i..


is n´t modern world marvelous
lily smirks..
we would have been old

and dead..she regards
her toes
and rather wistfully

now,
young,
and ******..

it could be
but
always beauty..!

and adventure
go on
for ever!

ii..

a)


i never really
enjoyed party
lily..

i had to be
taught
how to breathe..

i had a little
death fascination
caught between

water and skies
by the quarry
white lime..

in my wellingtons
time
fathomless..

the very shallow water
reflected the
sky perfectly..

and rose out that mirror
see..
and eventually..

voices
sounded
to me..

very very very
beautifully
slowly

(i would say
adagio..)
i would think

good or bad
with my neck
at 60 degrees

this loud choral
arrangement-
the air quivered..

sometimes i would
make
to advance..

then rise in love
come!
come..

(the lively
imagination
of a lonely child..

or some kind of
out of world
experience..)

wild lovely entrancing
i would return
again and again..

b)

once,
there
stood
a
man
behind
me..

i made
to run
but
he
calmed
with
his
hand..

he looked
where i had
been looking
and listening
to the band..

looked at me
in question
i thought don´t ask..

then one time
two big policemen
resisted my charging

bike and form..
something happened
by joseph heller..

the more i returned
the quieter
the sounds..

until
they´d gone
no birds sung

no gentle breeze
so he stared into
my frightened eyes..

and something occurred
i felt his knowledge
his wisdom wise..

so we stood in this
pestilent place
this blackest of crows..

imparted of his way
somehow
i am still

trying to figure
out today..
what did he say..

so then on returning
there was barbed wire
and chipboard..

i looked at it long
a blockage
called too late
perhaps..


to keep the creative juices flowing
i filled in with this very good book..
  up their with the dice man
as prose noir..
another reworking of an old
poem and older..i remember but am no wiser..
..

is the beetle a monster
all things relative then
i mean if a lot littler
we all lost on some plain..

if we clubbed together..
the truth an overpowering
could turn that sucker!
or ants lost in irksome dream..

is the internet the worst
thing that ever happened to
the human race and if so,
why..

i don´t know,
where would i be
without  you tube
i never thought i´d
hear all
the old music
that i grew up
with..

it is the greatest
library
that´s ever
been..

and yet something
in my soul
shrinks
at the sight
of a screen..

perhaps i am
just old
the truth never
further
away
than the day
i was born..

is the mirror a
soul?
look over my
shoulder
my beauty
all is known..

i see your face
on christmas morn
paul..
your first guitar!
joy to man!
the bell´s ring-
ding-****..!

i survived myself because of myself
a mix of the diabolically clever
and ridiculously slow
perched on some far away shelf
happy as a ******
with little to do..

the sky perfectly reflected me
and in my turn i adorned it
with various unspoken woe
i was four for three
the devil´s wit
nothing did know..

i said i know i
with instinct
through
age old way
look into this
sad heart
genius or idiot
o wise mirror
are we not lost
as urchin..

i

i think why not to let
but proved the query set
a double somersault-twist
or kiss your sweet lips..

can  end in cold death-
still the birds in the trees
go cheep or not at all..
i have reason to not question..

ii

i have memories return from the crib
it is all just part of the aging process
we beetle by saying that can´t be right
the lights´ get bright and bright..!

birds talk to us but i don´t hear voices
we become preoccupied with prices..
i recall four blackjacks  a penny
dying has a long curious way..

i am pretty sure i am someone else
absolute and completely and yet
these early feelings as blithe pictures
remain constant..



iii


more work less ******* about
but creation is just living
some absolute and indistinct
(it is tough being a poet..)..

iv

lily says,for it is her,
you don´t play no more,
only i say in mind
the years don´t lie
content´ s fragile store..
repetition dulls the brightest
core..eventually a silent purr ask´ s why
not why not..

v

why write poetry says lily
because it is a futile act
of achieving something perfectly..
we like that..


or like stubbing one´ s little toe
a rabbit from a dream hat
in a vain effort to retain what
remains of my memory..

lily why not or why bother..
lily red diamond from her
eyes sparking like a star is
just a ******* star baby..

she half nelson bottle wine
why do anything..a sign
a metaphor an hieroglyph
love and hate lily..

