Trapped

My life is in three parts
30, years as a ****** until it became unbearable.
30 good years in the deep hinterland
a place of contemplations and trying to write,
walking with my dog in the woods, there was so much to see.
I feel imprisoned.
My house is sold, I have nowhere to go.
Living in a building of snobs who rather wait for an elevator
when the transport lift is free.
Surrounded by nice middle-class housing and planted trees.
My years at sea is no longer obtainable, my life in the upland was a dream
And here I live inside a nightmare of all I dislike.
The worst thing that can happen to any man has happened to me
The loss of the future.

To travel light

I wish some shoes regulated
Themselves a and a suit always clean
(a film was made) also, underwear that
Didn’t need to be changed
How easy it will have been to travel.
A tiny holdall for shaving cream blades
Moreover, a toothbrush; come to think of it
No need to shave when travelling and
The toothbrush could be stuck in the suits
Breast pocket, hands-free taking pictures
Of wild elephants or polar bears.
Free to have your belonging riffled through
By a uniformed officer.
Travel in a plane have my polluted name
Written in the sky, drink a whisky-on the rocks
Also, trying to relax, aware your wife is
Travelling with five big suitcases.

trousers

Three pair of trousers hang on a wooden hanger
no, not the wires they give you ate the laundry.
I only fit one of them but have kept two pair
should I slim lose ten kilos, you must be joking
but hopes are eternal, and my doctor is good looking
she has a nice smile like should be interested in
my well being, every time I go there she has to look
into her computer, oh, yes him with the funny heart
and tries to flirt with me, fat chance.
The trousers slid from the wooden hanger fell on the floor
and since I was naked at the time picked up a pair of
grey slacks, the fitted just, but there was no room for
a shirt, I put on an over-sized T-shirt and thought
it was slimming, but my wife who loves to tell the truth
said I looked like a tent.
Her sarcasm was lost on me, I had slimmed and wore
the grey slacks that day.

Truck driver
I heard crackling under the floorboard
could it be my cottage is falling into a deep
the underground lake where fishes are blind
since they never see daylight.
A lake that has pure crystal water and is free
of sharks and crocodiles.
You are right I have been watching a program
about truck drivers in Alaska who risk their lives driving over a frozen winter lake.
Real heroes who win no medals driving supply
to obscure places dicing with death every day,
their destination is a little pay packet to keep
their families fed.
The crackling has stopped I have to tread lightly
and not eat a full English breakfast.

True Liberty


Freedom is hard work for most of us
We have to stop believing in fairy tales
Like religion; piety is a form of slavery.
The ******* we live with is fear of death.

Truism
An axiom is a sturdy plant
You can asphalt it with lies
But it will always be an axiom
And break to the surface in
Time for reckoning

Trump
A week is a long time in politics it also a long time in an old man's life
who knows it can end when he sleeps; I say that and think of suicide
watching the entertainment on Portuguese TV the utter banalities makes me
shake uncontrolled fall to the floor until she switches off the telly.
Ok I admit to being over the top, she have been away for a week with
TV off most of the time except when watching the news on France 24 and
counting their lies and the omissions I take a grim pleasure watching
the new reader speaking his lines not listening to what he is saying like
a human robot and now we have got Trump he is theatrical ok mind,
he only do one-dimensional figure and is unable to  be someone else
as his ego is big as Mount Everest like it or not he is the best president ever.
Democrats are stunned they are used to the hypocrisy of politicians it
has become a norm …and now this vulgarian is in power, tells his truth
as he sees it some agree, he promised the working  class people
EMPLOYMENT.
For the time being, we believe, the day will come when the smug liberals
string him up below the statue of Abe Lincoln

Trump, the mystery

What confuses me about President Trump
Is his enduring popularity among mostly lower-paid workers?
While employment is lower than before it is mostly
Truncated paid work not making their economy better.
Is it because he speaks the language of the uneducated?
Or simply because he appeals of their hatred
Of politicians in Washington who speak over their head.
But there must be something more a synergy we who
Are not Americans are being unable to see?
The deep division between the ordinary man and the elites
That can bring the USA to the brink of civil war.
The democratic party appeals to the intellectuals who by
Their very nature can’t win anything
However, there is ono politician, a democrat and socialist
Who workers listen to, but will the deep state permit
if given power, he will upset the capitalist apple cart?
Or indeed are we ready for him?

