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.

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.

Unwanted

I was walking in the forest but not feeling well
my stomach was extended hadn't been able to evacuate
for days, when suddenly it was time.  
Sat under a tree it was painful yet successful, got up
turned around and there on the ground a perfectly formed baby
made entirely of a waste product like a bronze statue
of a new- born baby, and I had seen this being before, a grotto
in Athens of baby Jesus in his crib, he had opened his eyes grinned
like Satan and several nuns fainted

My baby suddenly opened its eyes too I fled, what else could I do.
take this piece of contamination and hug it to my chest?
But I had to go back only to see if I had been wrong the olives trees
were gone as had goats I called the land Israel, it has tall buildings
that ooze of hatred of those who know they are wrong.

Unwanted affection

I’m writing a play about an older man who was helpful
to a woman crying in the street and he thought that
was the end of the incident.
At night a knock on his door, the woman wanted
to thank him and before he could turn around, she sat
on his sofa insisting on holding his hands and him
felt her hand was like a wet haddock.
He knew she mentally disturbs but didn’t like to say so
the worst thing was he was watching his favourite show.
He feigned tiredness got up to open the door,
she offered to stay he froze by the horror of the thought.
She left after kissing him on the cheek.
He rang the porter and told him never let in this ****** woman.

The unwanted guest

We are having guests tomorrow
I hate it upsetting my day
Eight people and one of them is a woman
I once loved and wrote poetry about.
It is embarrassing I used her as a muse
But I’m not interested in her personally.
The only good thing is we are going to a posh
Restaurant and I don’t have to pay.
If they order something dear and it is not
Good for my diabetes I will have to say so
And have an omelette with tomatoes.
The husband of the one I used to like works
In the oil business in a poor African country
So wine is out I get loose lips when drinking.
It will be an ordeal I have to suffer not
To upset anyone and leave my political views at home.

Unwanted thoughts at night
“We are sailing along on moonlit bay.”
There is a song about it, but I prefer to look
at a painting of the inlet without people
sitting in a boat singing disturbing the beauty.
Last night when going to bed a twelve
I tried to think of nothing but a myriad of thoughts
got in the way, strange notions of how it must
feel to be a clog maker in a valley where everyone wore sandals
and the people steadfastly refused to wear anything else.
How to convince those clogs are better, I wear clogs indoors
but they are Chinese made and made of plastic and when
it is hot they smell I have to put them on the terrace at night.
Clear your mind and try to sleep.
I was thinking of Fado music that pulls at your heartstring and
makes me cry, sad music of longings without names.
Clear your mind and try to sleep!
Then it was morning the reached my duvet and never mind
the moon I  need a coffee,

Unwritten page

A blank page on the word processor I ought to leave it this way
just look at it and dream what I could have written.
If I delete the words written, it will be a blank page again.
No history on a crumpled-up sheet of paper in a wastebasket.
For now, it is too late, but I might erase the page written
if I so choose.
All poems are if written with passion, great poems
if not by the readers but by the poet, who boarded the wrong bus
as my wife did in Johannesburg many years ago
great was her consternation when stopping an available bus
to find it was for black people.
Being born in Congo by a black mother and a Dutch father
she identified herself as black.
Not so, said the authority she was Portuguese.
Racism and ignorance, now it is the Moslems turn to feel
the surge of hatred.
We want the Moslems to behave like us, but they
insist this is not possible in the name of their religion.
What do I do now? Erase the story?

