The brave citizen

The strength
Of the Palestinians
The strongest people
In the world
Women suffer the most
Dead children do not cry
Gaza is a ruin
The Gazans
Love their land
They will stay here…Until?

Painting of Oblivion

The canvas is uniformly white.  
As a screen depicts nothingness
And there is immobility.
A red dot appears
When a mass of void moves
Into life in the form of a life
A beast or a man?
The mystery is no one knows.
Why this randomness occurs

Peace in our time
What can we say our hope for peace in Ukraine was declared, we are no longer sure if this is possible, the right words were spoken until someone mentioned the value of rich soil that had costly minerals within, and the talk of suffering humanity talk a pause, greed had entered the frame
Sure, we need troops to guard our ill-gotten treasures, friendly troops do you mind if there is a thing like friendly weaponized troops guarding
Earth treasure
While our leaders try to change the narrative to
tell us it is not about right or wrong but it is about saving the world for our benefit

Winter of Discontent

Cloudiness has settled in the sky
An act of unpalatable truth of the kind
A summer sun easily hides
Old dwellings are full of cracks
Sagging roofs and dust on the window sill
***-holed roads, dry as clay, lead from
From doom to the gloom of routines
Nothing changes, life is an endless struggle
Spring is far away
Then, a miracle happens, splitting clouds
I saw the sun, as the flowers in the garden
had seen
warming my face, letting the illusion continue

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

A brief visit

I sat trying to write
A poem of love
Yes, once Love hit me hard
I sensed someone
Standing beside my chair
Yes, it was her
Twenty years had gone
She looked the same
She smiled with eyes of love
Then, she faded away

Pressure, pressure

Why can’t they leave him alone
Today the bay window
Demonstrates a panorama of beauty
He longs to go there
Taste the salt sea
To sail away from all this
Back to Jamaica
To places he had been when young
When laughing in the rain
When there was a now
The future too far away to contemplate
Clouds are gathering
There will be rain in the afternoon
The bay window
Has tearstains from
Too many yesterdays

The tree of ages
There had been a storm, not a squall, making it difficult
to walk from the supermarket to your car, leaving you
with tussled hair and breathless, no this was
the real thing, the holm oak, crashed to the ground
roots and all blocking the road.
It was an old tree that had lost weight and bark slung around
it was like a poorly fitted mechanic's overall, so it had to happen
it was what ensued after the fall, and it had to move
still alive, they cut it in half and pushed it aside with
a forklift truck, no ceremony here, no kind words, the tree
was blocking the traffic; not a word of regret, you see,
hadn't it been for the storm, the tree was well enough to
stand by the entrance to the lane for 100 years to come.

The wish

The face on the mirror scoffs at me
I’m an illusion and cannot die
Yet, I see him late at night, watching
“a house on the prairie.” crying
Sentimental fool
Wishes he was me on a bright day
When the mirror is in the shade
as I leave the mirror whisper, why
can't you be like Elon Musk he is
only scared of his father

The blues affair

I met her where the light was weakening
an enduring twilight had settled on what
was re-lived in the memory of summer
moving out of the convention, tired leaves
in the soft breeze on its final breath.
We spoke of the past but not of the now
the present didn’t matter.
I saw her as a disappearing holograph
dying in the mist of life lived
past emotions could not awaken
she had gone to a place I could not follow
as her face was erased.

Trees, cars and Elon Musk

The branches of trees on the avenue
Was stretching upward this morning
To be a decorative tree is not easy
Standing still looking leafy
Once they had been mere sampling
In a forest of other trees, feeling safe
Protected by tree too old or crocked
Stand under a tree and hear a murmur
They agree electric cars has no fumes
But older cars are better lookers
My car swell with pride she 28 to day
A self-driving AI long before Elon Musk
Said he had invented a driver-less car

A fake promise

This morning February
flirts with sunlight
And a promise of spring
on the horizon dark
Clouds gather
Don’t send the winter coat
For dry cleaning
The umbrella too can come
In handy