Trust in yourself
If you trust others, they do so
Out of self-interest
Not what is best for you.
To be a follower is dangerous
When you wake up naked
And nowhere to go but follow
The stream. Give up.
Making you unhappy and discontent
A deep-seated irritation
Of a loser who lost his way
By not listening to the inside voice
That made others miserable, bur gave
Your peace of mind.
You dared follow your path
And are not riches but the satisfaction
Of doing the right thing.

Truth, be told
On an old fashion gramophone, they played sweet
music in a small cove made for two, the young man
smiled this sleek woman was to become his bride.
A big seal came on to shore dragged the woman in
to the sea and under, when surfacing with the seal
she smiled and waved but didn't come ashore,
kept on jumping and playing and her leanness made
look like a seal and she was indeed turning into one.

Finally she and the bigger seal com to the shoreline
she told him her life was the ocean and she and her
the new man was swimming to the Azores where she
would meet his family. The young man took his
gramophone, sun cream, towels and walked home.
No one believed his accurate explanation, he got
life for drowning his girlfriend.

The truth-teller

the truth is round, a big rock in an open field, clouds are
no shadows to cast as to diminish its splendour.
shot by arrows of angry lies it shrugs and stands its ground
until it is hit by the arrow of doubt which rocks the rocks
foundation; what if the verity was wrong and lies are verity
needed to make the world function as an identity
that falsity is valuable in human's everyday discourse.
The rock shakes and turns into a sandstone where everyone
is free to tell their version of the sacred truth.
“ it is what it is.” the lord of the temple of doom said and
now we are free to tell our version why we have constant
wars are to save our holy democracy.

Trying to sleep
I will lie down make no fuzz think of nothing
And relax, the past is a foreign country no need
To go there, it is like raking yesteryears leaves.
So, you feel hungry too late to get up now anyway
No food will not **** you have diabetes shut up go
Sleep, and before you know it a nice girl will serve
Breakfast…oh yeah!
Try not to remember any jokes you brother told
it was thirty years ago back then you laughed
At things that are not funny now.
Can you think of an example, (shut up and sleep!)
We found older adults funny the way they walked,
And you think that was funny?
No, not know that I’m old and walk funnily too.
Well, I don’t think much of your sense of humour.
Are you upsetting to me now? No, shut up, sleep!
“tell me a story, tell me a story before I go to bed
You promised me you said you would…”
A bit of a song I heard.

Tuesday Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
and I see umbrellas walking by, some of them
stop, fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.

I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; a lady umbrella was a bit
smaller, had frilly silk borders,  was sable coloured too.            

Now they are  all colours but black, cheap and
cheerful a sharp breeze and they turn inside out
and that’s ok; it’s the cheery bit I like.    

During world war two, the German air force
dropped a few grey bombs down into our town,
no big deal, pale flames warmed winter nights.  

In colours everything tends to look good, poverty
too; the hungry wear colourful robes and falling
rockets look like fireworks a festive night.

TV
It is a strange country Portugal
You switch on the Tv, and there
are song and dance
From different districts
The formula is always the same someone a tune
People are familiar too, and there are two dancing girls
Moving about which appears unrehearsed
However, this doesn’t matter  
They are famous in the local society.
The world is at a brink of war, but entertainment Is more critical.
Later in the evening, there is soccer that important
In Portugal, after a game, older men make
comment this is serious
bless them all, there is no war in Portugal

The infancy of TV in Norway

He came home early to see the news
on TV. After the news weather forecast
Then a bit of entertainment
a lady played the guitar and sang badly
end of TV for that day.
He cycled down to the nearest pub
they closed at eleven, the town only had 3
Uphill was more difficult.
On Sunday. the Tv was more lively
mass, sport and the Flint Stones.
Monday evening, film night, often
a dreary Polish film. Good night!!!