Upgrading

“So you want to be a hairdresser, I bellowed, I gave you
a splendid  education and that is how you repay me!”
“You can study to be a doctor or a lawyer or something
posh, but never a hairdresser.”
“I struggled in poverty to get some kind of education at
the Academy of catering and pursership- I never have
heard that word before- you have now, this to drag me
out of the slum of being working class, and you want
to be a hairdresser!”
She is my daughter a product of a reluctant relationship
Her mother was a  reserve nurse at a local hospital and
Was content with her status.
“ If you persist in wanting to be a hairdresser leave my
house I will not have you here inviting the poverty
I tried to get away from.”
I know where she works as a trainee hairdresser walk
past the salon, every day just to see how she is getting on,
but I won’t let her see how much I love her, this stubborn
girl taking after her father

Useless Money

I often get petitioning letters so many people trying
to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal
and see their children die of thirst and hunger.
I wish to help them, but no money in the world is
enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven
flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do
nothing but look another way.

Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but
the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her
tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists
are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become
refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless.
She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general
Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply,
But I ask why she is staying silent now.

Useless war
Red crosses on the graveyard near the battle,
bled, corpses of dead soldiers flew in the air
soldiers killed twice, for the enemy once is not enough.
A skeletal hand land near him, he shuddered but had
to advance over the field as ordered.
There was a lull, he sat leaning to a boulder wondered
what he was doing here in a war far from home in
a country, not his, he had been told he was fighting for
his country but didn't believe it anymore.
This was a political war fought influence and greed it
had nothing to do with defending his country but
he was stuck in a deadly quagmire.
When the artillery struck up again, he got up advanced
and stepped on a landmine.

Vacation

I have been invited to the golden coast of Spain
White beaches blue sea, cooling in the sun.

The Mediterranean postcard beauty, tempting
It is also full of thousands of dead bodies.

On days after storm, it is possible to walk on bodies
From Tripoli to Lampedusa and not getting wet.

The sea that crashes ashore on coastal Portugal
Is green, refreshing I will stick to the Atlantic sea.

Vaccination

I have had my second shot of the vaccine
but with some trepidation, it appears many professional people
refuse to be vaccinated.
Many say it is out of principle or a religious reason
our cleaner, who is in the Jehovah witness, refuses out of religious grounds.
I bet the cleric in the protestant church where the first
to be inoculated, because they do not believe in anything
and lives in perpetual dread of death.
Like some doctors who see their patient die, but not them,
So, they fly in small planes they are not trained for.
When the plane falls from the sky
They say “why me I´m a doctor?”

Vagabond

I found a sweet shop in the middle of nowhere,
bought a box of Swiss chocolate,
took my sack of hay given to me by a kind  farmer
for a mattress.
I sleep on top of the kitchen table for fear of rats,
with only a horse blanket and hard oak.
The candy seller’s daughter is
getting married to her own image,
a gilded mirror. Last night
I fell off the table dreamed I was back at sea
and the ship was pitching and rolling;
bet I gave the rats a fright.
I went to the wedding of the candy man’s daughter,
it was a sweet affair, the priest had a sugar rush,
he cried when she tenderly kissed the looking glass.

Vaginal Sonnet

    I can't remember what we had for lunch but I do remember
     my pre -birth the safety in a warm liquefied world were
     No one could hurt me and I could sleep undisturbed forever.
    Then I remember slithering down a canal and sharp light hurts
    my eyes and I wanted to go back
    As a baby when women held me in their laps I tried to crawl
    between their legs and into ****** this caused embarrassment
    and false giggles. As I got older I also noticed the ****** was
    place for great pleasure for women.

    

    I specialized in ******* for me it was not a marvellous
    As I was seeking a way to get back to the ****** in a world
    I found baffling, but the women subjected to my *******
    didn’t understand that part.

The Vanished Aircraft
The plane that disappeared some years ago
with 290 passengers didn't fall into the sea
but landed at the back of the moon, where
The landscape was surprisingly lush if pale as
there are no red roses on the planet.
There was life on the planet, different in
shape and form and easy to tame and taste
like chicken, and disappeared as the Kiwi bird,
or almost as it was the plane's passengers
the only source of meat.
But there are plenty of edible fruits and vegetables
with no name yet; not to forget
a new religion that worships the earth and
Dali Lama since everyone knew about him others
as presidents remembered are archangels.
There was peace until politics entered and split
people into several camps, for now, they
have no weaponry, so fighting is like shadow
boxing in the pale blue light.