or the little bird in the agaves
i would like to shoot that one
hate and love lily
porquoi-pas..

vi

i read o twenty years before actually commiting to paper
not much but i knew the stuff i loved and kept there
i know it was charles bukowski i loved his funky gear
thank you norwegion liz for lending me his books dear..

ham on rye and factotum you say don´t lose them mf
i swore i would not lose them i would not lose them kf
kind friend..but i lost them i lost them..df..
dumb ******..


i leant them to someone that swore the same
they suffered an horrendous head..crang..
on and the books lost the books got lost..
there was scant satisfaction in plaster form..

maybe they went to a happy home
so not my fault that his drunk poems
god is he fun liz i hear your laugh then
such a wild sound ..generous so!

you said i should write and thank you
only human to encourage me true
and always a good drinking companion
you bought decent wine..

i adored cognac o..that was my poison
you always attracted van gelis errant tounge
unpleasant but one had to watch him..
that was his fun..

and then backgammon
goes a bit faint then..
i would like to say i won
you told me roland was cheating..

i think it was fun to play him anyway
esspicially on cement truck day..
not that he ever bought me a drink
not that i liked cement..

i lived with roland actually
this stopped any conversation
i met him by accident in eilat
that place was a laugh..

i think i enjoyed the second time
first loads of day jobs though i
played in the streets..and living with
the russians..

that a blast lily..my immediate neighbor
we never spoke..and the police pulled his hair
and yet not a squeak..a match box of grass cheap
i went to silently get a light..

he did say never run boy..
i thought alright for you
alright,
who was playing late night
in the soft quiet night..

so i was nosy
within the deepest hush
a glass and bottle jungle
impossible this silence

and i could hear him swallow
once the army ran through
i was tucked up in bead reading
by hopeless candle light..

i met roland in the peace cafe
a misnomer if ever there was
he picked me up and tossed me
around..

hey mike we got ****** and under
the landing planes roaring down
aint had hash like that in so many
years..

there was the red lion and at seven
free food and a drink and a movie
i read miguel cervantes..they
play the eye of the tiger later..

then the hard rock cafe with killer
egg and chips
i worked with an architect and made
a few shekals.

vii

i got out of there man i went south
dhab a quiet hut and goats..
that is the life right there..
o the corral beauties..

the stars as glimpsed through the palm..
pretty carpet and soften-songs of balm
brain blown and fly blown
and then back to town..

which came as a shock then
i had a drink and a very nice mention
for the cafe at the bus station..
i salut the the patience of the librarians..

i)

i thought
i sought
to find

a mind
should be
here

somewhere..
no past-
no future-

perhaps
a
n

illusive
elimination
or imitation

even
or odd
but now

anyhow
ah, the
present

was *****..
where
to go?

what to
do
how to

think
how to
be

ego
hello?
dostoyevski

ii)

however
now
i´m far

cleverer
than trevor!
or fyodor

for that matter
or antimatter
an anteater

ah, sausage in
batter..
hark

laughter
to the devil
a daughter

i ought not
to
feel so blue

her eyes
everywhere
do or dare

little nina
orbs shone
like the

sun
silence in
a bun

crossed
and eternal
falling

old and young
beautiful
lost

but round
tossed out
a window

landing on
my
***..

i

i thought as admiring a star
it´ s it´ s proximity or colour
a quiet orange nectar
i don´t recall..

but near went through my
mind seemed true
amusing yet profound
kind of far

like trying to recall a dream
or a woman
the more i tried
the further it was..

ii

i thought as admiring
a star in supplication
touched my heart in return
for this life won..

imagine the vista on
and in the silent burn
the great sun ascending
from a night bleeding..

the same nothing
and in the end
so it was
..

i thought i might
ramble now
and be found miles
from home

in just my pipe
and slippers
and smile,
whisper-

my heart
young like
a spring morn
ah,born again..

it is about and in a fine spring
the all and thing wild flowering
craning their god like seen joy in
ecstasy..

as little birds laugh twittering
a mild breeze everyhow flowing
across and to blue fresh scenes
a love of endless sea..

grief and death banished why
in this holy birth of the legendary
sign of our sweetest beginngs..
sigh the moon and suns to see..

it is a hot day in august
the many many tourist
they are a many seething
colors..