TV. Reflections
The news is deeply depressing, except for a Yemeni
woman activist trying to explain to a dense reporter
that Yemen do not need outside interference.
The reporter wanted to know about Iran, everyone
does, the Saudis and the Israelites.
Iran is a big regional power and has influences in
the regions... big deal.

I turn to the weather forecast, drizzle in Singapore    
and that is not so bad. I have never been there
Only seen pictures, a sort of place only businessmen
Would like to visit

Blustery in Oslo, that brings out a giggle, serves it
right, the people live in fear that the foreigners will come
change their hardy culture- beer and street fights-
little do they now that Norway is not on top of the list
where the unsheltered masses like to go.

The Twilight Zone
In the nearest town and close to all amenities
such as hospitals and funeral parlours my wife
and went to look at an elderly people’s hotel
where people of a certain age get a small flat to
live in, yet it has a café for the social evening with
where young ladies who have gone to university
and studied geriatrics, sing and give the recital of
something suitable not to offend and often
a priest comes around and talks about Jesus.

Sunny Lodge the place was called, and we thanked
the manager we should think about it and was given
brochures to read. Driving home my wife cried, she
has a daughter who is no quite there I have no offspring
we decided to live in our cottage as long as possible
egoistically, I hoped to die before her it would save me
the funeral and sorting out and throwing away my private
collections of bleakly second-grade poetry, blowing in
the dusty wind of forgotten time.

Two liners
He sat on a square stone under an olive tree
contemplating his afterlife.

What if he came back as a donkey in Sudan?
Or dromedary in Sahara.

He could become a dog like the one at his feet,
The dog looked up, wagged its tail slowly.

Pondering this he came to the conclusion
He wanted to be a long-lived olive tree.

The olive tree in Portugal, if in Palestine he risked
Being set aflame by settlers

Haiku
Christmas again
Seventy -seven ****** times
Spring is far away

Haiku
I wish for April
Intoxicating apple flowers
And rain softening soil

The Typewriter

I didn't drink much till I was thirty-four
Life was not getting any better my writing ambition
Was rejected by my family as a pipe dream
I drank –the refuge of the feeble - and dreamed
While fantasising lost house, wife, hare& hound
Ended up in a cot on mother's loft.
A dusty typewriter in the corner took it out and cleaned
It with my scarf and wrote something behind an unpaid bill
I loved the ping it made at the end of its limit
Ping!
Wake up you drunken sloth I had found my Metier
Who wants to sit with losers in a smoky bar not me mate.
Writing has not brought financial reward but that
Was not what I was aiming at it was just to give thoughts
Wings so they could fly where the fancy took them.

Tyrkia
Bosporus 1955 the old tanker where I was
A galley boy had anchored waiting for orders
To proceed into the Black Sea rowing boat came alongside
Selling fez which was the “IN” by the ******
They also sold sweet liqueurs which I drank, got drunk
And sick for the first time in my life I was 15, in the old
Days one had to grow up fast and howl with the dogs
The winter weather sunny I was awed by its Byzantine
Mystic just like a fairy tale story; I bought a Fez

And last time I was in Istanbul 30 years later on a ship
Where I was a cook my fall from officer grade had been
Painful, but I did go ashore not very far drank beer but
What I remember the best was packs of dogs by the quay
begging for food they knew I was a generous cook.

UFO

I believe UFO exist it would be strange if they didn´t
considering the many planets in the vast galaxy.
I have not seen a UFO person close up with the exception
of my face in the morning before coffee.
The picture I have seen is always at a distance
and tend to be grainy.
Some people insist they have been captured by UFO,
analyzed and sent back to earth again presumable because
the UFO being found them of no interest.
The UFO world does not call us human but the strange
blubbery beings with a penchant for killings and fighting wars.
They, the UFO is petrified by us keep their distance
hence “grainy photos.”
Still, I believe the UFO people are a friendly sort all we have
to do is to stop wars, be polite and they will come to us
not necessarily in human form, and show us how it is possible
to move so fast through space and defy gravity.