The Vanished home

Most seafarers find their way home
others get lost on the way.
One was washed up on the shores of Algarve
and stayed the home he knew was no longer there.
But a memory of log fire and a mother
who read books and rarely looked up to see were
her children had gone.
It is all too late now; the seafarer lives another life.

Vanishing flowers

On the bush near the terrace, the one sparrows
pick small leaves for their nests the red roses are falling off
they dance with dust on the road are run over
by tractors that have no soul.
A puppy tries to catch them when it does it spits
those out, the flowers are no food for it.
In a few days, the flowers will fly away don't
know where, but they will be back next spring.

Vehicle Island

While the owners of parked cars at the seaside
sat in overcrowded restaurants and was served
by sweat dripping waiters the cars started and
drove in a neat formation into the sea.
A mass suicide that lit up the sea for hours, but
more cars came and they became an island
and when there were no more cars left, motorbikes
were used as top soil.
Up from this mess grew traffic cones filling the space
with stop signs and pelican crossings.
A bike, a fortune for a bike, the moneyed class said
and there were the street fights; “it is my bike no I saw it first”
the veneer of civility broke down.
When the populace stole the horses of the Gypsies
undelaying social hatred broke out; it was their right
to steal to defend their country and the Gypsies
horseless now had to live behind tall walls this because
prisoners don’t need cars.

Vera
Death is everywhere this Sunday morning many dead trees where
I walk renewal everything has to go, but a dead baby rabbit blocks
my way the night had been too cold and her mother killed by a fox.
A steep track I stumble over an exposed root or was it death that
had a bit of fun, the sky and earth swivel I have to get up before big
earth ants carry me away there are millions of them ten thousand of
then dragging me underground starting with my gums then my tongue
fleshy ***** and reluctant ***** are reserved for the queen she will be
displeased and give my genitals for her slaves to chew on.
I have to bend down again to retrieve my camera full of ants I *** on
them and the scurry away I have to buy a new camera but why should
I record what no one will ever see, a reluctance to accept morality.
The track is too steep another defeat only nature witness my tears of
frustration, back home I watch a TV program called “Vera” this mad
woman police inspector wish I had her obsession to find the truth
I still struggle to find out what it means.

Verity

Telling the truth to people close to you
is a difficult feat, the accusations and repercussion
can be dire.
When you puncture the picture where they see
themselves as helpful people.
The unvarnished truth is they will rob you blind
and expect you to be grateful.
Those who were your friend will not help you
for them, assistance have a pecuniary aspect,
If you let the trespasses against you slide, you will
think of yourself as a coward; and those who were
your friends will feel contemptuous of you.

verity


Truth is hard
bullets fly
in streets of poverty.
Gangs
pride,
getting even.
No work
no education
alcohol
drugs galore
slow suicide.
We can´t say
black
their life matters
The enemy
is the hatred
killing them
slowly.

******

I get irritable over emails about ******
the pill that is about extending the natural evolution  
from stud to an old workhorse.
Everything comes to an end and to make love with
the help of a pill is artificially pressing the body to go through
acts it can no longer do alone.
there is some unethical about it as it no longer gives pleasure
only proving the old horse can still gallop.

The Longest Day

It is Sunday I'm looking out of the window the road is grey as the sky,
so many empty houses, no longer do I hear voices a car stopping
female laughter and the slamming of a car door.
It is said ennui is when the brain is resting, and the Sunday is longer than other days.
I know of a man who built his house on an ancient grave- stones it was strange seeing
those names on the wall, mind he didn't live in the house but in the barn with a mule,
two a cow a dog and several cats.  
It was impossible to sleep in the house sighs, knocking sounds and
someone saying “ get me out of here it was all a mistake.”  I wonder if the man ever
got to sell his house.
From history, I know of a Viking chieftain got so bored on the day of rest
thinking of *** took out his knife and nailed his left hand to the dinner table,
one can say his brain was over relaxed, pulled out the knife and he denounced this
new faith called Christianity and went back believing in Thor and Odin and not
to forget Valhalla, a place free of monotony.