Black is beautiful 

When I tore lose from the mountain
and fell into the river. I was a rough
stone, offended other stones as I lacked
manners and appeared gruff 
Now, however, I'm smooth, oblong and
black, feels no shame stating I'm masculine
different from the shed gray other stones
I share the riverbed with 
spring is when ice melts on the mountain
and I'm pushed along until I am an attractive
black stone on a creamy white beach
I'm worried about being stuck where
the river is shallow; a boy might find me
picks me up and put me on the widow sill 
in his room and forget me until his mum
throws me out with rusty nails, toys, and batteries
I will never feel the sea washing over me
and look hansom on a golden beach

Peace

A glorious morning in the bay of Cascais
seven coastal ships on a mirror.
Stilleben
Sunday, the crew are asleep
except for a cook who is up preparing
breakfast

This could be a picture of eternity
but a small motorboat breaks the mirror
leaves a white scar that heals itself

The sky is softly blue, and white clouds are
sun-flecked  and in no haste going anywhere
on this day of bliss

The Tariffs
here we go again, in a strong country where most workers are not unionized, but the rich are and the working class has to pay for the wealthy’s expenses, this time in the form of tariffs those who have the business of production can reduce the local market’s cost, but they will not instead, they will jack up their prices because we live in a free society where the lower order has little influence to demand better pay
There will be demonstrations against hard times, the strikers will be vilified as enemies of freedom, thrown into jail on fake charges, and called renegades, and the press will tell us they  are betrayers of the American way  
Yes, we have seen this before in other countries in another time, but the outcome is always more poverty, when the people are subdued and real freedom fighters are shot on the streets or, on the tabernacle of progress, peace bitter peace will ensue until the state collapses into a civil war

No Mystery here

when I shut my eyes, I see millions of stars not bright stars they only bring light onto themselves static and unblinkingly.
On the bottom half of what I see, is a mist called ennui, of stars have been consumed by the nothingness that is self-consuming.
The enormous expanse called the Universe is life forms, but not alive, lack awareness, and exist only to fill the emptiness the clerics call heaven.
The stillness is absolute, human drama does not echo in the vastness of non-life, called peace mankind refers to as death.

Children in Palestine
He sat down to write a poem for nature
When he closed his eyes saw, bombed-out buildings
Rain dripping from wrecked concrete onto
The street, a muddy pool, but that
didn't stop the children from playing captains of the deep sea
Another bomb fell and obliterated this harsh idyll
What was left was mist and fire where it once had been
A muddy puddle.
His pleasant poem about a track and olive roots trying
To trip him up, the shepherd, his dog, and the sheep coming
His way the good small of wool like an obscenity today
did little to stop his fear for the future.

Shiny time

The glittering sea, golden sand
harmonious the sky
with cute white clouds
it was said before this place
became a tourist mecca
another race of people lived
here, but they had sinned
Merciless, Jehovah’s wroth
Not one survivor
That’s how it became
A worldly Paradise

Fake reviews

In 1963, I ate lunch at Andrea’s café,
her food was wonderful
I advised mariners to go for a visit
and be welcomed by a true lady.
I now learned that unsolicited reviews
are no longer appreciated
My recommendation was delivered verbally
Andrea doesn’t know she is a grandmother and
One of her grandchildren runs the place
I once ran a café in Liverpool selling bacon butties
I could have done with the friendly review
From the people who worked at the small factories nearby, but when Margaret Thatcher
Came to power, they closed down
A young man from Pakistan bought my café
Changed its name to Morning Glory and sold
Curried chicken and shrimp
That, of course, was before the hatred of the foreigner was noticed  
When Britain woke up 3 million people from
Syria and Iraq had entered they were not as friendly as the man from Pakistan.

