A misfit in Liverpool
I think of oranges when I see a painting by Constable of a morning sun
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some
fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface of the bay.
There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.
When I lived in England, I met several police constables, most
of them, nice blokes, but during the miners´ strike, they became
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and
were also promised plenty of overtime.
John, a police constable  fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,
he continued his lonely beat, but at the station, he was ostracised,
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after
hours, we drank ***** with orange juice, lamenting the time we lived in. John took early retirement, and I sold my cafe.

The Mistake

He had been invited for dinner in Peking by a group of business leaders who had invested much money for his venture and success, but they thought his fee was too much. I wanted to discuss the matter
He took the plane to Pekin; when he landed, it was mid-morning, but there was no one to greet him, which annoyed him
He called his secretary, who apologized that there had been a mistake. What she had meant was a Peking. The Peking Duck Cafe in Oslo
He didn’t like to meet those stuffy wealthy people with their stilted language, instead, he bought a Chinese electric car business that gave him pleasure
Those idiotic Europeans who bought a car that was made in China had intended to sack his secretary, but pleased with his business acumen, he asked her if she was a good mother material.

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

Stay with me

The Zephyr breathes with the lungs
unsullied by cigarette smoke
Siesta nap
a lazy Sunday on an afternoon
when flowers wilt, the sky is recklessly
**** in transparent whispers
of silky clouds.
Breathtakingly the silence
if it should
stop
I would fall into a chasm
of pale rainbows,
stillborn moons,
corroded stars
where words of love
are unheard of, a silent echo
Inhale and exhale, my lovely
Blow a gale
But don’t leave me alone in
city parks where aged men sit
Tell us how old they are.

The Future as Irony

If we try to look ahead, say ten years when ex-president Trump sits in a cell in Arizona sent by Elon Musk, who rules the world and has an army of all-seeing AI officials, people will wonder why Trump lived that long, living on burgers and Pepsi Cola, concluding it is a long-life diet they too must live by to become very old.
They don’t know that Elon Musk, the Titan planted a chip in Trump’s brain to keep him alive showing us he has no hard feelings against the man, who got him sacked in 2025 from a job he had taken delight in because there had been many protests from other wealthy people, who the truth was told about their thieving.
Elon Musk is a remarkable man, he puts on a false beard, puts in old clothes and pretends he is poor, walks into cafés, asks for a burger and coffee, if the staff refuses to serve the poor man food, Elon Musk reviles himself and fire the staff who has to beg for food to survive as a moral lesson, the chart-savvy people applauded him

The white wall

To begin a new cycle is hard not much happens around here, the street is the same as yesterday Rui, the English, is still working the till at the local supermarket, smiles, speaks upper-class English, And carries a secret, I would like to know about
I think he is from a wealthy family, but a scandal broke out, he made the housemaid pregnant, and in his circle, it was seen as the apogee of horror, or he was involved in financial fraud and had to leave, hide, and change his name to Rui
At lunch, in the café on the first floor of our building, the old couple sat. The man, who is in love with my wife came over for a chat, and his wife smiled she knows her husband was useless, as for me. How can I be jealous of a man who is older than me?
Nothing else happened that day except for Trump, who wanted The Panama Canal and Greenland too, this pathetic, old President with his blond hair trying to look young, but he is not fooling us, this idiot trying to buy Gaza and move the population to Egypt
Then it was late afternoon and time for a nap

The Lost Tribe

Holocaust, this tragic word, millions of lives lost in its
name, and it has not ended. This time,
it is the
Palestinians who are victims of a people
who have learned only one lesson to survive
one has to be
**** and able to tell lies and
cynically play on Europe’s common guilt.
****** wasn’t able to remove the Jews; we Christians
wouldn’t let him.
The people of Israel have taken it upon themselves to
emulate their former tormentors,
will not be able to eradicate the Palestinians
we, the despised and cowardly Christians,
will not let them.
The raw disregard the Israelites show against their Semitic Brothers borders to self-hate; it will corrupt them, and they will sink into nihilism.
Dust upon dust, the story could have been so different hadn’t
they decided that kindness
was a hindrance when creating their tribal paradise.

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

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.

The Caliphate (2015)

Let us think about the unthinkable.
Let ISIS have their caliphate and be a state
The Zionists took Palestine and called it Israel
European settlers killed off the Indians
And now it is called the USA.

