The Awakening

My first wife's house was very small
her bed was narrow to
after ***, she told me to sleep in the bathtub
In the night, I got up, opened the window
The sea-washed moon came in
I have seen that moon many times before
from many portholes 
I was always enchanted by the pool
of stillness
I walked out of the sleeping house, by
the steps, my dog, I patted her head
but she refused to come with  me on my walk
By a lamppost under  a circle  of light
I waited for a bus that would never arrive

The tryer


in short bursts, the quiet expresses 
a need to communicate about work
done but not published

Self-critical, raked with doubts 
with no connection to the world
of publishing 

Offer from publishers is that he will pay
them, is like paying for ***; it leaves
behind self-disgust, this unbecoming
need to see one's words in print

The hard part is to admit to the lack
of talent, what else is there to do
other than collecting old stamps

Apocalypse 


I saw the storm approaching. It had a look of evil intent 
People were seeking shelter in the town's only café
I didn't like to share the place with so many, and I had to find my dog before the storm hit
I found what had been a bus shelter, a bunker from a war 
only remembered by historians, or a would-be writer 
The storm hit with a roar of death and insane destruction 
When it was over, the town had disappeared 
A field of sea green grass had taken its place, the stillness 
so acute I could hear the grass incessantly whispering, that
made my dog nervous,  we moved and walked on the sand
of the newborn 
We could not stay still, walking on in the hope of finding
a past that could be helpful when we arrive 
where the future was,  not sure if the old past and the new
The future would merge into a seamless whole

The illusion 

In a small park ringed by gloomy trees near where the factories used to be, was the bust of a man on a splint
made of bronze, a mesen, she liked to use words like
that in a desperate world of poverty, tinned sardines
 in olive oil and mackerel in tomato sauce
The Mesen who owned the factories had created this
park for his workers, where they could sit and relax on Saturday afternoons.
The whole day on Sundays, otherwise the park shuts
during weekdays; that made sense, one could not have workers there on days of work
A  boy climbed the fence and drowned in a dam of algae
The park, among damp factory walls, was eradicated.
The foul-smelling factories disappeared as well; the time
had changed, people could buy cheaper tinned stuff from Portugal  
When pockets of oil deep under the North Sea
A country was suddenly rich, and people built modern housing where the factories stood.
No one in a town like ours talks about the good old days.

Summer and a dog

Pure sunlight on a forever blue sky
beaches full of laughing people and
Happy Holiday, by Cliff Richard
Out of the sun glare came a cur
an emaciated dog that had walked
and walked for many miles to reach
a goal, finding the way home
Under a bush, it collapsed, and I gave her
water, found food for her, yes, She
probably she had been looking for 
her babies, they had taken away
It was all too late, she had died, it's 
Untold suffering had come to an end
Wrapped her in a plastic bag and left
her by the bin
The sun was blood-orange the day
had ended, deep shadows we could
see again, the sun had been blinding

A new future

To wake up in the night and sense the awe of life is
light from street lights tells of other sides, as does
a car driving by at two in the morning 

Living forever is a punishment, but some people 
write a self-biography in the hope that when they
Die, they will be remembered 

To be blessed in the night, feeling the soul has
been free of the body and become everything 
that has a meaning

No, there is no flying away; the pain of life is
What makes one whole, to understand others
to give our earnest gifts 

We have absorbed into our hearts that there
It is a beautiful future, a rebirth, if not conscious 
That will bring harmony

Nagasaki

There are nights when things become clear 
when the Pacific Ocean lived up to its name 
I sat on deck, listened to the heartbeat of
the vessel, which ticked faster when an engineer 
opened a door and came out on the deck
Laughter in the mess hall, no, I was not at ease
in their company, too old at sixty
I have tried the swagger, the misogyny, where 
Women were either ****** or mothers
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, and I had
been here before when looking for a graveyard 
where Portuguese sailors had died when
Japan was an unknown land
When walking down the gangway,  didn't 
to say goodbye, it was dinner time anyway
before flying back to Europe