The Unbiassed Media

Bombs rain on Gaza, the youth throw stones, the Israeli soldiers killed
or maim stone throwers, a dance of death.
What do the leading media say? Not very much,
the Gazans must be partly blamed; the victims are guilty
of the strength of being Palestinians defending their right.
In Hebron, the settlers are razing houses, killing goats and setting fire
to olive trees and daily is the death of those who get in their way.
The media might have a byline about it, that’s all.
If Israel is criticized, it unashamedly invokes the sacred Holocaust
and calls us antisemitic
Should a Jew speak up, he/her is called a self-hater
and be banned from entering the stolen land of Israel forever.

Under a Stone

The twitter and other news organs are full of women
who never made it big, but come out from under a stone where they hid
tell of ****** exploitations they have suffered, some of it might be true,
but for a chance to shine they make their case grotesquely gruesome,
while it is about a pathetic man who wanted them to ******* him,
and how they rebuffed him, preferred to hold on to their dignity and lost
the chance to become famous stars.
Balderdash!!!
You didn't make it to the top simply because you didn't have the talent
and the tenacity needed, to suffer hunger and rejections, as many
stars have undergone, so you found an excuse for your failure and pathetic
creeps like Harvey W. was perfect; it was his and men like him fault's
that you took the easy way out, blaming someone else.

Unforgiven

The house was surrounded by a tall wall that had broken glass on top
the gate was made of clunky ornamental iron and easy for a boy to negotiate
we did and took apples from his well-stocked garden.
The man had been a **** and was shunned by the public so in a way
Stealing from him made us feel quite heroic.
He, the owner, had constructed his own Spandau
Years later I peered through the fence the garden was overgrown
He sat on a bench looked up and smiled like he knew me, he had paid
a heavy prize for being politically wrong.

How unlucky can a man get?

There was a man, an ocean sailor,
in Argentina, he met a woman who he married.
During a storm, she was washed overboard, and
he couldn’t find her. Undaunted he continued
sailing around the world, met another woman
(from Sidney) and married her.
In the strait Moluccas, they were ambushed, the pirates shot his wife. Well, life goes on and when he finally came
to Oslo, the press was not there to extoll his considerable feat.
The thinking was losing one wife an accident
but losing two was considered irresponsible.
At the sailors club, he was welcomed with polite
coldness, he knew why rumours were floating about.
Disappointed he sold his boat
bought a flat on a high rise, the seventh floor.
this had a terrace with a low railing.
No, she didn't have an accident if you think of it,
but she did commit suicide.
I don't think he ever married again
But he wrote a book about his many years
At sea and tried to explain his misfortunes,
The book sold well since he used an alias.

Unnoticed

Reading the papers and seeing the news on TV
the festive season has begun, like an eager blue tractor
little time for those caught up in wars;
We will remember them at the dinner table.
A woman received 8 million dollars in a divorce settlement
she had had aromatherapy worthy of a queen.
New knee caps worthy of Nefertiti’s found in the sand.
The divorcee can afford her hip bones if ever found,
according to the newspapers who live on rumours.
Archaeologists are looking for the ancient queens’ ***** hairs,
Now, that deserves big headlines.

Unpainted Canvas

The insurance man was young and so closely shaved
it looked so naked, and I had to look away,
His face was  white like a blank canvas that had
still to be painted on by time.
When signing papers he had to use reading glasses
which made him look older.
He was incredibly kind I had an attack of lumbago
and he helped me up from my chair standing up
I'm pain-free, but I can't stay up all day.
Back to my old self I opened the door bid him well
and we parted as friends.

Unseen danger

He was fifty- five living alone in a cottage
but how is it possible to explain how he came to fall in love
with a woman of forty and lose his dignity.
We must take a break trying to understand the human heart
or the circumstances of wished for the repellent.
He was a ship navigating without a gyro-compass
in the sea of deceit, this foolish dance of a human borboleta.
When he kissed her, his whole soul was absorbed by her like falling into a cave of endless pleasure.
His anchor got lost in the outer seas.
Suddenly it was over like a dream that ends at frostbitten dawn
a locked door, there was some else in her embrace.
Rejected, he pleaded with the unseemly nativity, had she relented
enrolment would never be the same.
He took his dog and drove up north had wanted to see
the autumn colours.
After a week, he drove home and began his life like starting
all over again, walks in the woods of sanity.