The brutalities and horror of ISIS are terrible
But from a historical perspective
Worst things have happened and will again it is
The human burden to **** for its own sake and
Greed for land

In time, it will be a state with institutions they
Practice their Sharia law and behave like the Saudis
We will buy their oil, they will leave us alone
To practice our odd democracy

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.

The shipping accident

It was late evening when the captain of a Russian owner cargo came down from the bridge where he and the first mate had mapped the route from Humberside to Amsterdam. North Sea is always a busy seaway
In his cabin, lit a cigarette, sat down and opened his personal computer to send an email to his wife; he had a two-month vacation coming soon and said he missed her and loved her, if she came to Amsterdam, they could travel to Swiss
Then, an almighty shudder, he was thrown off his chair, hastily got up, ran up to the bridge, to his horror, his vessel had collided with an American reg tank ship; both ships were on fire, but since it was a calm night, the crew survived.
Back ashore, he gave his version of the accident to the relevant authority, as he left the building, he was arrested for manslaughter by the police; he knew the Russians were hated in England except for the wealthy types

The unreasonable hatred goes back to the time of the Tzar when the Bolsheviks killed the Tzar clan his wife had been one of the Queen Victoria’s relatives; the old queen had relatives in most of European royal households.
Politics entered the fray; the captain of the Russian ship was thrown into jail to await a trial that was not properly investigated since the US ship had carried jet fuel for an American base in a mediterranean country
There was a rumor of sabotage since NATO provoked war in Ukraine, the notorious newspaper, the Guardian, which is known for its anti-Russian stance, didn’t hesitate to accuse Putin for bringing the war to British shores

Syria’s new rulers
I’m going out to buy two onions, flowers for my wife, and a box of red wine for no one in particular; since I’m the only one in the house who drinks wine, I guess I have to drink it myself
The checkout woman looked like Assad’s wife
Which made me think of the thousands of prisoners in his dungeon; they have disappeared. There could not have been so many; after all, perhaps it was a hall lined with mirrors.
The Alawites, Druids, and Christians, not that are murdered by the thousands, many hides in the Russian base, not the newspapers say anything about, now that Brussel has blessed them

When love is a failure

The bird of love sits in a gilded cage, sometimes
it gets out and flies in search of mischief.
Anton, a young student from a middle-class family
sat in a crowded café drinking a beer, when Maria
entered, she had a coffee since the café was full
Anton beckoned for her to sit with him at his table.
Lovestruck!
In infatuation, they had met by chance and nothing
about them made sense; Anton was well-educated
Maria could barely struggle through the headlines
of the local newspaper, but she was of a generous
disposition, eyes that mirrored her warm nature.
The bird of love was back in its cage and felt smug.
Anton’s family threatened to disinherit him,
Maria’s family of Tinkers were outraged that she
loved someone outside the clan.
The loving couple lived in the poor part of the town
Anton had a horse collect ******* and brought
the stuff to the town’s waste depot, he
drank a bit, put him in a mellow mood.
After work, Anton sat in the stable reading books
and newspaper, sometimes Maria came and they
spent the night there.
At home were two sons who blamed their parents
for their poverty and lack of progress, they also
made fun of the mother, who had grown fat and
had rotten teeth, they also stole Maria’s cash
she stored in an empty biscuit tin.
Their love was so overwhelming they had no time
for the children; in the cage, the bird of love grinned.

Worth a Fight.

It is no longer about right or wrong. it is about taking a stand
Against those who came to this country 
to escape poverty and tyranny, and now want to end democracy 
The unwritten consensus among people of different classes. 
We have become soft liberal,  Christianity, you said? 
Don’t make me laugh; we are far too Self-assured 
to believe in God. 
And we are giving way while their imams egg the people 
on and not for a moment do they stop 
No, not for a sneeze of hesitation do they think that 
if they went back to their forefathers’ country
A whip would await them in dank cells. 
Their faith has good points. No, it has not. 
But they have the right to return to their cherished land 
and practice a faith that is still in the Middle Ages. 
Soft liberal, giving way for the sake of peace
a peace I will not accept, and I will fill bullets in the chambers of my revolver to defend what my people fought for is called democracy, shaky, yes, with many flaws
But is a system worth fighting for

