Ennui  
I sit on a high stool watch vegetables boil I use
a little water and when the pan is dry I add butter stir
let it brown and I add cold meat I found in the fridge.
Having been a witness to the murdering of food
I'm not hungry anymore, pity my dog was run over
by a train and if she had not she would be dead
of old age; she was still alive looked at me as to say
I trusted you implicitly” seeing how distressed I was
she licked my hand died and forgave me; her bones
are in a black plastic bin in the shed.
I live inside a cocoon of depression and elastic bubble
made of a cow's stomach, everything I remember is tinged
By the thought, I should have done been better.
Had I been a success, I would be happy and think with
A fondness of the daughter, I never had she only grew to be
an embryo, so many embryos lives that never got a chance,
haunt me in the night.
I open a can of lager, like the hooligans in the street of
Leeds do, all I need is a hood to hide my face from the world
and blame the society of my tribulations.

A friendly place
There are no catfish in our little lake
but it has giant frogs, and some of them die if they are late
and the sun warms just standing on stone unable to move
Fodder for the crows. There are no dangerous animals
except for boars with a litter and snakes slither away
there were rumours some years ago about a panther-like
like being and farmers cocked their guns
I went to have a look it was a cat that was glad to see me
took it home opened a tin of tuna it purred happily.
It was an independent cat sometimes it disappeared for weeks
then came home telling me nothing, after sleeping in the cupboard
all day it went out and never came back, perhaps it had met a fox
and I relived the struggle must have had before losing.
I had a dog once she lived to be sixteen years and I never trained
her to give paw and chase ***** and she told me when it was
time to go for a walk, I don't walk much now I have no one looking
out for me, my friends called her my daughter.
I have been offered a dog but refuse I think what will happen
to it should I die?

The lion man

There was a gang of thieves in Napoli made their living
stealing at night, they found themselves in a basement of a big house
and found a smallish lion in a tiny age, they freed the animal
that turned out to be friendly and followed aroun
They let it sleep in the garage; having such a big can't bein the house
as lions have little sense of order.
They began taking the lion with them at night using it as a guard,
this was noticed and the press called them “the lion gang”
The chief of the police got the idea of killing the animal and thus
demoralize the gang, and one day when the young thieves
were cornered the lion was shot.
And to their shock the lion underwent a change turned out  
to be a naked man with broad shoulder and long hair
and no one knew who he was since he had no identification
The chief of the police was sacked and other officers disciplined.
There were anomalies as the skin of his hands was that of a lion,
he was buried on unsacred ground as a John Doe, and as most
of the gang was behind bars and could not attend his funeral.
Next day the grave was open, no lion man
he had simply disappeared, perhaps become an animal again
gazelle hunting on the plain of the Serengeti.

The Master Sailor

Along the tourists jilted beach walked
saw a rope, thick as Popeye’s arms
sticking up from the sand.
I pulled and up came a schooner
with its crew onboard.

We set sail away from winter shores
it disappeared in a funky haze.
A dream had come true, a master
of my own vessel.
It didn't last someone
pulled the plug.

Night in the village

                       The silence is dark and eerily quiet
every window is shuttered, and it is as I'm the only one living here
there is no sound of anyone has a TV low
I'm the single living being here.
I saw a bright light earlier I think a dark matter has vacuumed
them up, but somehow forgotten me it took my dog too
she was out and was caught by the subject.
I don't know what to do, call the police who will not believe me.
Come tomorrow they look the same but having
the mind of something horrendous with the mind-set of people  
from another planet, in the morning smile as trained to do but they
will walk in a mechanical way repeating the same word trained to be human,
I can do little only wait for dawn and make
my escape as I will not live amongst
people who **** at will when a strange signal from outer space
gives the orders to **** and there are no humans left.
Get him now before he tells what you are up to eradicating the humans until our robots
can take control and we will rule without people of free will be no more. God made an
error, and we have to rectify the idiotic belief that humans are unique beings.