they go and sit by the first
sea
in the quiet
they are a humming hush
of technology..

some of the cafe
every skin
down to and by
the peaceful water´s

edge..
let the brilliant day
perform
it´s moment..

thirst
and famine
are pledged..
a ball too and fro..

lunch comes and
goes..
dozing in the shade
the afternoon is a long

dream..
broken only
by the spell
of hypnotic surf..

the child tumbles
and is set too
the predominant
setting is through..

it all just seems
quiet is ablaze..
a gull..
people huddle in

shrinking shade..
lover´s cuddle
in the waves..
these are the happy

days..
there
the sun
sinks..

and comes the
jasmine night.
the stars of light..
bewitch..

it is a new day
when i am how to say
etc..!

three small letters
free of fetters
free!

(dodging the men
in white!)
here the moment

light-
linear in little
brown whens-

not if or but
when-
certain..

it is rough
a tremulous bough
without love
and how

do we get on
now
perched precariously
below

sharks grin
up
licking their
lips

(if sharks
have lips..)
above
we sing

and sit
trying not
to think..

it is the first
well it was
unquenchable
thirst

for son of god
cause
we looked to
the

changeable..
i will spend
time
(because
it

is mine)
in worthy
pursuit
of soulful

contemplation..
mostly the
sweet
eternal..

ii

and to the little birds
who sing high
in the agave
hallelujah..!

and to my guitar
a true friend
who continues
to give..

all through the
hesitant years
one a small
twig on great

tsunami
to live
attempting
some semblance

at happiness
as body and soul
gradually
falls apart..

iii

but generous heart
is
a tasty dish
a magnanimous
itch

best served
fresh
taken
in loving bite

with patience
and understanding
a little spice
faith

and wise
floss
less than
one´s strain..

i

it rained through the
night
a miraculous load
i was in the land of
nod-

does nt seem right-
happy!-
the flora and
fauna!life goes on
around the corner..

ii

i dreamed of a lost
sight-
some obscure code
an inscribed lid-

some dark lighted
mystery!
spaketh the distant
star-!life goes on
around the corner..


iii

is white black and black
white
(a predictable mode)
a laughter hid

by tears of old
melancholy
so near and yet so
far!life goes on a-
round the corner..

i


it´ s around this here
mundane hour
or that there
where i get near

some right now then
higher or low
the mo so
captured when

it nails a tear
to the great cross
some heart
and i know

nothing
that i know
which lo
is comforting

that is to say that
in every and any
i am wrong
certainly if you

listen to my wife..parenthesis
never the less
through comes a truth
what ever it may be..

how do i know
because i have known
thus lost knowing
recalled no

felt
instinct
we were once
so
but no longer..

ii


i recall another
scared the life
out of me..parenthesis
though benign..

he said without
saying i would never
meet another like
him..

he proved a quintissential
cunning man
his glance left
something..

some understanding
some aspiration
a desire for learning
and so on..

though i think his
ways wordless
but natures´
he instilled faith..

you got it all wrong
it´s you..
you have said it in song
it´s you..

they burrow in your tongue
it´s you..
we look from your eye hung
it´s you..

you will shiver black and brown
it´s you..
they will carry you down-
it´s you..

to hell..while your screaming
it´s you..
if only we were dreaming..
it´s you..

why and fingers pointing
it is you..
one great red circling
you..

something of the fate
something from the past
let our love last
it is YOU..!

iv)

the next morn
at the town hall
the pied piper

calls-i want to-
the clerk interjects-
if you want to

play in the street
you ll need to complete
form 420 and-

(tchick?!goes jess..)
speak to the mayor-
have you an

appointment?-
i am a magician
stroke musician

and have traversed
considerable
distance

by mountains
and fall
endless meadow

under azure skies-
you ll need to
make an appointment-

(stayed at
a bed and breakfast
last night..)

so as to free hamilyn
of it´s newly acquired
infestation-

viz a viz-
the rats-
you ll need

form 670-
(bureaucracy´s
monolith

has our hero!)
i know-he intimates
in a meaningful

financial way-
by ancient means
mesmerising

and hypnosis-
i could tell
of his where-

abouts-
for a small stipend
he´s at lunch-

(our country boy is
at a loss)
with my newt

jess..
bless!-
he´s at the diner

across the road..
go and bother
him

thankyou
says the pied piper
tchick! says jess..