glasses

On my desk, the driving glasses, a 15-year-old is in a right
mood for it has been a struggle
for the glasses to be
accepted again after I bought a new pair that cost me a fortune
The state of the art frame, 
yet useless, but I will not buy new ones.
My old glasses
purchased in a small shop that had no pretensions of being unique as
master of Spectacles,
alas, you have to tell people you are wonderful and apex and that
cannot be surpassed or not, people avoid you and go for the
liers and cheats in suits.
I fell for ads and bought the overpriced pair that could not
difference between red and green
What relief it was to rummage through my office drawers to
find my old glasses.
is not what I wanted to say; what I meant was by looking
at the lenses if they
could tell me a story and remember something I had
overlooked  a thing on
my mind lost it in the life of April

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.

First light of dawn
Uphill, he walked still dark, he had
to be at the farm at five milking times.
The westerly wind makes the climb hard
the cattle will be mooing in their pens
the boss is grumpy, he is hungry but
has no time to eat
milking eight cows by hand is no joke.
End of the last hill he saw the farm's
the farm, there is light in the kitchen,
Emma, my dog, barks and stops when
she hears his steps, the morning light he
stop and catch his breath, they are not
I am going to think that he was hasting
  a quick mug of coffee
a slice of ham, just like any other day
they will wonder, the maids whisper
but do not ask where
and with whom he spent the night.

the mind is open for a change

Headless embrace an easy life a lift down the seventh floor to a foyer and doors that open automatically a café serves one from cooking peeling potatoes and ready-made salads
a walk in the avenue of shops that have empty words while expensive cars drive driven by owners whose sense of beauty is a Musk truck dead steel against the greening grass
then you know there will never be dog hair on the sofa, and there will be no happy, friendly dog you're here and she is content
You plan your escape from the trivial, how fast a lift takes to ground level, but meet an obstacle called old age and the maidens have gone
Finally, you see yourself in the bathroom mirror the ultimate purveyor of truth, the loss is
absolute, but despite that dreams are bigger than you whisper and tell you of a way out

the horses

Three horses graze on my land, and one
is still a foal.
In the twilight and with gentle rain falling
they remind me of the horses of bygone
days when I steered the plow that made
furrows in dark, clean soil.
When I stroke their flank, the good aroma
of warm horses arises; dreams are endless.
In daylight, they pretend to be boulders, but
even then, they make the land serene.

Brutish Trump, Meek Musk?
Trump comes across as a brute and scares people off the middle usually nice middle-class people who do not what it is like working on a building site or spending years at sea with men appear ruffian but mostly, is a braggadocio and as such nothing to be alarmed over in Trump’s case he is not likely to start a war with China, Russia or Iran Trump likes powerful autocrats, he respects as much as he hates effeminate Macron also Starmer
With his perfect modulations, yet sits cross-legged when speaking to Trump who is not in the habit of showing the heels of his shoes, but as we know English leaders have hidden distaste for those they think are inferior to them
Trump, like many rich people, pretends he comes from a modest background, his father was a wealthy man in real estate which made his journey easier; the millionaires we see today are from wealthy families and that is Ok, but their idea of poverty is miles away from the mark
The hatred we see of Elon Musk is grossly unfair He is at heart a good man with a dream of saving humanity from itself, but I fear when the chips are down politicians will put the onus on him

The Cloud of Hell
It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
When a stygian cloud came from the east, the Lord of Wars
spat phlegm, spraying us with horror

Inside this monstrosity, body parts, headless, were
Flying by the noise was unearthly, and my little dog
sheltered under my coat, I bought in Hamburg.

When the cloud had passed, I saw a landscape
Devastated as Ypres in the Great War when then
as now millions of people have died for nothing.

My dog was limp and had stopped breathing. I blew
Life back into it and in the terrible noise of the sky
We heard nothing, not even the stillness.

