To Know Without Knowing

Red moss, crimson as the blood of a slaughtered calf,
I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
where or when. To see a landscape painting, knowing
I had been there before
In the Valley of Cobblers, children ran barefoot on
summer grass and scented wildflowers
unpasteurized milk, and healthy, innocent laughter.
I know this to be true, but I don’t know why.
I think of reindeer; will they eat red moss used
as they are to the grey variety? The sun keeps shining
like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
The good earth is dry and waits for rain
The Red Moss is a forgotten love story. Perhaps
if I sit still long enough and wait
I will remember it.

The  furrows of Life
 
The narrow way leading up to the farm from the main
the road had a gate, so cattle could not wander off to
the main road getting. The way had three furrows, two
caused by a narrow cartwheel and one- much wider- from
the horse´s hoofs. Deep furrows meant a hard-working
farm. The landscape was flat and often windy on my
way to school, I tried to walk where the horses had trod
the soil was softer there, the horseshoe patterns told
me if it had been a small or big horse that last had pulled
a cart here if the load had been heavy
A useless knowledge, I often wonder
Why do I remember it so clearly
like a black-and-white photo?
Lately, I have been remembering this dirt road
the people and animals
I often wonder if there is a message here
I have overlooked it.

The Problem of Europe.
 
Christianity is a rising mist I normally do not bother to
think of  I dislike all religions as ill omens told fairytales
demanding to be taken seriously.
 
The worship of Jesus could have been a friendly affair
bewildered vicars talking about peace and thanking
the ladies for the beautiful flowers.
 
Until one remembers the Bush and Blair two knights
who wedges war against Islam by invading Iraq and
fight a religion all good Christians and Hebrews detest.
 
So if you thought religious wars were of the past
you’re wrong the western occupiers of Palestine are
but a religious war. Israel is a European enclave.
 
In Europe, Islam is a strong, demanding alien force
that we must not give in to, but we must
respect their discipline, devotion, and morality.
 
Should the good people of Europe find I slam a better
and more fulfilling religion than our Christianity, it is
because our culture is spent and insipid.

Easter Reading
In Lima – Peru- a hippo was pulling the tram car with
its best friend, a water buffalo. They had ended up
here, far from Africa, after the great flood ebbed and
had been blessed with eternal life, only being mere
animals, they didn´t know this. In Lima, no one made
a big issue of this, but when the wider world knew
and some adventurers set about trying to **** the pair,
in vain, the Lima people took another look, especially
since the church thought they were the devil´s own
handiwork, god would never have allowed beasts
besting man. Angry people took to hurling mud and
stones at the animals, also calling them rude names.
From the mountain came a man dressed in white
burnoose, and spoke to the people:
“For years, you respected my creation, the hippo
the water buffalo, with respect and care, I thought
well of you and decided that the archbishop of Lima,
when the time was right, would be the new pope, but you
have disappointed me greatly, hence the new pope
will be the archbishop of Buenos Aires, Argentina”.
The man, in a white burnoose, paused and said
“It is also the time you electrified the tram system.”

the bridge

In the middle of the bridge, we leaned on its railing
and looked into the slimy, green, and slow
running stream. Its bank, decorated with plastic bottles,
used condoms, a long-since-dead dog, yet grinning as
recalling a filthy joke and a three-month-old abortion,
half eaten by discerning water rats.
Over this beauty of decay hung a reluctant, pale sun
refusing to lend light to this polluted river scene.
The first time we came here, the water was clear, we could
see fishes you held my hands, she said.
My hands were cold, spat into the filth below, dug them
deep into my pockets, hunched my shoulders, and
began walking. No bother telling her that our love was
like a river burdened by too much debris.
All we have in common is our shared solitude, but that is
a dad is better than being alone.

Are wars as natural as forest fires?

The world is a restless war between India
and Pakistan's armies are ready and eager to fight
as usual, the people are ill-informed 
Israel has a problem; people are in an uproar 
the way the sitting regime mishandle 
the constant warfare, there might be a civil war
the USA, that believes in an uni-polar world  but
see they are no longer the world's ruler
Europe wants more war in Ukraine 
Alexandre Dugan believes in a multi-polar world
he is correct; the age for supremacism is over  
Or is it as many people think that war is like the plague 
a natural phenomena buried in our mind
from time to time, to destroy and mass ****** 
will occur, will not stop until the old order is destroyed
then peace can come, and the world is set free

Misty Day
Glancing out of the window, I see the potted plant
on the sill and the house on the other side of
the road, the light is fading, and the plant looks as
sad as a whitewashed wall in the rain whiteness
is an illusion caused by the sun.
Mist of grief encircles olive trees, are blank
tears on my almond tree´s spindly twigs, yet inside
each droplet sees a tiny world reflecting my own,
only with greater incorruptibility of the untested.
And far away, as a whisper, a mother sings a lullaby.

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