Sebastopol

Was it a dream
Soldiers
In a thick ankle deep
Overcoats
And I had none
It gets dark early
In Sebastopol
A blessing
I tried to buy
An overcoat
Was arrested
Sweet wine they sold
For cigarettes
Sent back on board
Brezhnev
Did the driving
What do I know
It might still be
The darkest place

NUUK

Greenland is the largest island in the world
but it is not a continent
I looked up Nuuk, the capital,  on YouTube
it is now a modern town with supermarkets
even cafes.
I was there fifty years ago.
Back then, it was a rather primitive place
with a million barking dogs
and drunk people on the dirt roads
they hang dogs slowly so the hairs stand out
it was exported as a pelt
one hopes this practice has been outlawed.
I remember the coastline, bottle green for once, still,
we went fishing in a clear stream, transparent
when we waded over to the other side
it was so deep we could have drowned.
It was the coldest bath of my life.
Greenland was beautiful, but it was then
not a place to remember with fondness,
except for the trout we caught.

The forgotten
We forgot to buy a loaf today, but there is an apple **** in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow   we will feast on cake and think of the daft woman in France, whose name I have forgotten
Putin was offered a 30-day break from warring, and he gracefully thanked Trump for his interest and accepted the offer, but first, the underlying cause had to be negotiated
Trump was flattered; he didn’t get the whole loaf but had to accept a lemon cake, Putin and Lavrov are both masters in chess, and the West, who do not understand what Russia has said
No NATO in Ukraine quarantine Russia has had enough from the West’s false promises, that’s, but Zelensky, the fraud has to go, a new election held and a spring will arrive in Ukraine

Nepal
Nepal I know little of this country, nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic that he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn't help him to become a king,
I think he is a monk now and is fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitudes in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu 
As usual in such cases, the money gets siphoned off and
little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom who cares, Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.

Cry Freedom

Not many Americans know the world is not looking westward they see the fall of the value
they see the poverty of the suffering people who die of curable illnesses because they can’t pay the cost and might sell their house to cover
of capitalistic health service, but let’s put that aside what Trump said about World War 2
It was Russia who won the **** war, albeit with
help from the USA; was also Russian soldiers who freed the prisoners in concentration camps
and oversaw the fall of Berlin
For America, it was a profitable war, Europa had
no industry left and got generous loans to start to rebuild a shattered economy
America’s real war was in the Pacific a colonial war against Japan who had taken Indochina which was America’s playground
the US won that war by dropping two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, this caused total surrender and the US was back ruling over Indochina
America as we can see today, was bad rulers
the elevated cruel dictators to rule whose only qualification was obedience to America
Today Indochina is in Bricks and free from the US influence

he French Debate in English

The program was about the power of alternative media such as X and Facebook
A woman from the EU said those programs
Can be banned, by the stroke of a pen
What arrogance, to ban people of Europe not
To see what the alternative media say
Be practicing censorship
The EU is after Elon Musk for what was considered an interference in the upcoming
German election of AtD.
It is what the voters in Germany like to vote for
EU wants to stop voices they dislike, which is tantamount to dictatorship

a Danish imbroglio

The Danish prime minister is appealing to Europe to stop Trump’s idea of taking Greenland and making it an American state
What he wants not that he is overly interested
is to be sure that no other country places
bases on Greenland’s still-cold soil like Russia
or China
the Vikings when Greenland had a period of thawing had farms there, which tells us the brave Vikings were mostly farmers, their fierceness is a national lie
As for Europe helping look another way they
write the declaration of good intent and should
Say, Trump, post troops on the Island, the EU
will wring their hands and do nothing
We know this when Gaza suffered a mini holocaust it lamented, but otherwise, did nothing, even Germany in her misguided sense
of guilt lasting for generations sent weapons to Israel
So, we tell Denmark you are on your own to deal
with this new situation, but to give more money for the defense of Greenland is futile
Perhaps the Danish “hygge” might help

Painting with words

The ash in the wood burner is still warm white and esoteric
an unborn dream a sin to shovel into a sink bucket when
it looks holy and ought to be strewn upon the tranquil sea
with the first drop of rain the ash in the bucket a dust cloud
disperse like souls in the forest but, as the shower increases
the ash drowns becomes silt when the rain stops, and the sun
warms crops the grieving has passed