Love unseen
  
A sleek body arose from the bath
foam fondled her thighs
and the triangle of life.
The fire in the hearse hissed
painted her body with the fire of lust,
only the window saw her body´s hunger.
A pail of frost slowly dissolves
an ember of love lends warms to the night.
Tender is her longings.

Unsentimental

Overcast this Saturday the clouds are light grey
letting in light on the dark water.
Only one ship anchored in a bay this morning
It is high in the water, waiting for a birth to fill
the cargo holds with stuff from one port to another.
The ship has a black funnel with two red rings
she is elderly and needs a lick of paint, probably
from my time in the merchant navy.
I was not a good sailor, was impatient to reach a port
any port would do, as long as I got ashore
away from the floating gossiping village, freedom!
Settled in my old age, I see the futility of sea life.

January  Seaside

The yellow sanded beach has been washed
by the sea and is now free of human debris,  
such as forgotten sunglasses, suntan oil and
empty bottles of noxious soft drinks.

It is just there reborn, drying in the winter
sun, yet to be stepped on by man above,
large, sanitary seagulls crossly shrieks, warn
us not to trespass on their domain

My Special Horse
She was a little fjording horse not much bigger than
a pony. And she liked human company and she had
a soft spot for me who was lad no more than ten at
the time.  When she was out grazing in the long hazy
spring evening, she came up to the fence and I could
mount her and ride ******* through the evening,
only she continued grazing she only wanted me to sit
there and talk softly about the great things I was going
to do when the sceptre of youth was handed to me.
She- dokka her name- never had a foal, perhaps she saw
me as the substitute. A child is powerless, and my horse
was sold to a horse dealer, the farmer bought a tractor
it was blue and noisy and often broke down that was
because the farmer didn’t understand the working of
the gears and he lamented selling the horse.
the best of time we see when looking back and I know
now the best of time was sitting on the horseback dreaming.

The Battle
There was a hell of a fight in heaven, Lucifer wanted
to share power with who would have nothing of it and banned Lucifer
from heaven. But Lucifer who knew of the human weakness
and gladness of shining pearl told them to consume and consume
and we were blind oblivious of the beggars and the victims of famine and war. Only when our oceans become a pool of waste and plastic began to react but we were not ready to
blame ourselves, but the producers of plastic bottles.
God is senile and there is no Putin to take charge to put a cork
In the evil spirit called Lucifer.

The Smallness of things
There are not many elephants left on the savanna
Near the houses graceful nature has made them
Smaller with tusks not bigger than an oxen's horn
And can hide in the bushes or look like a tree if
People come near.
They are hunted by people who would like  
To have an elephant's head on the wall.
With so many humans being killed everywhere
Why should I care about elephants, it is just they
Are my friends and when leaning against a tree
That is an elephant’s flank there is a contact
Between us and an understanding that we are
Both a dying breed, like tigers and lions
Cute Vietnamese pigs and flying genii that will you
No harm, it is not it’s their fault having black wings  
And screams as when a barrel bomb hits its target
Startled I wake up and there is blood on the carpet.

Tuesday Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
and I see umbrellas walking by, some of them
stop, fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.

I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; a lady umbrella was a bit
smaller, had frilly silk borders,  was sable coloured too.            

Now they are  all colours but black, cheap and
cheerful a sharp breeze and they turn inside out
and that’s ok; it’s the cheery bit I like.    

During world war two, the German air force
dropped a few grey bombs down into our town,
no big deal, pale flames warmed winter nights.  

In colours everything tends to look good, poverty
too; the hungry wear colourful robes and falling
rockets look like fireworks a festive night.

Alone it dreams
The inner bay where the water is shallow
I rolled up my trousers leg and waded out to see
the small polished stones
With sunlight and the clear sea the stones had
the appearance of diamonds to **** for.
I took up a few but in my hands, they quickly lost their
lustre; threw them back, my feet was cold it was not
yet summer when the inner bay would be full of bathers
who wished the beach was sandy.