This the day I will be lazy and not read and not even attempt
   to write about  spring flowers they will soon disappear and bathers
   who come to stay have sun and sand on their mind
   Flowers do not make themselves beautiful for us but to pollinate,
   attract bees which we stupidly try to **** with pesticide and we'll know
  the shrivel up of nature and hunger.
  I know of a colony of bees in the back yard but I leave them in peace,
  but fear their sting: a bee will never be your friend
What happened to the bumble-bee I saw one big as a helicopter circling
my house it was looking for a place to rest but the sparrow wouldn't let it.
No, I will do nothing today except making a mental map of the world on
the cracked wall on the house opposite mine

An accidental old man

A very old man fell down a hole when he was out
walking looking at the pattern of the clouds.
The earth was loose when he tried to climb up, kept
sliding down, so he sat waiting, and it was evening.
He fell asleep and during the night water from
an ancient sea rose and filled the hole so he could
float holding onto a root, and when the water was
level with the ground he could get up and get out.
The sea that had been trapped so long kept rising
and the valley became a lake and his house which
had been on the high ground a sought-after property,
and he could afford to buy a coffin of mahogany  
with brass handles.

The Smallness of things
There are not many elephants left on the savanna
Near the houses graceful nature has made them
Smaller with tusks not bigger than an oxen's horn
And can hide in the bushes or look like a tree if
People come near.
They are hunted by people who would like  
To have an elephant's head on the wall.
With so many humans being killed everywhere
Why should I care about elephants, it is just they
Are my friends and when leaning against a tree
That is an elephant’s flank there is a contact
Between us and an understanding that we are
Both a dying breed, like tigers and lions
Cute Vietnamese pigs and flying genii that will you
No harm, it is not it’s their fault having black wings  
And screams as when a barrel bomb hits its target
Startled I wake up and there is blood on the carpet.

The Catering officer
Once upon a time, I was a ******; I began as a galley boy
and after six months was promoted to the second cook,
What dizzying height. At home, I went to a catering school for cooks
and later on, a course to become a chief steward.
For three years I slaved as a chief cook on ships it was
hard and boring and then I was promoted to Chief steward
they use “chief” a lot in the merchant navy, this to make you feel
important, but in the end, you are a ******* slave.
My job was that of a purser doing the books buying what was needed
as cheap as possible and see to it the cook was reasonable sober.
This new job gave ample opportunity to read I wore a white shirt
with three silver stripes on which caused me endless embarrassment
as I dislike uniforms in civilian life. The first ships I was on had a selected crew,
proper people saving up to buy a house with a big garage when
I was dreaming of going ashore and meet exciting people.
This entire nicety unnerved me, and I tended to be rude one can
say I didn't fit in, so my next ship was less posh and from
there it was downhill all the way until I ended up on rust buckets
that birthed at small ports in South America, and I loved it.
Gone was the uniform, but I used a blazer over my T-shirt when
the officials came onboard, served them whisky till they
staggered smiles and handshakes ashore.
But it didn't last the old ships were replaced with container ships
which is nothing but floating barges, so I jumped ship
swam to the Algarve in Portugal and stayed.

What happens to rings?

Some of the are ****** made for decorations
Other rings are made off gold and diamonds
And have a serious implication.
I had a ring once but threw it away made
I feel hemmed in dislike the idea of
Belonging to someone, even in matters of love.
Still, rings keep circulating from finger
To finger, an endless dance of commitment
That didn’t stand the test of time.
The bond between us is our hearts unity
Which only death can erase.

Tanka like
we the classless
seek no revolution, only fairness
we like quality
a well- balanced diet
And cold German pilsner.
The stinking rich,
one assume they do not have bath often,
can continue to pong
we seek no egalitarianism
but cold German lager

Yesterday’s Time
The valley has been overcast for days
and in the night when we both are awake
tears fall as rain softly and sad.
It shouldn't be like this the sun should shine
and I should be glad to leave, the winter
was too hard it cannot be repeated, but who
remembers yesterday?
All those boxes filled with the past ready to
be sent by car to a place where people drive too fast.
And folks are busy to hurry on the day
that is longer now than before, ready meal no
time to cook anymore; is this my new life now?