Passing years and Google


I wonder how old one has to be to have a dignified life, Google wants to re-identify myself
It appears there are many of me
They sent me a form where I have to place figures where they sit and move around
the problem is my eyesight is not good after
all at 86 six I’m not a Falk-eyed Indian
How this test can prove whether I’m me and not a company I don’t know
As it is I can’t log into X where I have 200 followers, which at my age is encouraging that there are people who like my view about politics and life in general
Old age is not for the insipid, we who are classified as old suffer joint pains and have legs unwilling to carry us around
Our minds are not as old as our bodies we have tons of experience to divulge, the politics of today have happened before, we know
Is there or should, there be a cutoff point to life
Say at 75 but we old think 75 is young, I even had girlfriends back then, who thought I was handsome; they should see me now!
I feel resentful, that Google in its hunt for
Fake accounts have singled me out after twenty years of loyal service

A regular day

We read, with amusement, that Facebook is set free
Mark, our erstwhile friend, has seen the light
Not spending money on fast-checkers, more kudos to him
Is he sincere
For now, this is of scant interest, the wind blows hard, rattles the window, and demands to be let inside.
Hollers, you were glad for the summer breeze
So, what is wrong now
How do explain, to the wind it is a matter of knowing when the climate for change is right?
The wind is not willing to give up, asks what about
X, a rude and opinionated site; well, you see
The world fears economic power can strike like Typhon and flood our land.
A French shrug to that thinks an opinion is free
For all words are like the wind blows today, but
Will be quiet comes next day

All the king's men

Looking at the photo of over-rich people they do look, quite normal except their lives are not
I think it is worse, long and boring days punctuated by the perches of another luxury
Objects like yachts go to sea and get bored and after days, birth the **** thing out of sight, buy a car that doesn’t need a driver and can fly as well
To be wealthy to the point one has nothing sensible to do is bad for the well-being of man Except Elon Musk who is manically busy with Everything and politics
When other oligarchs fall in line behind the new king, Elon Musk follows his own plan, perhaps dethrone the king, take the rain, and carry until
He goes too far and challenges God to a duel
On Mars

A reflection
Sometimes I wonder if there is a sentimental reason why many Americans like the Israeli
North America is a land of settlers who replaced
can we say, it eradicated the tribes that lived there and became a most successful nation  
The Zionist Israel is trying albeit on lesser land
when the US settlers called the Indians savages
the Zionist Israel calls Palestinians Untermensch
to borrow a German word, which is apt in this situation, since it has connotations to holocaust
We like to blame the Polish Jew Netanyahu for
the lesser holocaust on Palestine land, with lesser, I mean in comparison to 6 million Jews
Mind, killing 46thousand Palestinians in six months, is impressive too since most of the dead were women and children which in a sick way makes sense since children became adults and hate Israel
the killing of people who have culture and religion different from s are deemed enemies and must be eradicated, clean the society from
think different from us
It is with a heavy heart I see Africa has adopted our war-like tendency Congo, and Sudan are
burning in the name of democracy, the white
man’s mantra, when it means power by force
A final word, as the US is declining her workforce is pushed into poverty, and culture
is a new power that will rise in the East eclipse
and decline as all powers made by man does

