of a broken mirror, my dream was we had gone to Italy,
Venice I think lots of water in smelly canals.
We were eating at the local restaurant it is clean and we
know the staff tipping them would be an insult.
When the place was empty, I got up grabbed a knife and
killed my wife several times because I didn’t want to go
to Italy and no one had ever asked me what I wanted.
The police were kind and understanding let me drive home
by myself.  At home, my wife had bandaged feet she had
stepped on shared of glass from the broken window which
shows dreams sometimes come true

A place of note

  There live in Cascais many older adults,
some of them are wealthy widows (but I have yet to meet any)
they sleep late the internet doesn´t begin before 9-10 o’clock
and I'm up at seven, the habit of a lifetime.
The redundant royal lives in a posh hotel I think they are paid
by the countries, they came from to stay away.
Some royalists dream of bringing back the kings
Queens (not that sort) princes and princesses, better not
to upset any of them as they have friends in high places.
The mask we have to wear id a blessing hiding ancient lips
and gold teeth, wearing a mask makes people look younger.

A Plea  
Those who persecuted have no home
And starving children, let them come to us
Let us help them to stand up
Accept their plight do not preach or moralize
Always think it could have been you
In dire situation running away from war
And strife, lack of food and basic freedom
If you are a European  your grandparents
Likely where refugees external or internal
Help the poor as you  wished others would
Help you when needed
Arrogance and pride have no place in your
Heart they are cuckoos in the nest of love
A reserve you will need some day.

Poetry she read

At the inauguration of Joe Biden
It was a grey affair and the new president’s speech.
In an attempt to sound lyrical, other ways dull.
The capitol looked like a military camp the fear of Trump lingered.
A young girl read a poem it was sweet and pressed
The right buttons and it also helped she was black, which
Is the colour of our time.
The only time anyone read poems is on occasions like this.
I wish the young girl well; she has had exposure and will
After this, publish a book and be remembered as a great poet.

A Poet is Amused

Now when we say good bye give me
a promise with your hands and lips
no, I didn't mean an apple.
Object
Plutocrat
Advocate
That has nothing to do with grammar.
Who said it did?
The first time I saw naked woman was a September night
she stood by the fire cleaning her private part
soapy ***** hairs
overcome by desire, I ******* fell to the ground
in someone else’s garden.
Poets are like ****** sell romantic poems and show
their filthy souls to anyone in need of a dream.
He goes to the nearest tavern and has a dram
and doesn’t let grammar get into it only wishes to live
in a society that ban full stop and comma.

A port in Italy

Livorno was a dark town with sparse light that appeared Russian
at an open place with many trucks and many women milling about
I paid one she bent over the bonnet of a car
did this to relieve the boredom and the onset of depression.
When the deed was done, I walked to a restaurant and bought
a bottle of wine, it was surprisingly good, probably Russian
I do not care for Italian wine.
The woman followed me, wanted wine also, said I was gentle.
After two bottles, she said she loved me.
When she went into the loo. I jumped into a taxi and drove
back to the ship feeling annoyed.
What has love got to do with this?

Appointment

I have unfolded my poetic wings
they have no feathers and the downdrafts
makes it impossible to soar
Tomorrow the doctor will see me, I have to walk
on a treadmill, just like Oscar Wilde
he wrote a book about it, I’m more modest
perhaps I can get an alternative poem out of the test.
I fear my doctor he has got cold hand and looks at me with distaste.
What I fear the most is a petrified blaze that turns roses into
bright diamonds no one will ever see and that oil spill
will cover the oceans with a rainbow slush.
Can't tell my doctor this, he will only give me a pill for it.

Appreciative
  
Six o'clock
In the morning
Is the best time
To get up when it is summer
Stay on the terrace
Inhale the air
Before it gets hot
Make a coffee
Just being alive
Elderliness is to be grateful
For little things

A princess and a lake

There is a green valley with a waterfall in the back
Ground, well you get the picture, it also had a castle
Where the princess cried and cried, because
The prince had an affair with the scullery maid
She only stopped crying when the maid was banned.
The princess's tears were not spilt a beautiful lake
Strewn with rose petals and full of dreams.
It was free for all to fish, but you were stuck with
The dream you caught.
A variety of dreams, sweet, sour, unmentionable
Vanity dreams and everything in between.
Dreams have consequences; mine was to meet
A scullery maid and when I did, we had to leave
This happy valley.

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

A Question

Is Santa Claus
A *******
Surrounded by elves
No women
Work in Santa's
Factory
I find
His interests in children
Is suspect
Grooming them
To become gift giving
Adults
Keeping his business going

A quickie in the kitchen
I’m quite a normal sort of person Ì do not steal and
only lie with passion. In the house, we lived in there
were two flats on the second floor, a lady rented a
room and we shared the kitchen with her. Yes, it was
not a place where the middle classes cared to live.
One day in the kitchen I was fifteen and kissed her
I put her face -down on the table lifted her left knee
on a chair pulled her pants down and in it went like
a knife in an over ripe melon I quickly *******,
a geyser of ***** ran down her legs she burped ale  
grabbed a kitchen towel- her own – drying her legs
We did this every afternoon till my mother caught us
in the act and hell broke loose. I fled to the communal
bath-house which also had a swimming pool and stayed
until closing time. At home mother sat reading, she
looked up said I was disgusting. Five minutes longer she
said as to herself and with that woman!

A rare moment
it was in the winter I tried to fasten
my skates to my boots
A girl about 14 came
Helped me.
She said we had the same father
And was therefore
Sister and brother.
She gave me a hug
And half a chocolate bar
And ate the other half she ate.
A rare moment
I felt safe sitting there
Another sister
Who didn’t tease me?
A little boy, so full of wonder.

A Rat
it was dawn about six o’clock the phone from the bridge of the ship rang,
time to get up. I had been sleeping on the couch put my feet on the floor
and between them a big rat escaped the door to my cabin was ajar it
got out. I said nothing no one had seen the rat no point making a fuzz.
I made breakfast for the crew. The chief engineer was a bit late I walked
up to his cabin, to call him, in his bedroom fast asleep the rat snuggled
by his face, by the sound of my voice the rat quickly disappeared and
when the chief was fully awake it had gone.  I did notice when he was eating
there were rat hairs on his unshaven face, he complained of an odd smell.
I said nothing had a schedule and lunch to prepare.
Thinking about it now I might have been wrong, I sometimes have problems
sorting out dreams and truth when telling a story

A reflection

Today is the last day of June and thanks
to a northerly wind and some rain, it has been a good month.
It is a Siberian airstream wonder if it knew
I was a communist until I saw it was just a dictatorship
where men in ill-fitting suit decided our future usually so old
they lived in another century their idea of freedom had
little to do with reality.
Today Russia is a modern state semi – democratic and there
is a freedom of speech if played by soft violin music.
But Russia is worried the mighty USA is spoiling for a war.
I will not think of the afternoon, enjoy the cooling wind
and let the world pass by.