Alfred and the wilderness  

Alfred, who with the greatest of ease tells,
Me he is not my father and I went for a walk across 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 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.

The loss of innocence

At a school sports day, I was running sixty metres,
I wanted so very much to win, didn't quite make it,
but got a bronze medal, which I bore on my lapel
with unseemly pride.
When joining the merchant navy, I wore it too; no one
had a medal like this. In bars, girls asked why I wore it,
they were not used to meet a real hero; I could not tell
them the mundane truth, but spun a story.
Alas, women want what a man has got, falling for her
charms I parted with the medal, my downfall,
never saw the medal again.

They had been angels sitting on clouds for
ten thousand years playing the harp, but
since they were in a timeless environment
They didn't want knot, only filled with a sense of
ennui that came from sitting on a cloud void
of touch, and they also miss not being hungry
and thirsty, and feeling sad for throwing one out
off the cloud, he had no ear for music.

They objected to god who took off his mas showing
A face a hole so endlessly deep that if it was white,
told they were his illusion now they had to make a choice
either continue playing the golden harp or vanish into the big
white hole; they choose the instrument. God put his mask on,
and bitter silence wafted like an ill omen through the galaxy.

While we Wait.

Late October it has been raining now it has stopped
the landscape is green the air mild and gentle
but there is no jubilation.
No flowers grow.
The seed in the earth slumber.
The mules in the field look pensive and sad they are
of no use anymore, farmer keeps them because they
make the landscape more rustic.
Whoever loved a tractor even if painted blue?
The harvest of this year is done
sheep have been sheared and look exposed
grazing under olive trees
I can see it in the eyes of all living things: Melancholy
for the future to come.
Will we be here come next year?

Crystal-like

It is sad to be a limpid snowflake
                                          look up and millions are falling down
and they are all around just like you.
                                          On the ground littered with snow,
Hard trampled cold snow
From solitary beautiful and crystalline
                                       to a minutia in a frozen landscape.
If lucky you can land on top of a wooden pool
                                        and hope the weather will hold.  
You will blow down from your perch, become one of them
                                       and later reduced to slush

Story teller

Now as spring light fades into a softly
blue evening, I turn to you and ask?
If you can tell me more.

The river doesn't flow as rapid as before
the lake is still dry, no breeze blows
away dust of broken dreams.

If you can tell me more tell me now
Before light is a space and
The stillness has lost its echo

Goodbye Europe

Driving along I saw at a distance what looked
like two dark shadows holding up a smaller wizen shadow,
and I thought without Africa, Europe would have been a more miserable place.
We stole their people from working in fields and factories
we took their minerals and gold and left them destitute.
Now they are coming here, and we offer them a tent,
If you are not a wall climber, a fast track runner or football
hero, we don't want to know.
I the meantime, the population – white tribe- am dying out
We have reached the pinnacle of our evolution, the glass siling  
has broken women prefer driving Mercedes cars and
men turn to each other for succour to be gay is the new normal.
We older and another race must take over our delimitations we are
dying out, we are a curious vanishing race in a sea of colour and strange
manners. Unless Europe wakes up and produces own children
we need immigrants on a massive
scale, if not we become a historical footnote.

The Divine Victims

There have been so many battlefields mostly forgotten
there was Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan Libya, among the many
battles and millions of dead civilians some were children
Yemen is a graveyard for children killed by Saudi bombs
Yes, the same nation we do business with.
Myanmar, ethnic cleansing is working overtime, but it is
in the east and nothing to bother about.
We have in Europe a clear-cut war, Russian versus Ukraine
Russians are bad lowbrow people, Ukrainians upright
defending their homeland; nothing could be simpler, right?
Ukraine is the victim of Russian aggression
enough said. Stop thinking, take out your prejudices and call
anyone asking questions traitors, dismiss them with contempt
when the **** hit the fan stop looking surprised.