Egon Hedin the cook
When I joined the ship as a second cook I had trained as a baker, on a tank ship with forty crews, one, who could bake a passable loaf was needed
The cook’s name was Egon Hedin, he had an ascetic face with an aristocratic nose, one felt like bowing to his lord until you saw his arms they looked enormous which would in a boxer
the vessel left Antwerp for Russia the journey took us through the Mediterranean Sea and since the weather was fine the deckhands wore shorts that excited him greatly, he tried to sneak up to one of them to stroke the boy’s back, this caused friction the crew didn’t want a **** onboard, the captain came told a tale that the cook had lost his son he longed for
When we birthed in Russia in a town, I had forgotten the name of, the cook and I went ashore few ****** went ashore in Russia as it was seen as a boring place with few bars and no ****** the town lacked a festive atmosphere
Walking down a beautiful avenue we heard music from an open window, the cook marched in it was a local party’s functionary's birthday they were all men in badly cut suits and glad to see us for some strange Russian reason
They gave the cook ***** and me beer since I was so young, Hedin was at his most dramatic he sang a Russian song about love for the land till everybody cried, later we were driven onboard in a ******* car
The tankship headed for Iceland with the oil cargo, Raysahavik the spelling is wrong a boring place with watery beer
back in Antwerp, the cook paid off, seeing him
in his splendid suit, I knew he was an aristocrat

A great Day
This morning, although Monday has a jubilant
Feel, the wind is light, the winter sun warms
The balcony, as seen sitting inside looking out
This a day to remember running on a domestic
A farm landscape with a pair of dogs upsetting
The sheep see cows clumsily running without
The reason other than it is a beautiful day
 It is a day to remember that childhood was not
All misery and poverty
Yes, a day when the old man gets up from his
Chair and dance a tango with his youth

Restless is Portugal

There is mayhem in Paradise
the citizens of Lisbon are tired of the bother
and street fighting, where knives are used by
migrants
Gang fights, robbery, and shop theft is a daily
Matter, the police work double shifts
Most of the incomers are from Pakistan and
Bangladesh, where Portugal once had a colony
The democratic socialists ask for calm
It was under their rules letting in people who
Have no work, congregate in the streets
harassing passers-by
A problem caused when a country takes in
too many migrants that  can’t be absorbed
into the population
it is not helpful when migrants
Are Islam followers demanding the right
to practice their Islamic faith
Portugal is a staunchly catholic country
her people are angry at migrants and politicians
Alike, those who sleep need to wake up before
It is too late to find a peaceful solution
The Jews in Lisbon marched also intimating
the knew a thing or two two
wishing the demonstrators peace and prosperity

I throw this to you
Can it be that Israel
Have been used as
attack Dog
To further the US
interest
in the Middle East

Denmark’s war


When the Germans occupied Denmark during World War 2 the old king was not dethroned
Every morning, he was seen riding in the park
Once, when his horse was spooked, by two German soldiers. he fell off his horse but got up
He dusted himself off, mounted his stead, rode on
The occupier thought his presence was good for morale, keeping the people passive
It was difficult to be a resistant fighter there was no place to hide after all Denmark is nothing more than a gigantic sandbank
The story of the king could have been written
by Hans Christian Andersen his work has been translated into my languages
We must not forget the physicist Niels Bohr who contributed to the understanding of nuclear power
There are many more names but this is not a list of great achievements
Denmark survived the war by not being overly aggressive making the enemy feel at ease
The farmers farmed, and fishermen fished so much that when peace, came they could help
Norway who faced starvation

Romantic feelings

If I were a horse
with an unsure bloodline
If you, on a summer’s day
when the field was green
stroked my flanks, gave me
a slice of bread
I would love you more than
The beautiful nurse
Who helped me with my socks
When I could not bend down

gripe about lunch

After, a lunch with chicken slices warmed, but not fried golden brown, I ask, what am I doing here among people who eat for the reason of eating I used to be a chef it was what I trained for
Why should I enjoy a meal not made by a cook
Who takes no pride in his craft, which is more than money, but also an art
When I lived alone in the rustic country, I even
cooked for my dog, and she had a long and healthy life; I believe food is an integral part of our culture it is vital we spend time not eating
Fat hamburgers and over-processed food