The master of wars was visiting us the peace
We had enjoyed it for too long; it was time for
Bloodletting, the revenge of the sand dwellers

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

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

Greenland’s American future

In Nuuk everybody lives in festive houses made of wood, green, blue and red looks homily in the winter landscape
Thei are the people who speaks English, building
A dry dock for submarines, that will protect the sea from intruders, like the Russians and big code fish. The Greenlander will live in nice apartments
That have lifts, naturally the have to pay rent
There will be more shops selling imported food
Soft bread and, of course hamburgers for all
There will be bars with dancing girls included
The local can get drunk and been thrown into the snow
Some locals will lose their apartment leave in the street with dogs and the hapless will be wrapped in blanket given by the Danes, American tourist will come looking at the filthy streets and feel at home
The transformation will be complete, the local language forgotten, spoken only by the very old Innuits, naturally no one speaks Danish anymore
Except for the local doctor a despicable socialist
This is the future for people who become victim of super power, who believes in their exceptionalism

The Odd Narrative
Steamed up the window, my finger I paint a landscape,
Mountain, forest, and lake; the peak cries into
the lake becomes a vast ocean,
where trees made into wooden rafts floats
Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest,
this will happen to the Himalayas,
it will be a grassland on a plateau where horses gallop,
flying mane and all that,
since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them
drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas.
The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still
it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking, it’s seeing
is so deeply in love with the image,
that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgotten,
he has married a big fish
which he thinks is a mermaid, often puts his hand in
the sea and strokes the fish’s belly: “without you,” he murmurs
“I would truly be alone.”

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.

Morning poem
From a prince’s shining light will it be possible to see the beginning of the day as it was before dawn the moment before it was unkissed by anyone but you before life began as the story go And no one knew what to say about the day
Before anything was born leaving the darkness behind like an unwanted dream of what was before the light was born
Is it not possible to see what life was before the mountain kissed the shore unseen by anyone but you not yet awake to understand the wonder of a new day so never mind the light if you have seen the beginning of the day the last kiss before I die
I shall say no more.

Great American Literature

Our bookshelf groaned under the weight
of American Literature, and my mother was
principally a communist.
An American Tragedy, I read at fourteen,
and my fascination with A Bridge over San Louis Ray
was endless, and so it went on.
I joined the youth wing of the communist party
of Norway, it lasted a month; they kicked me out
I knew too much to be useful.

The plight of the poor concerns me, and I bristle when
seeing injustice, in short, I will fling my arms around
a horse that is about to be flogged, yet one doesn't
need to be a communist for this. Kindness is not
political and doesn’t carry a flag, you have to pledge
allegiance to, a friendly smile will suffice.

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.

« O

Jesusita 

God only had a daughter,
Jesuitta, whom he gave to teach us love. 
She was a good little girl with blond, curly hair, and often helped her mother 
with the washing up and other household chores. 
As she grew up and became a shapely young woman, 
she coveted by men, who could not grasp  her preaching
of unconditional love was not about ***;
They began talking behind her back. 
Rumors had it she had twelve lovers
there was talk of ****** with wine, fried fish, and fresh bread.
She went to the church, demanded to be heard, and asked why there were no women priests and why they let ****** merchants sell overpriced artifacts. 
The clerics, who had had enough of this noisy woman, told Pilatus to do something.
He first ***** her and, to his shock, realized that Jesuitta was a ******; 
This knowledge haunted him for the rest of his life. 
Nevertheless, he threw her to his Roman Legionnaires as a usual ****. And the men taunted her: 
“Is this what you meant by calling love absolute, 
they bawled. 
Their women said nothing. 
They put her on the cross as the ***** of a thousand soldiers 
ran down her legs, she died with forgiveness in her heart.

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.

The less important

Every TV channel
carries
the same news, it is as posted from a news
central Trump is good, is Putin bad
and no one asks about its verity
by some nice people who look sincere.
I'm  overcome by angst
it starts from the inside going out
my skin is grey and pale and sweat drips on
my T. shirt.  
I should know but I can't find the source of
its conception, but I try something about
eyes and in them, I read, surprised by the oncoming
I saw him fall
heard the crack of a broken neck
Walking away, nothing I could do but
stepping over an inert body and into boisterous life

Alfred and the wilderness

Alfred, who with the greatest of ease tells, he is not my father
and I went for a walk across a chlorophyll-filled field.
Alfred, who is a musician and never ventures out in the landscape
saw some grazing sheep and wondered if they were dangerous,
No, I said they are sheep and born friendly
as God created them, to this, Alfred called me a crypto-Christian.
A little Lamb came up to my father, it was so sweet,
as only a lamb can be, he lifted it up, which the ewe disliked,
and it butted him in the rear.
Alfred was shocked, got up, and demanded that I bring him to safety
in the nearest town; never trust animals, they are all out
to get us, he said while limping to safer ground.