Love Bug

This is my last letter
I have loved you   from the first time I saw you
Something about your eyes
And the kindness of your heart
You know if you can explain love there is none
You are going on a long journey
With your man and that is ok,
And when you return will not be here
I just want to tell you how much I love you
How much I enjoyed your breathe
The aroma of your body when you’re teasing
Me with your youth and my old age
I didn't even hope but took the nearness of you
As a dulcet dream unobtainable.
Love is a rainbow it does not tell you where it falls
Good bye my darling thinking of you
Have eased the burden of my later years

Shore life

A shark tired of its watery world
came ashore dressed in a suit on its small feet
and tried its hand in business.
Since it couldn't bite people's head off it became
very rich insisted on being called GS, and that's ok.
It sowed discord around that is what sharks do,
but it was found out and became a laughing stock
before going back to sea.
And there was the lady seal that went ashore
dressed its sleek body in daring wear and the men
at the building site whistled, it liked the sound but
pretended not to like it. Got a job as a contributing editor
in the Guardian, but tells no fishy tales.

Parents
My father hung in the belfry
so many called him father
but the old woman in the house where I lived
said he was my father.
When I met Mother superior her eyes
softened for a second
The hanging was an accident
at his funeral came the bishop attended
to stop any rumours of suicide.
The old woman and I watched the proceedings
at a distant  
I did see the face of the prioress in the window
it was unblinkingly stern but in
afternoon light I saw tears in the corners
of her eyes.
The old woman cackled and said, she gave you
to me to look after.  
I had a silver cross on my bedside table
the old woman said it was a gift in case I wanted
to become a cleric one day.

The Tree of peace  


A very old olive tree, owned by a Palestinian,
so ancient that it might have given shade to
the carpenter Joseph when he was resting under
its shade a hot August lunch time and contemplating
his sons’ futures, was bulldozed this morning.

No big deal you may say, and I agreed with everything
must come to an end, even olive trees, only
the perennial was got rid of because the Israeli    
army’s snipers needed a clear view of the village
where people, who didn’t like their regime, live.

One Morning


Blue haze is the bay of Cascais
and it is summer were flowers is a good business
now that there are so many deaths
thanks to the virus that will not go away.
Jane Goodall, says we have only ourselves to blame
we have  misused the nature and its laws too long
and now it is payback time.
As usual, it is blameless who suffer the most
as they are often old and sick.
I see two freighters at anchor I can see the cooks
preparing breakfast as the crew sleep.
They will wake up to the smell of coffee brewed
strong this morn,
the cook on one of the ships stands on deck coffee
mug in hand smoking a cigarette enjoying the silence
which is warm and wraps him in a sense of peace.
The older members of the tribulation are up and about
while the younger ones sleep as long as they can,
Blessed are the ones who sleep.
The building where I live is an island drifting about
full of people who have no their world is coming to an end
but the still cling to life as it was
it is to so hard to adjust to a new epoch that holds
no promises of a future bright.

Meeting a Friend
I met my old friend Joao at the pharmacist today
a place we old ones go to buy medicine and to
meet friends still alive, it occurred to me the pharmacy
and the cemetery is only five minutes, walk away
from each other. Joao had gone thin he used to be
a house builder with a big muscular frame and now
before me an old man who had lost his ready smile
and a funny riposte to any argument.

But I saw something else in his eyes, a dread, it was
as he realised the finality of his life, a pleading to
to nature that he was the one who escaped to
the paradise island where the word death does not
exist in the local language of the tribe who live there,
but there was no succour; he had lost the battle.

Time and Doom

Time marches on Angels fall is not big, but a trickle
descending the mountainside like an old man *******
and the lump of ice in the sun's core is getting bigger.

The sun is the enemy sending rays of frost and make
statues of frozen cats, we have to tan our faces in
moonlight and twinkling stars in a night of silver light.

A tap on the door the man with scythe is a gardener
but don't  get fooled it is you he wants, not the lawn;
his eyes burn bright hypnotising you.