A ******'s life

Looking at the map, I have been to most countries 
that have seaports but no time to explore work  had
to be done whether it was Monday or Sunday
I have crossed many seas. The Pacific Ocean had 
long, deep waves, the Atlantic Ocean had sharper waves
while the Mediterranean Sea could not make up its mind 
The Black Sea wasn't blue and looked darksome; the ship
was stuck on ice flakes
The country we ****** preferred was the USA
we could get our shopping done and buy stuff for
friends at home, shops stayed open longer
A Russian town had a beautiful avenue, but otherwise
a city shrouded in darkness
I lost my heart to Guatemala, beautiful beaches near
the docks, a nation of friendly folks
Haiti, Port-au- Prince where Papa Doc ruled with his
brutal men dressed in flowery shirts, sunglasses
eager to shoot at anything that moved
a place where portholes had to be closed for the stink
What I remember best was in Nagasaki one afternoon
I had two hours off work and noticed how few people
I met it was as if they were still in shell shock 
In a courtyard, I came across the graves of Portuguese
****** who had died of the pest 200 years ago 
far from home, died of an illness, I grieved for them 
The evenings in foreign ports were the same bars
and women of ill repute ready for a small amount
of money serviced the ritual of ***, so one could be drunk
go back onboard for a few hours of sleep

Longings

I wish I could see Teresa
met her in Trinidad
She came from St Luzia
Wore a flower in her hair
like women do in Hawaii
I had lost my glasses
We looked under the bed
Her body was a temple
We worshipped that god
At dawn we’re formal
She wore a fresh flower
In her hair

The scent of the sonnet

I was watching a TV program about Hercules Poirot
the heroine in
the plot had no **** and wore an evening dress with aplomb….
Clearly, she had not sat on a carpet
in the forest of spring, where the animal of love roams it is
green as spring grass has a pink underbelly that looks like a purring
cat or a puppy that softly barks. It droplets of scents
that makes lovers enamored for a day or s
there is always a tomorrow of regrets for some.

If the woman with small **** happens to sit on a carpet in
the glade she will fall in love and pad her bra
and that is so why should she not enhance her lack of this
bagatelle when there are tringles of love in the air
and if this does not help, there is always divorce
a more lonely man is satisfied with a triangle

An utterly Useless Tale

On a big round oak table in a living room, a vase, in its small crack, lived two house ants. They were sitting outside,  considering a box of matches on the tabletop.
“if the box was empty, I’m sure I could push an inch or two the first and said. “Yeah,” the other snorted.
A man came into the room, took a matchstick out of the box, and put it back on the table, this time by its edge, and walked out.
The first ant giggled and said, “If we both push the box, it will fall on
the floor, no one will know how it ended there.”
They traversed the vast expanse of the table, pushed the box off the table, hurried back into their crack, and laughed heartily.
They had been frightened
people usually **** house ants at first
sight. The man came back, saw the box on the floor, shook his head, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. Our ants were in stitches
They were tempted to push the box on the floor again
But gave it up, the risk someone could come in  with a duster
was too great
Back at their crack, they went to sleep

A day in Cascais

Storms and rain have blown away
Green grass grows on cracked pavement
This place was once a low-slung hill
With small farms and animals
The landscape disappeared under concrete
Apartment blocks and shops
A tree-lined avenue, the town’s pride
Up-rooted trees from somewhere else
Re-planted
The trees found rich soil, have big leaves
Looks great in spring
Is this progress, but the struggling grass
On the pavement’s cracks
Will one day make a landscape rich and green

The daylight ghosts

I took the bus to the village
it didn’t stop there anymore, and no buses were going
that way.
The only road to my house was a track
For tractors and mules.
In my absence, wartime was hard
I met a man who
if I paid to drive to the village for a few Euros.
My old dog sat outside, and I took her some
moments before it recognized me
glad to see me.
The door was open.
I walked into the kitchen.
A man came out of the living room
He was surprised to see me.
He had moved in since the house was empty
The owner had disappeared.
The dog lives in the shed, he said. Not anymore
I said. I have nowhere to go, the man lamented
In that case, you can stay for a few days.
I took the dog for a walk in the woods
On the other side of the tracks, she liked that,
It disappeared, and I couldn’t find my way
back to the house, and the village had gone.
A person with a golf club in his hand told me
The tiny village had been razed years ago.
I had no business being here as it was the future.
And there was no way back to the old days
I had nothing to do here, and I walked towards the horizon.

