The lonely heart

This loneliness is eating me up
we are miserable in different rooms 
words have been spoken over and over again
what more is there to say
other than platitudes 
When *** died, our love died too
The only thing we have in common
is the fear of being alone 
At night, I sneak into her bedroom
to see if she is still breathing
when I'm half awake
I know she is checking up on me
We need each other as never before
can one say this is a kind of love

overcast

I like rain, not angry rain with an attitude
neglected by the mother cloud and take revenge
for its misbegotten infancy 
lashing those who sought peace and the promise
of forever, with ice blasts  
soft rain that feels like a caress, a day in June 
Drips from my blue umbrella feel like kisses from
a long-time lover

The Dancer

At fifteen, he was a dancer with a  slim body
and narrow hips, after school he walked to 
the dance studio where he was welcome
and danced as long as he could
other boys bullied him and said he was
girlish, but the girls liked him because of him
the felt save 
On and on he danced, the press wrote 
about this talented boy, but the bullying 
didn't stop to prove to them he was not a ***** 
he, at eighteen, joined the Ukraine army
who could use a  boy like him in a forward
position keeping an eye on the enemy
Bullets fly in the air 98% hit nothing much
but a bullet hits him in the neck 
His parents received a medal their boy had
been a hero.

poet at the factory

It had been a long day at the factory but
when there was a break, he jotted down a few words
and during the day, it became a poem- he always
had a pen and block ready, words were so flighty he may
forget what he wanted to write if he waited too long.
Coming home and told his wife
I wrote a whole poem today, a good poem
his wife asked if the poem was about her, no he said it was about a tree
the one at the entrance of the village.
His wife went back to the kitchen and slammed the door
The poet came out of his cocoon and said to his wife:
All my poems are about you, my muse, with you at my side
I can't write about the old tree in the village
They kissed and made up, and both lived long and had good deaths blissfully unnoticed by the world.

Candlelight and Romance

Suddenly, Portugal was flung into darkness
electricity stopped, and nothing functioned
anymore, credit cards were useless
and those types of cards were the norm as
people carried little cash in their wallets 
the day was wounded, walked unsteadily
towards evening, few had thought of
buying candles, the town of Cascais was
fearful and quiet 
Having lived for many years in the outer
corners of the countryside where the supply
often failed, was prepared, we had candles
and means to light them
The evening was quite romantic; we sat on
the sofa held hands, telling stories from
our youth, it was almost a disappointment
came back on, the hours of darkness had
brought us closer together

A great day

Despite financial problems,
the May morning
was too beautiful to behold
the leaves on the tree on the Avenida
was deep green, the flowers 
planted around was red and blue
The place was quiet in a good way
worker slept late on their day, working
for others, low pay takes a heavy
toll, but this one day was theirs
free of the burden of working long 
hours for other I warm, sunny day well
deserved, the cold Atlantic wind
agreed

The God Thing
I often think of God, but Morgan Freeman's face gets in the way
So, now we know God is a handsome actor looking godlike and
that is
Ok, if he had looked Chinese, I might have objected
Death is a conundrum; We accept the physical death
but the problem
Is what is happening to our thoughts from experience?
After a long life, we like to pass knowledge on, but
selectively, as we can not talk about our blunders and our ****** misconduct
I have lived an egocentric life is the only
way I write
but if I have written something to anyone for whom the big
sleep means nothing we are grateful