Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets

she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing

Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
thinking
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Slivovitz

she sipped her coffee
even ***
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not ***

she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor

the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation

she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter

she swallowed
and smiled
good
better than
the attempted ***
or that achieved
in recent months
and days

she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

Dubrovnik seemed
a second home,
and you, in a street

cafe, sat drinking coffee,
with that book on
Schopenhauer open

on the table, a cigarette
smoking in an ashtray
unattended, thinking

of the girl in the hotel
restaurant the night
before, the waitress

who smiled at you as
she served and went
by your table, and your

brother said, I don’t
fancy yours much,
indicating with a nod

of head, another
waitress over by a
nearby table, plump

and spotted, wearing
a scowl instead of a
smile, and all the while,

he eyeing, as young
men do the beauty
that had caught your

eye going by, but all is
fair in love, so men
have said, so picking

up the book on
Schopenhauer, and
further reading,

holding the cigarette
between the fingers
of the hand not

turning pages, you
inhaled with deep
concentration the

smoke and words
spread across the
page, written by a

philosopher of a
foreign tongue
and different age.

Abela
sips her wine
wipes her mouth
looks around

love it here
Dubrovnik
she utters

I sip beer
turn a page
of my book
poetry
D. Thomas
Welsh poet

lovely wine
why don't you
try the wine?

I like beer
I reply

why do you
have to read?
she mutters

why do you
have to talk?

she cold stares
sips more wine

cigarette?
I suggest

get your own
she replies

I sip beer
close the book

nice place this
beer's good too
and that girl
that waitress
she's good too

what's so good
about her?
what's she got
that I’ve not?

I don't know
not seen her
undress yet

I light up
a hand rolled
cigarette

those two guys
she tells me
at the bar
the other night
are gay guys

I inhale
hold the smoke
exhale it

you think so?

it stands out
a wide mile

you liked him
the dark one
his dark eyes
wavy hair

she closes
her eyelids
zips her lips

what makes you
think they're gay?

I saw them
lip kissing
she whispers

we lip kiss
we hand kiss
we thigh kiss
we breast kiss

THAT'S ENOUGH
she bellows

I think they're
nice fellows
I tell her
not my scene
but nice guys

Abela
drains her wine
glares at me

another wine?
I ask her
cigarette?

I want gin

I signal
a waiter
one gin please
I tell him
and whiskey

he goes off

she lights up
a French smoke

about the girl
the waitress
just a joke
I tell her

(but the girl
the waitress
occupies
a small room
in my mind)

how days go
she utters
how time flies.

Abela
doesn't like
Schopenhauer
she finds him
depressing

why read him?
she asks me

I like him
he gives me
another
perspective
of the world

but why him?
who told you
about him?

some old dame
I once ******
talked of him

might have guessed
Abela said
who was she?

just a friend
I once had
I tell her

she's quiet
sips white wine
looks around
the street scene
around us
sitting in
the café

she's musing
quite deeply
as dame's do
of other
dames I’ve had

was she good?
she asks me

an ex-nun
I reply

an ex-nun?
she echoes

as a girl
not right now
I tell her

she's silent
sips her wine

Dubrovnik
has its charm

I sip beer
smoke my smoke
read my book
of old man
Schopenhauer

Abela
purred last night
like a cat
after ***
I like that.

Atara wants to listen
to the pianist
play some Chopin
in some place

in Dubrovnik
so we get dressed
in our best
have a shot

of ***** first
and a smoke
on the balcony
a look over the sea

and she says
I he'd wished play Mozart
I like Mozart
well he's playing Chopin

so that's it
I say
but he won't be playing
the piano concertos

of Chopin
she says
no he hasn't got
an orchestra with him

just him
playing alone
I say
she sits on the balcony

in her red dress
the one that I bought her
in Paris
the one she's grown out of

(not to mention it
to her of course)
she inhales
and looks

at the street below  
remember
when we made love
to Chopin's Piano Concerto

number 2​?
she asks
we didn't make love
to the concerto

we made love
with each other
I say
you know

what I mean
she says
you'd bought me
an LP

of the two concertos
and we made love
to the 2nd one
I looked at the red dress

it fitted tightly
her *******
were pushing it
to the limits

her plump knees
were showing
that red dress ok?
I ask

she looks at me
sure it is
it's my favourite
she replies

pulling at the hem
trying to pull it
over her knees
you bought it for me

in Paris
yes I did
back in 1970
is it that long ago?