Virtue

I wish
I could write
A love song
From the heart
About a mountain stream,
Were cynicism
Dare not enter
Not intrude
As sarcasm
Is banned
Sorry to say
Cannot have lived
That long
I know when hearts
Cries
For the loss
Of innocence

Visitors

I was walking around with my camera
but its eye didn't find anything of interest
only olive trees, bushes and ploughed    
I have seen it a before in all seasons and glory
and sun dried straws.
I'm into people now
that is the problem there are no one here anymore
only inbreeds and you can't make much sense out of them.
An English family are on vacation.
                                            Laughter
                                            Music
                                            ***
                                            Wine
They are so young not much meeting of the mind and as
for music, my interest stopped at the beetles and if I'm
some girls called Spice.

                                             I will be a Vogue photographer
                                            be famous, paid well and look at nice girls.

Vita Contemplativa
We do not live our lives in the now but remember
it as a passed and what we did not do when the past
was now and disappeared as an ant's breath    
as there is only one beginning- birth- we are shackled
to the past we didn't choose but was pushed on us as
we had no ability to anything in the now

The Voyage

The big seagull sat on the bow of my rowing boat
                                   on my way to Argentina and Rosita,
which I never met she had married guitar player-
had unfriendly eyes ready to peck my eyes out.                  
                                   I regretted my heroism.
I wanted to go to Argentina because of its pampas
Beautiful horses and also to be famous for the voyage
                                  I was picked up by a merchant ship
it was actually going the wrong way docked in Antwerp
                                  Free beer for the, would be the hero.
I got a job on an old steamer bound for Argentina.
                                
                                 Buenos Aires,
A City with so many beautiful women it took a long
before I got my stead looking for the tree of wisdom.
                                 I found it burning in the night
the Gauchos were feeling cold and set fire to the tree.
                                 What matters is the journey which is a fine sentence to cover for absolute failure.

Waiting for heart surgery

Fun is over in the sleepless night
No more jokes about the seriousness of
My friend’s surgery.
it is a stark night the wind has stopped
The stillness overwhelms me
Perhaps he is awake thinking of the future
Or if he has any
Silent tears alone in a strange room so
Many regrets, plans he had that came to
No nothing.
Cold sweats on his brow his fear is palpable
He has not been so helpless, the thought of god
Enters his mind would a prayer help?
He pushes the thought away religion never
Meant anything for him, but in this dark hour
Of needs, he will do anything to be at ease.
Finally, he falls into a restless sleep, soon
It will be morning, providence will decide.

waiting in a line


In front of the multi-bank window
an older man was transferring money, and like me he got
confused by all the numbers and had to do it again.
I was patient thought of loftier things is hell coal-fired
or do they use electrical energy for the doomed ones?
How is it possible to burn forever without actually burning
and turning into ashes the flames are like a cosy blanket
on a sofa near the oven.
lost in reveries, I didn´t notice the man had gone
a woman who was behind me took his place she had in
her plastic bag sanitary bin this I presumed was because
she was middle-aged and leaky.
she also had a loaf of bread and two tins of sardines food that
was of no interest, she had no right to take my place.

Wakeful

The night is endless the pupils of his eyes
are alert and free of sleep, will he make it through the night?
A brain without brakes, first gear not of any help,
restless wandering through childhood, where did it
all go so wrong?
The future is now tomorrow is an incident a lack of meaning
and only leads to another tomorrow.
A swarm of butterflies in the glade he was one of them
promises not kept and now he is the only one left
the dell has turned into a housing estate built for the poor
for those who have no choice.
Butterflies so pretty have turned into a moth fly now
you are alone in the darkest of nights, consciousness
is harmful and brings no sleep.