The First Paradise

We humans are related to the dolphins 
not so smooth, that's why we stayed  near
sea was shallow
Fruit trees grew near the shoreline and 
often apples fell into the sea, which was
as a blessing, and we walked ashore
On dry land, we become aware of our nakedness
and hastily covered our bodies in palm leaves
Flirting and lifting palm leaves became a sport 
disapproved of by the adults
In the apple trees lived snakes; if a woman was
bitten, she convulsed, and if not given 
satisfaction becomes what we know as Karen 
When children asked where we came from
adults told us we came from Mars
Now, scientists tell us they have found dry
river beds on Mars. I say no more

God's Acre

In a field, not far from here, I see millions of lit candles 
But only at night, during the day, it is a potato patch
A man, you can call him God if you like, walks along 
The candles and, every so often, snubs out with his
thumb and index finger, a lit candle, with fingers
sore from this arduous work
He is heading for the part of the field where
The candle wax has burnt out, but the wick flickers
like grey smoke in still air
When dawn appears on the eastern mountain
The field turns into a potato patch
Where a man is harvesting spuds

The fidelity 

the sin of the flesh, why is it a sin
sexuality is a strong and natural desire
but often the downfall of the great
who lacks respect for lust
treats it with a low moral attitude
There are the monks of Thailand
naked feet in sandals, and one assumes
naked bodies under burgundy
robes, can so easily fall prey to when
a lady of easy virtues comes along
this could and probably has gone on
for hundreds of years, but it became
a scandal when money came along 
I understand the monks, but reserve
my contempt for the likes of Trump and
Dershowits

Architectural and Dogs

A large house on one floor with a multi-shaped roof
a myriad of inside doors fit for slamming when
House guests occupy all seven toilets
The owner of this house is a semi-retired person
Who, after creating a human, fails like
Elon Musk with his exploding rockets
The gorillas were such an attempt, but he was 
kind and let his mishaps live in the deep jungle 
Well, his foray into the architectural business failed
He took retirement but kept an eye on his dogs
Dogs? Yes, he created dogs for humans who 
might find loving another human, not wanting
to **** the other, find ample time for many hugs 
and cry proper tears at funerals

The most important

Fine drizzle over the bay, falling slowly and hesitantly
as preparing for a proper deluge  
Who knows, perhaps it will not happen, and the sun
will shine even if it is a day older
Dry slippery cobblestone pavements for the aged
Since it is Saturday, the ships' tugs are at their anchorage.
as they want to be nearer the shore
One vessel has run out of meat and potatoes, a stable
Diet,  the chief steward, had bought a lot of cakes 
because he was depressed at the time and needed
cheering up
To mollify the crew, he told of a famous woman who
said when the people were hungry, "let them eat cakes."
The crew didn't think that was funny and threatened
to throw him overboard
From the shore came a motorboat  loaded with pears
oranges and cabbage, but no potatoes and no meat
The chief steward was trying to swim ashore

The mule in  Gaza

Slowly, on delicate legs, the last mule
in Gaza, pulling a cart carrying old 
mattresses, broken chairs, and small
shrouds of children to a resting place
Pulling a kart is as easy as there is no 
elevations in Gaza, nor is there 
a succulent green field where to feed
Who feeds the mule? It can't live on 
spent shells alone, who gives it water
to drink, can it be Hamas, who see in
the mule: the long dream of freedom
We all have dreams, the mule's easy
a green field of luscious green grass.

The  Necktie

He woke up fully dressed, minus his tie, in the lumpy bed
of a third-rate hotel, which had a fridge beside the TV
The last semi-civilized place, one up from sleeping rough 
The room reeked of depravity, and a dusty curtain 
protecting the inhabitants from the cruel world outside
The news was about a woman who struggled with a tie
He sat up, and he had lost his tie
The tie was green with black dots on it, should he ring
the TV station and ask what color the tie is? 
Or should he remorsefully and fearfully sober confess 
to a ****** he could not remember having committed
The fridge rumbled, he got up, opened it, in the hope of 
finding a cold beer; there, wrapped around a bottle 
whisky, a red necktie