Joe Biden

Today, I want to rest not get engaged with the trouble of our time, I will sit down, drink coffee, and, think of nothing.
I thought of Joe Biden falling off his bike, walking on soft sand, and falling on the steps to his plane when not finding the exit
Does Joe Biden, the former president of USA How corrupt he was serving the rich and his with no thought of the people he represented
Does he have a dark moment when he knows What a failure he has been, his cowardice, his Lack of honor, a life lived in utter futility
I should feel the revolution he deserves, but in My heart, I know, could have been like him, had I the lust for power and fame.
All life ends in death, how trite is it that, both Jo Biden and I will be erased from other people’s Memories, and no one will know we existed

Faulty memory

In the night, the brain had been busy changing my mind.
I have heard many stories in my lifetime, but they are
not forgotten
in my sleep, the story continues and gets a different ending, Sometimes, when remembering my childhood, I tell a story of something that happened to me, only to realize later that I cannot pinpoint the moment and where it happened. When I try to spin the memory, there is no before or after. The conclusion is that I’m telling of a memory that belongs to someone else; a story of a small boy, discovering the wonder of the day.

The secret hint

I was watching a TV program about Hercules Poirot
the heroine in the plot had no **** and wore an evening dress with aplomb
She had not sat on a carpet in the forest of spring where
the animal of love roams is green
as spring grass has a pink underbelly that looks like a purring
cat or a puppy that softly barks. It droplets of scents
that make lovers enamored for a day or so, sadly there is
always a tomorrow of regrets for some.
If the woman with small **** happens to sit on a carpet in
the glade she will fall in love and pad her bra
and that is ok, why should she not enhance her lack of this
bagatelle when there are tringles of love in the air
and if this does not help there is always divorce much lonely the man is satisfied with a triangle

The Genetic pool

I’m my father’s son, I carry his genes
He is a part of me that is inseparable
If I hate him, I dislike myself
These days, I’m older than my father
He is my son, and I love my son
Once I saw my father on the bus
He reached out to say hello
Misinformed, I ignored his gesture
Looked out of the bus window
I saw his tears
Wish the moment would return
It is my eternal shame
My father is my son, I think of him
Gently.

The last poem in my new collection

A Horse and ale
The brewery had many horses to carry crates of beer
around to small shops,  each horse and its driver was assigned a route
The horse I liked was shiny black and had been used for
funerals before
over the years, they got a bit broad hipped and stomach-heavy.
The horse knew the route and stopped outside the grocer's and waited while
the driver unloaded crates of beer.
The horse sometimes had an ******* thinking of a favorite mare bit
strange animals only know one way and askew foreplay
The driver usually had a bottle of beer at each shop, and when
the round was done, he was in a merry mood and sometimes fell asleep. But the horse knew the way.
After unharnessing the beast, he brushed its coat, checked the hooves
for the horse, the highlight of the day, and gave it a big slice of bread.
So long ago, there had been a devastating war
Jews immigrated to Palestine
and got a piece of land they called Israel; we believed what the papers said
the persecuted people deserved a homeland, but we did not realize that it was.
A historic injustice had befallen the Palestine people and echo that will not
stop before the real Semites get their land back.

The Charade

A wealthy man dressed up as a poor guy walked into a bank to see the employees' reaction naturally it was predictable, that the rich man found it upsetting and gave us a lecture that everyone is equal
If the poor guy had a twenty-dollar bill in his pocket if that was true the last thing he would do was go into a bank, the likelihood is he would buy a burger, with chips and drink a few beers, feeling good
When a wealthy person pretends to be poor    To put himself as a good guy, he knows nothing about poverty; he can go back to being rich again and the poor guy stays stuck in poverty tomorrow and the day thereafter