Wales

I used to live in Chester, a beautiful town
and often walked along the Roman wall and, in my mind,
I saw Roman soldiers sitting by the fire roasting mice.
On Sundays, I liked to drive to Wales a beautiful country of rolling hills
and sheep with coal dust on,
Back then and this is years ago, you could drink tea in a pub,
I once drank coffee and it was ghastly.
I liked this country it had a dreamy quality.
Now I´m watching a crime story from Wales and it had nothing to do with
the land I remember.
This country I see on the screen is dark with old houses and people
who carries a dark secret in their hearts?
What do I know? Perhaps the lovely barmaid had killed her father
dropped him in a deep well only a detective who knew the mind
of Wale's psyche could work out.
As it is I prefer to remember Wales, crossing fords wondering who deep they were, the narrow roads and sheep on hills.
I stick with what I remember, the TV. The program is entertainment.

Walking by the sea

Walked along the sea-shore
The breeze from the sea filled my lungs with goodness
The pavement was flat and smooth.
I walked for an hour, only stopping to inhale the air.
Alone and free of squabbling women, I felt at ease.
I feel invigorated, but I need a car to drive there.
When the womenfolk rules I find myself in the centre
Waiting as they go in and out of shops.
The sea a bit restless today smashed against rocks and
The air was filled with ozone; to my surprise there
Others had the same idea; they didn’t
Work sat their cars with windows open, and that is ok.
I saw a yellow flower among coarse grass
A hardy soul braving the wind and since I’m not
A botanist I didn’t bother to give it a name.

Big houses have tall walls hiding the guarded behind
keep the beauty for themselves
Insects have no problem nor have birds, and cats go under the wall.
It is about keeping people out of what once was their garden and in the shifting political wind they became expelled.
The expelled people do have olive trees if they are not set afire
by a people calling themselves “settlers,” an incongruity.
Sometimes the people on the wrong side of the fence
get their homes bulldozed; yet, they cling on despite degradation.
They wait for the wind will turn in their favour.
One day it will.

Walls
And the foolish enemy, sons of fools and grandchildren
of idiots build a wall in the desert to protect them from
The horde of poncho-clad hombre In sombreros seeking work
Taking with them the culture of a failed state with Salsa music.
The enemy of freedom forgot about nature and over
The desert sand flew stopped by a 12-metre fence, it blew and
blew and sand dunes grew and grew, buried the wall
Till it was forgotten, the Salsa music won.
Jericho’s wall blew down too was rendered into a parable, yet idiots
And the fearful defend this continuing building of walls by
Those who have forgotten history

The war and food

During the war years in Norway 1940 to 1945
there was little food, but the coast was teeming
with fish, my brother and I often walked down to the pier
and in a matter of minutes had dinner.
Needs make you into a thief we stole potatoes,
apples and coal for the fire.
We had a variety of fish like boiled, fried or made
into fish-cakes, but in the process I developed a lifelong
dislike of fish, but I do eat fish as long as it doesn't like
aquatic vertebrate.
After the war nicking food was no longer seen as legal
but with food in shops it was no longer needed

War and music
The two clouds that limply hung on a blue sky had dust on
and reminded me of the worthless nick knack people put on mantelpieces.
People can’t bear empty spaces and stillness, they have to fill it
With useless objects and bland music, like wiener waltzes that is easy to
The ear and can be to dance to, even by men in uniforms;
But do not demand much of the dancer or listener other than jingoistic pride.
It gone darker the limp clouds had been but spies,
Bulldozer louds came ready to fill in war trenches burying hapless soldiers
Led by officers that didn’t now of modern warfare; and in drowning screams
The music continued loud, clear and from a younger
continent, Souza marches I think.

