Hurt Europe
Starmer and Macron dislike leaving the scene of a crime, not yet concluded, they will meet for lunch to discuss how they can prolong the Ukraine war and help Zelinsky win over Putin’s Russia, they have been sidelined by Trump who wants peace and gets his praise, a Nobel Medal
Trump, the man doesn't want them meddling it is his alone, needs not a humiliated Europe to snag get their foot in with left-winged nonsense Rutte, the new NATO boss has read the ruins he talks about China to please the USA and thinks of sending troops to defend Indonesia.
After lunch, Starmer had lamb chops, Macron had oysters they walked to the Louvre and spoke about European culture, forgetting Europe is not a state but a landmass of many countries that might not share their knowledge of Rodin, later they went to Cabaret in Montmartre

for a little slander
The new president of America has told Europe to look after its own defense which means NATO without the USA’s help becomes a boy’s club for retired politicians pretending, they are a fighting force eager to defend Ukraine which can’t be done without dragging without risking a serious world war, they hands are tied since Ukraine s not in NATO, an easy excuse because we know it is not true, but it has not stopped leaders in Europe to hammer their support of Ukraine to get at the Russians although knowing the war could have been avoided but for idiotic policies
Oh, how Europe’s leaders hugged Ukraine to their hearts delivering money and weapons to what was and is a corrupt regime
How quickly they changed tunes when the USA told the truth, mates you are on your own we will not defend you anymore you are masters in your land and responsible for your own security How sweet it was to my ears spoken by a man we vilify because he wears a tie too long for the snobs in Brussels who has a leader that wears her hair as fashioned like a helmet
After a shocked silence voices were heard but the man was right, we are responsible for our security -silly sods- Suddenly -Ukraine was no longer Europe and must find peace with Russia Spring thawed in February, on Valentine's Day on a day when Macron’s and Obama’s wives exchanged glances
For us, we were humbled and ignored it was a great day too finally the war is not imminent but we must not forget the clever people in Tel Aviv will find a way to upset the Apple chart

Goodbye
Macron and erstwhile Starmer are meeting to talk about the USA’s change in politics against the war in Ukraine to find a new solution, but they fail to understand they and Brussel are redundant, they kissed Zelinsky’s corrupt hand and swore fealty to hubris how to get out of this Both men have in common they are power pervs selling their soul to stay at the top although they have nothing to contribute, they are egged on by the Guardian’s a Woke newspaper that this feminist  paper opinions is they have lost against reality of today’s worldview they are redundant Step aside new time has arrived and you are ghosts in the engine of realistic time

Like the father the son

He is a lovable rough, the father of a famous son who keeps us guessing what the hell he is up to next, a father who is a buccaneer, sails the deep sea, and fears not the tempests on his way
Can a son ask for more?
The father never was a nine-to-five sort of bloke who operated at the edge of the law, like a pirate would, fingers in many lucrative pies, that is what daring men do those, who believe in themselves, live to tell the tale.
The son might lack the old man’s charm, still, he has otherwise emulated him but prefers to stay ashore, an influencer of magnitude selling his ideas to those on top of the political heap and like his father faces tempest with bravado.
As for me, a shy poet, thrown ashore with irregular works and lacking the go-get appetite for life, his father is the type I wish I were.

The sailor goes ashore.

the night in the hallway paled into a yellowish screen
showing a black movie, 1963
A time machine of memories sent him back to the years
to meet people long since gone.
A family at the dinner table of people he knew too well
the shadow of his 125 years old father was not there
nectar drinking Colibri exotic as Christmas present never received, the one in the toy shop, a red firetruck
with wooden wheels
And he, the son of the oldest man in the world, had gone to sea, and when he returned, nothing was as remembered, differently by the people around the table
A lacuna of missed years, a distance that was unbridgeable whenever he came home, a stranger silent
augmenting the gap filled with politeness.
They had known and seen him grow to adulthood, but his character remained a mystery, sitting in the living room.
They were related to him and knew he would leave soon.
A nurse gently touched his shoulder are you awake?
Yes, mother, I'm home from the sea.

Melancholy

he had been feeling miserable for weeks, his fiancé had left him and taken their dogs along she went home to live with her elderly father every day was a bother, going to town to open the café, serving kids burgers and coke until five o’clock, cleaning the place as he had no staff walking home watching TV and drinking beer until he fell asleep waking up a hundred times
One morning he didn’t open his café took a train out of town and wanted to go to a farm where he had lived for a few years and been happy, the farm had shifted hands the owner said his widow and her sister up a hill they were glad to see him but asked if he was well
later on, he walked to another farm to visit two
brothers he had gone to school with, one of them had moved out, and the youngest one had taken over the farm they too asked if he was feeling ok since it was planting time, they were busy but would visit him in the evening at the widow’s house and they watched him when he walked across the landscape following a path he knew so, sensed he was not welcomed
behind boulders out of sight, he drank from a flask and suddenly he cried his loneliness was acute, he had failed somehow now he only had himself, and no one was going to help him out of his self-inflicted quagmire of self-hate, at the widow's house, his sister was waiting, she took his bottle away and said, no more of this and drove him home

The Magic Almond Tree

And now it is time

For the ugly almond tree to blossom

And be a bride of spring

And how beautiful she is

Amongst dowdy olive trees that may

Have cornered the culinary market

The beauty belongs to my almond tree.

How did this come about?

A Nordic princess married an Arabic prince

In Lusitania but she missed the snow

And was unhappy.

The prince prayed to his God and next year

The almond tree bloomed and strewed pink and

White flowers on her path

And today I saw the magic of her smile.