two years?
yes two years
I say
gosh I don't usually

have a dress that long
she says
maybe you should
buy me a new one

she says
I bought a new one
last month
to go to that wedding

I say
O but that
was a wedding going dress
she says

I look away
look at the sea
the red dress is fine
I say

(despite what people might see)
there's a good looking dame
on the balcony over the way
I don't say.

I was laying
on my stomach
on the grass
reading a book

Netanya was laying
on her back
soaking up
the sun

as if owed her rent
her blouse open
at the neck
her arms bare

her grey skirt
drawn up
above the knees
to brown off

her legs
how can you read
on a day like this?
she said

I can read any time
I said
you should be soaking up
the sun

getting your lily white
body tanned
I like my body
as it is

she closed her eyes
face upwards
I remembered the time
my brother and I

went down to the beach
at Dubrovnik
in our suits
and conceding

to the sun
took off our jackets
and rolled up
our shirt sleeves

revealing our white arms
I smiled
and turned a page
I sensed the sun's heat

on my head
I’d turned my collar up
to protect my neck
from the burning heat

nearby birds sang
unsure which
far off
the hum of traffic

I smelt the after smell
of Sunday roast
and mint sauce
and tasted

the white wine
on my tongue
even with sunglasses
the glare of the sun

made reading
a chore
so I closed the book
and lay on my back

and stared at the sky
birds flew overhead
here and there
I thought of the girl

who served in the café
in Dubrovnik
whom my brother and I
chatted up

with no results
she with her broken English
and we with no clue
when she spoke

her native tongue
we drank wine then
too much some days
then Netanya came along

and that night
we made love
half a dozen times
and the world seemed

a different place
as if someone
had turned a light on
in a dark house

and it was seen
for the first time
then the light
had become dim

and the house
like a prison
a child cried
in the background

another child laughed
the neighbour's kids
no doubt
a dog barked

a woman called out
a man snored
the sun shone bright
I closed my eyes

the book remained closed
I dozed.

Early morning
book on Schopenhauer
under your arm
cigarettes

in your pocket
you sat in one
of the cafes
in Dubrovnik

having ordered
a coffee
and lit up
to smoke

the book
put on the table
the ashtray
set so

you observed
the passing people
the females mostly
the gentler ***

as is said
the sway of skirt
or dress
the fine legs

the shape of foot
the figures
slim or plump
the mental study

of the shape of ***
the tightness
of ****
and all the while

at the back
of the mind
the idea of God
the faith required

seemingly lacking
the St Augustine view
wanting to be saved
from sin

but not just yet
the waiter
brought coffee
and cake

just the nibble
for the breakfast’s sake
and you thought
on the night before

the walk in the City
the lights lit up
the passing crowds
the concert

some pianist
playing Chopin
you and your brother
side by side

taking it all in
making the most of
and the indulgence
of wine

and the chatting up
of the waitresses
at the hotel
with no success

and you opened
the Schopenhauer book
the print of page
the scatter of words

ideas too deep
for the morning sun
you closed it up
and sipped the coffee

took a drag
on the cigarette
viewed the cute ***
as it passed you by

summer dresses
short skirts
tight tops
in all colours

shoes or bare feet
to please the eye
and the idea of God
observing

listening in
secretly pleading
maybe you do
or do not

to be absolved
from sometime
the deeper sin.