The war games
  
Yesterday afternoon in Finland, as happy people walked about
content in their world of social welfare and full employment
a train loaded with armoured tanks was seen heading for
the Russian border as spring light danced on the lakes.
What do I know, that might be the military's yearly outing?
As the wolves howl lustily to the stars and the trout wakes
in the streams of spring.
Is it, God forbid, a strategic baiting to divert the Russian army?
From Ukraine. If so, this is a dangerous war game.
Finland has a long border with Russia, 1400 kilometres, therefore
2-to 300 tanks a drop in the forest, but enough to make a point.
I prefer to think it is a manoeuvre performed in days of light.

War in Europa

Never have I seen so many well-dressed refugees
fleeing a country where few bombs fall on people.
Never have I seen a media totally unbiased
stirring up a war that has yet to produce victims.
This winter, the hungry and the cold were stopped
at the border of Poland stopped by water cannons
and dogs.
The refugees came from Libya, Afghanistan, Africa
and most of them were not pristine white one could
be forgiven thinking we are watching discrimination
of the worst type.
War is to be condemned, but the media is suffering
from amnesia, whipping people into a frenzy like it
should be the first and only war in Europe.

War is Lovely

It´s a hell of a war, soldiers running between burning buildings.
It is a great war good for *** feel the strength running through veins
blood oozing out of bullet holes and onto the sand that is the other guy´s
the person called an enemy.
Was this their finest hour defending whatever they have told to defend
Wonderful war brilliantly red, and women dream of joining them
only to find they are out of place; soldiers will rather ******* in a fox-hole.
Glorious war, something the survivors can talk about in the park playing card,
name the buddy who didn´t make it out lost in reveries and full moon.
Do they see the green leaves on trees or the flowers; is it all death and ruined buildings?
Forever etched in their crippled brains.
Oh, I´m so tired it is hurting me, endless wars and commentators explaining the murdering
of the innocent according to what the think-tank pays them.
I long for the autumnal colour in Portugal, a place to heal the abused body so distressed,
facing away from the TV, screen that drips of blood or failing that of football boots.
To walk on old cobblestones and fallen leaves and remember that we live in a beautiful world.

War kills

Retina less windows
Bodies were strewn on foul streets
A photo of Grozny
Summary execution
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe
Who knows?
Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

War kills

Retina less windows
Bodies were strewn on foul streets
A photo of Grozny
Summary execution
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe
Who knows?
Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

War Memories
We see the pomp and circumstances
Old soldiers with a modest medal, the queen
And Donald Trump.
The real winner of this war Russia is on
This day overlooked, and history as we see
It displayed is a historical falsehood.
The old soldiers fought ok, kudos to them
In a war that was real.
The war didn’t end it continues in Palestine,
Syria, Iraq and other places, democracy
In no longer on the agenda- unless we
Talk about as a total subjection as a  democracy-
It is about oil and power.
It is sweet to think the only nation who tries
To stop this Middle East carnage is Russia we
Hesitate to get them as the enemy.

In the heat of summer
It was nice to bath in the river
Ten minutes away
A great place to cool off
And not crowded by tourists
Cigano boys bronzed and
Physically perfect
Jumped from the bridge
Of the warming of the planet
I know nothing, only this
The river is dry in May and has
Been so the last five years
But old people tell me it has
Happened before, the river
Was dry for years in the fifties

The war of beliefs
   Hindus burn Islamic Mosques, Muslims burns
    Hindu temples of worship and
   The Christians burn synagogues and both
   The three faiths preach peace on earth.

   A shadow fled into the basement when
   The sun came full of flaming hatred.

Resolving an ancient religious problem
Obsolete as religion is made by man.
Some fanatics **** for what is a fairy tail
Exemplary atheism is never a solution.