i

i washed up for a living,lily,
for a while there
this is something george
and i have in common..

on the whole i was treated
decently
pearl divers are a breed unto
themselves..

mine was a life of ease
over eating and boredem
it was ******* the spine
and knees..

a piece of cake compared
to digging holes
(surrounded by the boss
and his extended family..)


the pop wagon on friday
cement as a whole
the olive oil factory or
carrying bricks..

ii

the pop wagon on a friday
took only two hours
brevity
that was the answer..

the cement truck on
tuesdays
took two and half
hours..

but ended in tears..
the shift in the olive
oil factory
could last eighteen hours..

digging holes an eternity
carrying bricks up stairs
works up quite a thirst..
never mind soon be..

be in pauli´ s soup kitchen
where wine smooth and cool
as honey bees..
chicken and macaroni..!

iii

the cement was high in lime
and invariably chafed the skin
and in that hole it would set
to be picked out with olive oil

and a pin..drunk,the screaming
and carry on..
we laughed and held them down
better digging holes..!

it was so painful..!
down and out in paris and london
by gearge orwell

i was jealous of the moon
(for it´s known )
a cereal clown
carry on-

a sugar grin
a floating spoon
milk rounding
a petulant bend-

diane?
a free toy in
a little man
cowering..

i was just saying to
to tommy the kat
over the morning
egg-the mystical bene-
fits of sharing-
two souls
touching and all that-
but-
but for his part
he ate with appetite
(even through
ketchup)
licking with gusto
his extravagant
whiskers
and then like a
sad too much
departed
for the hills
to relish waiting
for the ****..

i watered the flower
to red and greens
a small love ours
grab at and leans

into our heart..
swept the dust
that ends to start
the same-a must

for what is
what will be
washed the dishes
and made tea..

i watered the flowers
with white and black
ready for grey shower
up-down and back-

two tones that  swept
an untold melancholy
elderly and inept
to be or to be-me

through some thoughts
quite aside any point
made tea-
and rolled a joint..

i went to model myself
not an easy job
today´ s elf
a sweet old cob

not interested
in what..
lily woke
dream gazed

in the act of recalled
do you want to know
a dream
(a raisin in the sun..)

i was in the shopping
mal and yet all the shops
empty and escalators
named heaven..

all the mirrors and
cameras
played catch
the end said

why what did
you then find
but i could not
stop laughing..

madame,it said
you are a shine
and i began
to be..

i understood
the purest
futility
and was good..

i believed in
love
it was me and
you

nothing was on
sale
knock out
a bargain

only your
only mine
on the air
all about

and when i
reached
and could
get no

there was
around
white forest
the sky blue

i looked into
my hand and
there was yours
too..

i said here is
gold and sand
here is promise
here riches..

i looked into your
great wise eye
and a tear fell
like avalanche..

you went down
and i went up
and then gone..
shopping..

from a dream deferred
by langston hughes

ii

at the local tech
with any ****
looking through
the window..

the moulin like some
happy
space ship..
the night soft

and the river fine
i took my forms
went to the pub
for a jar..

i will write
three poems
today
it is my women´s
birthday
she is 59
same as me
we met when forty
she worked in the cafe
we and her eight cats
hit the road in my ambulance
we went up and down the coast
i guess we see many things..

we snuggled the winter into
spring..from little white village
and endless sparkling beach
to the touristy places and this
******* river beds..mad dogs
the dusty cacti and hoopoes..


we see lots
early morning dips
bright stars
bright surf
lots of churches
time enough
lazy days..


(and now 17
years on
we go
where has
the time gone..?)

i wish for a raspberry bush
and an acre of land
lush and brown!

man will always desire
space
his own

he will call his
choice-
a future..!

we want ours
through justice
and god..

i wish i were antonio o!
winding the hills so
into and out quilted to
the excited children know

the distant three wheel echo
of imagination -blue and yello
pop ups and quietly through
the sun rising finger drew

across a blinding line anew
a love to page them do
and don´t..lo!
antonio!

in his biblio!
run promises blow
like a wizard´s brew
come all to know..!