The walled city
slick and wet but
preserved
by drizzle
salt and spray

came with a monastery
peopled with nuns
and monks

that worked wasn't
just for show

and
planted us firmly
on a rock and back
in time to give us gifts

before it launched  us forward
to a better sense of place

Chanan closes his book.
His companion
has gone sightseeing.
The coffee is drunk.

The day is fine, the sky
a watery blue,
pale clouds drift.

He sits and meditates
on another coffee,
another cigarette,
watching passing crowds,
visitors and natives
of Dubrovnik.

He raises a finger,
a waiter nods,
goes off.

Chanan notices
across the way,
at another table,
a woman sitting,
hat red
at an angle,
slim fingers holding
a holder with cigarette,
the red lips,
the blue dress,
cleavage,
crossed legs,
red shoes.

He studies her,
takes in the hand
on knee, the hand
with holder,
the fine way
of inhaling
and exhaling,
the smoke drifting.

She leans back,
sky gazing,
in between drags
she sips her wine.

He takes in
the fine figure,
the turn of head,
the shoes of red.

He imagines her
(while his companion
is out seeking the sights)
coming to his room
at the hotel,
soft music playing,
lights down low,
wine bottle and glasses,
the usual patter,
the romantic air,
the twin bed waiting.

His coffee comes,
the waiter departs,
the woman stands
as a man approaches,
dark haired,
slim figured,
trimmed beard,
well dressed,
an air of affluence.

They go off
arm in arm,
she wiggling
her hot behind,
her red shoes,
tap-tapping.

Chanan stumps out
his cigarettes,
sips his coffee,
nothing ends
like it seems,
he is left
with an empty evening
and a lonely dream.

Lara sat
beside him

in the old
city of

Dubrovnik
sipping wine

better than
that coffee

you're drinking
is that so

he replied
gazing at

her beauty
in morning's

bright sunlight
yes it's so

and what's more
healthier

I'm ok
he boasted

even though
you kept me

from my sleep
with demands

for more ***
she sipped wine

small finger
sticking out

kind of posh
can't keep up?

he liked her
long red hair

the dark eyes
the red lips

sipping wine
the milky

coloured ****
yes I can

he replied
but she knew

that he lied
she had to

drag him from
his slumbers

wake up his
slack member

ease it in
to harbour

like a wrecked
old schooner

how's your dreams?
about me?

he sipped slow
his coffee

maybe so
he replied

maybe not
but she knew

that they were
he called out

in his sleep
no more ***

Lara dear
as he lay

on his back
his eyes closed

his member
once more slack

he knew it
knew he had

dreamed of her
her parted

fleshy thighs
and the lips

of her fruit
wanting him

one more time
more coffee?

she asked him
to keep you

from slumber?
I'm ok

he replied
want more wine?

she sipped slow
finger raised

not just now
I am fine

but she lied
he knew it

another night
coming up

more wine drunk
more *** talk

more kisses
but his mind

and member
just ready

just waiting
for slumber.

Five years and all I have left
Is her name and the feelings she gave.
It was a heinous crime, a theft.
Still, I want her on my grave.

On that day, the Sun shone,
As it always would.
This was before her throne.
A finer time, you might call it good.

Dubrovnik’s walls stood tall,
Yet her beauty couldn’t be contained.
The city would fall,
Her grace was untamed.

To the sky they flocked.
The birds of black.
Shining rays they blocked.
The sky would shatter, and crack.

Cobble streets and busy crowds.
Amongst them you were there,
The heavens were clear, no clouds.
Your gaze left me gasping for air.

One word lead to another,
Before you know it I was hooked.
She was something else, something other.
Something the Gods overlooked.

In my cage everything was perfect,
The real world, however, was not as joyful.
I left my world undefended, and got it wrecked.
Grief, misery, death and death!

After the collapse of my star,
The only thing which kept me sleeping at nights.
I dream of a distant place, somewhere far.
When I close my eyes I still see her shining lights.

My heart is now a furnace,
Dishing out black smoke, my love.
Its fuel is your name and its sternness,
It burns with the hate for the love I promised you, sweet dove.