His women

All my life, I have done my best in avoiding to be a father
The reason was to avoid the drudgery of married life
That brings us to Elon Musk and his many children 
Some of them through the natural way others conceived 
artificially, as he believes in building a stronger who can 
tackle the future, I agree with EM there is much 
Tainted blood in the world
I think of his many women if they do not love him 
It must be of financial benefit for them to secure them
From poverty, Fair enough, but does this make them 
A more moral person than the woman I met in Jamaica
She loved me but needed someone to pay for the gas

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

Swindlers
I had been scammed, a woman on Facebook
Asked me for friendship
Told me of a website that could help
Tried, a picture of a well-suited man looking suave
Asked me for 500 euros, before I asked
What he could do for me
Why should I give you 500 euros?
It is my charge to help you recoup your loss
What loss?
I just know, he said
Is it no longer possible to trust any firm operating
On the internet
This demand for money before proving anything
Hoping for the best is not a solution

The dog of my life

This is not an evening when one feels jubilant
When I look out of the window, I see a few cars going up and down the road till they reach the roundabout and drive back past my window
There is nothing to be surprised about in this town, dramatic car crashes happen in America
Where Hollywood is afire
When I lived in the countryside and had a dog
We walked in the forest and there were always new things to discover, often we stood still and listened to the silence, we could hear trees Coming home I lit the wood stove while the dog
Oh, so lazy stretched out on the sofa, feeling
while I was in the kitchen preparing her food
I had given up telling her to eat slowly
Contentment never lasts, we had twelve years
Together what’s left is a wonderful memory

Writer's block
Today, while trying to write I noticed an ant crossing the opposite wall, for it was a vast expanse watching the ant’s progress, I noticed it stopped circling back like it had found something edible I thought it was disappointed resuming the walk until it disappeared in a crack between wall and ceiling to a hidden society we would never join
Are ants aware of our existence we are there like the day, spilling a drop of beer on the kitchen floor that teenage ants drink, get ****** and told off by their parents never to drink if they do they will be too fat to hide in cracks, by know I have lost interest I will write about Elon Musk, the biggest ant in the world

They ****, children

A hum of silence met me
Dead babies everywhere like dolls on the filthy carpet
a lone soldier guarded the ghastly scene
looked stunned and dazed, said we had to do this
they are the enemy of tomorrow
a man in a protective suit and mask came in
spraying white snow like powder, covering the horror
body fluid ran out of me and covered the floor
an ice rink of sin
I was drowning, but how to swim in this torrent 
of sweat coming out of every poor
The soldier who had shot the children shot himself
the man in his protective suit said he was weak, not 
the type of soldiers we need
The dead children, they would have become Hamas
of the future
Lethargy and helplessness 
My inaction had condemned me for all time
the morning sun refused to shine over this devastation 
Forever, we have to struggle in a fog of depravity

Humankind

In an article, the question was what is the meaning of life? Many answers were about personal fulfillment and what made a person happy, but no one could answer that question. This I think is because we in the West are not religious, we do not believe in a God we are alone and that is scary and has an echo of colossal loneliness and the universe is empty
Night and day, light and dark, the fundament of
In all religions, perhaps the question of the meaning of life was asked and not answered
How the man-animal came into being is academic  
But it was an animal that could think and become a human-dominating the living world
We can assume they were not friendly and had clans going around killing each other as we do today
The meaning of life is this, with a bit of love thrown for the sake of procreation, that it has no meaning, we live and die and are dead forever

A Bus Ride

I had bought a
newspaper in town and was taking the bus home
an hours ride
up to my village. I looked at the
headlines
noticed the paper had no date
was I reading yesterday’s
today's news or tomorrow's
The bus was empty this afternoon
it struck me how silent it ran could only hear the swishing
sound of
rubber against the
asphalted road.
Then the bus stopped on this journey outside my house
so many flowers now in November, my dog sat on
the steps waiting
just for me.
The bus door opened with a sigh,
but the dog didn't run to me
I hesitated; was it the same house
yet not the same this one looked immaterial
the flowers were pale, a copy of a painting
forgotten  rural art
exhibition arranged by a local culturally interested GP
Not my village
I said to the driver and sat down
“Are you sure?” the driver asked, I didn’t answer
the bus rolled on.
Opened the newspaper
It was Monday.