Yes, the time marches on when the forest in Brazil has been
burnt to the cinder to give space for hamburger cattle which
will soon die of thirst as rivers run dry.

When the Seine is a motorway -toll both at both ends- and
Holland is under water, in Amsterdam swim glad dolphins
and the Dutch have invaded Norway.

Then perhaps, it's time to agree with the doomsday people.

Good for Some
Immensely hot day, yet no sun it was hidden
behind a ring of polluted air, a strong wind
came and cooled the landscape but with it
rein fell, thousands of them, broken bones
and crushed skulls, the poverty struck and
dogs had enough to eat...for now.

Then rain fell each drop was a bucket full and
rivers overflowed. Pots and pan left behind;
head for the hills was the cry, shivering people
eating frogs raw, cannibalistic ****** in a sea of
mud caked humanity.
The laps of the north were given compensation
for loss of income.

Sobriety
In the beginning, it is like walking on a narrow track
With olive roots over the ground to trip you up and branches
Of trees slapping you in the face, if you fall get up and
Continue to walk to be tired is not an alternative for a rest
The track gets smoother and wider, but it rains muds up to
Your ankles and you have to cross a stream.
After the ordeal you look back and wonder who helped, you inner
Strength the id it stepped in when most needed
Ahead is a shiny asphalted road waiting just for you.
I can't promise you happiness and Hallelujahs,
But promise this when at home and the day was long you
Will smile feel contentment for you have walked the walk,
Your feet are dry and life is not as bad as you thought.

Self-determination for all

  Freedom is not always what it is supposed to mean
  It gets curtailed by the influence of the world we live in,
for many freedoms is scary, they prefer freedom within
the cage that is full of seed in all colour you can think of;
such as a religion of choice and ******* to satisfy your
hidden desire.
A canary sat on a perch inside its confinement and noticed
the gateway was open, it flew out and the feeling of freedom
was intense, think sitting on a bookshelf and crapping on
a newspaper the “Guardian” on the small table by the chair.
A window was open, more freedom, it flew out sat on
the branch of a tree, feeling totally free and no one would say:
how blue the bird is?
A raven, shiny black saw the bird and the was that
a few blue feathers are blowing in the breeze.

Café in Loule
I'm sitting in a café in Loule, drink coffee and eat a sandwich with nothing on but butter, it is my attempt to slim. Into the café enter two old friends one has small grocers the other is a cobbler,
yes they still exist. They have a coffee and a wee dram, the grocer will keep open to ten, the cobbler keeps his shop open he care not to go home before his nagging wife has gone to bed.
Mugabe, the president of Zimbabwe, is in house arrest, there has
been a military coup, although the army denies it is a takeover;
anyway, it doesn’t matter. Mugabe ninety-two years old has presided
over a total fiasco, the breadbasket of Africa has to import food for
the people oppressed people by his criminal misrule.
An autocrat’s regime has come to an end.

For reason not clear to me I think of Sweden who is run by a liberalistic- feminist philosophy that it has become a country can be understood when immigrants’ trespasses and we have the making of a divided a country that is no longer Sweden. When we hereafter talk of Scandinavia Sweden is not included, nor is the Norwegians who have given in to extreme capitalism.
well there is Suomi, but they are half Russians and Denmark who consist of nice Germans; so you see there is no Scandinavia.

Portugal survives she bends with the wind doesn’t break, from the café window I see the shoemaker by his lest smoking a cigarette.

The freak of nature

There is a tiny islet in the foggy Saragossa sea
it has no name since no self respecting explores
would put his name on it.
However, it had a Vulcan that erupted and when
the lave stream cooled seagulls found it a good
place to nest.
Something strange happened some of the eggs
grew huge and when hatched had a wingspan
of 3metres and they were not of a friendly
disposition.
Glutinous they attacked goats and bigger prey  
and lone fishermen in their rowing boats it was
so you could not go to sea getting supper with
carrying a shotgun.
It so happened the birds were infertile a freak
of nature, but as birds they are long lived, if you
to the sky.

Flag Days

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

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