War & Peace  

We agree most of the time war is caused
By capitalism, nationalism, in fact, any isms
Demagogues and murky propaganda
These entities can't fight wars without soldiers
And there are too many young men who
Simply love the idea of wearing arms and fight
They go to war the survivors are veterans
They know now they have fought for nothing
In despair, they take to drink and drug and sink
To the bottom of the human heap
Aldous Huxley spoke of something in the water
That takes the aggression away….Good!
Only one has to be careful not making them into
Zombies with no ambition to the point the world
Disappear in the morass of apathy.
We can't stop wars happening but we can try to
Prolong peace and make wars more infrequent.

War & Peace

After the war in Norway and the German army left, income
and employment they had brought such as building
roads and airports disappeared.
It was a time when my brother and I stole coal from the train
depot’s supply, potatoes and other root vegetable were    
and the fish in an unpolluted water was plentiful.

We were caught by the police they let me go because I looked
small and innocent. My brother was sent to a youth correction
centre for two years- it still makes me angry thinking of it-
peace had done us no favours.

My mother was doing two newspaper rounds my sister and I
helped her, the morning round was the worst, Norway is a
cold country it was me who found the dead man he had frozen
to death, drunk and falling asleep in a snow drift.

I’m sitting here as an elderly man remembering the old days
and “not good old days” we had each other and family love.
I sit here ancient man with house, car and a modest success,
oh, my why wouldn’t I give to feel the love again, but they
have gone now- all of them- and I’m the only link to our past.

Warped tree, kinked man

Today, I will not argue with Walter on Facebook or Twitter.
I was reading poems from my last collection and was surprised
to find an internal rhythm.
To my horror, I find Walter has unfriended me my friendly thoughts
burned into insignificance.
When I had a motorbike, I often visited the crooked tree
I said:” you look better today, my friend.”
The roots of the tree curled in bashfulness.
At the entrance of the village, an old olive tree they came with an axe
wanted to cut it down, replace it with a signpost.
I protested, so did the other villagers.
The tree is perhaps 500 years old, and we are not
brutish settlers.
But someday, people with no sense of beauty will axe it.

The War Poets

The First World War wasn't a world war but
a war of dominance in Europe chiefly by the Franc, British and Germany.
World War 2 included most country it was a nasty war
millions of people died, but strangely this war is partly forgotten.
It changed the map and brought forward Israel, which became a torn
for lasting peace in the Middle East.
But the war brought us great American writers like Theodore Dreiser,
Ezra Pound (poet)Ernst Hemingway and many others great writers.
The savagery of that world didn't include so many poets as
the dispute in Europe also called a world war did,
the reason we remember it so well is thanks to Wilfred Owens and
his intimate friend Frederic Sassoon who ploughed deep furrows
in our mind and did away with flowering poetry, gritty realism
was and still is what poets should strive for.

wars we like

Do we like wars as long as it is at our doorstep
the Russians fought in Afghanistan and lost hands down
the USA took over this unwinnable war so far it has lasted
Twelve years with no end in sight.
The USA lost the Vietnam war, but Hollywood came
to the rescue made movies of brave soldiers whose every
bullets hit a target, yet they fled from the rooftop in Hanoi
it was a sickening sight.
In the meantime, the French are fighting a war against the rebellious
in central Africa to defend and give the presidency
to those who are most corrupt in the name of oil and precious
stones and metal.
The French keep their war entirely; it is not headline news.
Now, the battle is coming home its fought in our streets
there are no heroes here and no movie to make for now.

wars we like

Do we like wars as long as it is at our doorstep
the Russians fought in Afghanistan and lost hands down
the USA took over this unwinnable war so far it has lasted
Twelve years with no end in sight.
The USA lost the Vietnam war, but Hollywood came
to the rescue made movies of brave soldiers whose every
bullets hit a target, yet they fled from the rooftop in Hanoi
it was a sickening sight.
In the meantime, the French are fighting a war against the rebellious
in central Africa to defend and give the presidency
to those who are most corrupt in the name of oil and precious
stones and metal.
The French keep their war entirely; it is not headline news.
Now, the battle is coming home its fought in our streets
there are no heroes here and no movie to make for now.