Come  Home


I dislike Israel, but I accepted her as a historic
happening and a place where Jewish culture
can flourish undisturbed by foreign culture, and
thus can sink into navel-gazing.
But it cannot be so Europe without Jews and
the Jews without Europe's culture is a script
of a disaster not yet written.
We in Europe need the Jews as scientists,
in the arts, but the Arab World does not need
resentful Jews who brought an iron heel to people
for a crime they have not committed but  guilt that
lives in the culpable images of Abraham’s people.

Just a thought.

If the Palestinians
had looked like the Danes
and with blond hair and blue-eyed
Less Semitic
Would West Europe have done more
to save Gaza
From the genocide we witness
Are we witnessing racism in action

Nature Fascists
Those who believe in the sanctity of nature, the survival of
the fittest, and so on, tend to be on the political spectrum
right-wing living off inherited money and believing
it is  right for an eagle to **** a rabbit
and they are
right, and of people on horseback pursuing a fox until it
can do no more running and is killed by man's best friend,
the dog that lacks empathy unless it is a learned behavior
It is a right to tame
nature, but not eradicate it because we
do we well not to harm our future, but farming is needed
despite what they learned, think cattle have to graze to give
milk and meat. The mule has gone, and the tractor has taken
its place, but without sheep and cows grazing in peace and
not knowing its purpose, the countryside would be a place of
fear and wildflowers enjoyed by botanists and goats.
It is the fascist agenda that is scaring the right to
exterminate
what nature lovers think is not worthy of their ideal.

When nothing makes sense

Let's go to Doctor Lunda, she said 
I found a place near the bus terminal that had no buses
A policeman came and said we could not park there
and rules are rules, but he offered to drive to Dr. Lunde
in my car, on the way, he got the gears wrong, and we ended up in a shallow lake
I called a truck, and the policeman said that the owner of
the car
I was responsible;  rules are rules; the truck pulled out
Dr. Lunde turned out to be a chiropractor, the policeman
said I had to pay because I was the owner of the car
where he got a bad back
Later, we drove to a furniture dealer and had a cheap 
Swedish furniture we had to put together ourselves
but the glue was free of charge
I am not a handyman
A lady came into the shop and said I had to clean
my car since everyone around here is posh
When I had cleaned the car, we walked to a café
that sold Swedish meatballs with mashed potato 
but on that day, they had no mash left; meatballs
and mash go together, the woman would not let
us buy anything, the policeman said rules are rules

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 Poet Road
Now that it is hot and the sun has turned from
a warm friend to a raging enemy, what did I say
to make it so burning hot?

I'm up early and drive around, stopping and take
pictures of growing plants before the rampant
sun makes them lose all colors.

Then, before I knew it was ten o’clock time to
sit indoors watching the miserable news
and trivial entrainment programs.

The bushfires of terror are something we have to
live with until we learn to clear the undergrowth
and when needed...brutally ****.

I’m thinking of a man who has a small field of
the greenest vines, every day he tends lovingly
his bushes, you see, we should not be too kind.

On the other hand, we cannot poison the land
with pesticides to save a plant we like and
forgetting that all life has its place.

The Date.
Sat in a pub talking to a woman of no substance
other than she wore a skirt and had *****.
Pub closed, I was allowed
to follow her home
through dreary streets
fine rain and yellow street light.
I kissed her dry, bloodless lips
We parted.
Walking back to the ******´s hotel.
She stood by a bombed-out church and had damp hair.
This is too absurd
again; I was at a place I didn´t want to be.
Money changed hands.
My loneliness laughed hysterically.

the avenue's trees 

What is with this month of May
the day is as cold as November 
the leaves on the trees are full
and green, yet among the mass
of chlorophyll, I see many yellow
and Auburn leaves.
It is as if the trees think of autumn 
has arrived and is prepared
for winter hiatus.
If I tell the plants it is because of
melting ice in the Arctic, they
will look skeptical and say
we follow nature's signal, this
year will be the shortest one
on record, except for the ano
of 1748, when snow fell in June