Jordholmen’s public bath
Back in the days of yore, few people had a shower unit they might have had bathtub that was used once a week when the whole family bathed and the loser was the dad usually with daughters by then the water in the tank was tepid
I friend of mine told of a public bathhouse, near the docks, where one could have shower in cubicle, get a towel and a bar of soap
We ran, never walked back then to the bath house called Jordholmen, I didn’t have money for cubicle, but the lady said I could share a shower with my friend, but she only gave us on towel and one bar of soap; well as a capitalist his used the towel first, but that is nothing new
I came quite attached to this bath house, it was  a great change to have wash in a bucket of warm water in the living room by the fire, or in the kitchen in the days of May; we have lost hot water in our house in Cascais, my wife despairs for me it is like the old days warming water cleaning bits and pieces in front of the fire

A Day of Reckoning


Forenoon, it had been raining during the night
the wizened winter landscape was now green
and amongst olive trees long-legged sheep grazed;
their pastor and, on occasions, executioner, sat on
a boulder casting dreams into the future; man and
beast, rustic peace, pity I hadn’t a camera.

On my way to the village to buy the papers, a sheep
had been run over by a truck, with its stomach burst
open and its content glinting in the sun, it was still
alive. Ah, you dumb animal abandoned by everyone  
it looked at me without any hope of deliverance,
so I reversed my car and ran over its head.

As the skull was crushed its eyes popped out, landed
at the middle of the road that now had eyes to see
with, the shock of this made it shudder a long rent in
the asphalt ***** black tears trickled. Quickly 
I threw the eyes into the thicket which was instantly
transformed into a field of tinkling bluebells.

From nowhere a road gang of small, denim-clad men  
with big hats appeared, they were badly paid and lived
on road kills. Expertly strewing soft sand on blood, filled
cracks with healing asphalt, and off they drove with
their dinner. Empty road it had no knowledge of what
had just occurred, it was up to me to remember.

A day spring day 1952

It was a day in April, the boy sat by the milk ramp waited for the man, who drove from farm-to-farm, collecting milk for the Dairy in local town There was only one type of milk he knew of it was full fat and tasted smooth and creamy He, became aware of how beautiful the landscape like seeing the nature for the first time and as it tuned out it was also for the last time, his mother was back from the sanatorium He had to go to her, he got a job delivering gods on his bike and never returned to the farm, but the beauty of that day has stayed with as a time of glory when the world was unspoiled

A dreamy poem
Last night and half asleep I wrote a poem
About love not expressed but understood
A sad story of two unhappy people
Both unhappily married to someone else
I spoke the poem into the night
It sounded emotional and I cried a little
In the morning, the night poem was forgotten
I was too lazy to try to recreate its mood

Morning poem

This morning, sky and sea had the color shiny grey and I could see forever and saw a man and his son on the deck of a big ship, eating prunes because it was good for digesting heavy food. In my childhood prunes a rare fruit was served at Christmas for the same reason, but only in America could one get hamburgers, as told by seafarers who had seen the bright lights at a place called Broadway.                            
The sky shifted color to everyday grey, it began raining and the morning show was over

A spring poem
I try to write a poem since it is the first of Mars
The spring sun was looking huge, but not for long
A black cloud bigger than the sun muscled in
Stop! You are trying to write a poem, not tell us
About the weather, but since you are at it
did the cloud shed cold rain
I can’t say, I was indoors in my bedroom looking out
a poet never arises before noon

The joke is on me
When I read that Starmer, when visiting Trump, had with him an invitation from the king of England, offering Trump dinner
I thought it was a joke, but it was true. Trump was flattered and accepted the invitation
Of course, he is an egomaniac who thinks he is a royal American king, and why not!
The difference between the two kings is that Trump has power and the English king is reduced to a face on loose pocket change
Is President Trump a good ruler? Well, he is autocratic and gets things done, not always with aplomb, but no one is perfect
In a world of liberal democracy, we end up with
EU is a talking shop trying to force nations to see
The Brussels way and to think they are called democrats, when its leadership is making life difficult for dissenters like Victor Orban, a sane man among sycophants.
The leaders of any country are to look after their inhabitants’ well-being. If not, then new leaders   must be elected, but in our democracy, we see little movement at the top because their idea of democracy is to elect themselves, not much is done for the people
China and Russia have autocratic rulers with a high living standard, but one is not allowed to swear in church, and that is accepted by most people who favor democracy, a system they know nothing about until they move to New York and see democracy firsthand; the living conditions among the masses are atrocious