When all is Ocean

I have been looking at the map on the wall
Most of our world consists of salt water
In time to come when the sea level rises
Britain will be a rock that steadfastly refuses
To join EU, and that is ok, since most of
Europe will be under the sea.
The far and near east will consist of islets
And Swiss will have a seaport.
If you think this will bring peace, you are wrong
They will fight over religion and fishing rights
And threaten war.
This reminds me, I have to learn swimming.

Modern Transport

The new silk route is exciting
from Pekin to Paris takes a week on a train
fully laden with shoes, dresses, toys
and tightly packed wads of dollars for politicians
The travel is free but you must be prepared
to eat canned soup and Peking duck, for a week,
but you can take pride by doing
the passing of solid waste in 15 countries.

Towards spring?

Days are longer now, here where I live
and despite the cold weather, the almond tree is in flower
stubbornly doing what it has forever.
It brings gladness to my old heart the survival of winter.
I have stopped watching the news TV stations are repeating
the same old mantra, propaganda and lies
making Russia the big Satan and I ran the devil.
Trump wants to upgrade his nuclear arms and threatens
North Korea for wanting the weapon too.
The Palestine people are suffering there is not let up in Israel’s
ill will and brutality against them.
So I will live it all alone and wonder if the almond tree
will survive the coming war.

The God Thing
I often think of God but Samuel Jackson’s face get in the way
So know 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 thought from experience?
After a long life, we like to pass knowledge it on but selectively as we
Cannot talk about our blunders and our ****** misconduct
I have lived a totally egocentric life and it is the only way I write
but if I have written something to anyone for whom the big sleep
means nothing.

Julian Assange

Julian Assange has been arrested
For telling the truth about the crimes
Of the USA's war crimes.
Wimpish Britain will send him
There to face trial
“What Trial?”
The USA can only accuse him of computer hacking
And nothing else
If they do their crimes will be exposed.
Personally, I have a dislike
Of Julian, he is a self- righteous man who
Hate the idea of being wrong.
He should have gone to Sweden and faced
The ***-charges there
And might have been freed for lack of evidence,
The Swedish are not enamoured by the USA
And ignored its request.
His vanity, a simple accusation of improper
****** conduct was too much for him
To tolerate, his lack of humility
Has brought him where he is today.

Bed Time
I should have gone to bed by now it I late
But when head touches pillow in the dark bedroom
I think of death
Not fear, but the feeling of helplessness, not an iota
I have done in my life has made the slightest  
Difference I have not given the world a thing of value.
I remember Liv Ullmann we were both seventeen
I danced with her but could feel I was in the presence of talent
and she became successful she is a someone.
She tells the newspaper in an interview she hopes to die
in Norway, a rather disappointing uttering when you are
dead it doesn’t matter where.
She will make the headlines have her obituary written and
there will be sorrow, but in the end, we will both be equally dead.

The Mad Years
Years ago my first wife had left me for another man
I was crazy by jealousy she in another man's arms
intolerable.
A ghost walking through town in a haze of whisky
a meltdown caused by dishonest self-importance.
I didn't see how pathetic I was trying to end myself
on the Altar of love, I wallowed in the victimhood.
The bank took the house my mother took me in told
me to grow up. Sleeping on a sofa and no privacy
sharpens the mind to be constructive like working for
living. Slowly I was able to forget and let go, my
overreaction was of hurt my self-esteem had taken
a beating; she left me. My sister had a summer cabin
by the sea in a fjord, she let me stay there dry as  
a preacher- until feeling better. I did but got a phobia
could no leave, alone, yet safe from the world I could
think and stay here forever
I shrink handed me ****** held my hand as we walked
down the track to his car, it was white with red letters
I didn't mind full of pills I was safe, now I think it sure
was tough growing up

A New TV

The old TV, heavy as a cement block those pyramid shaped
they used to have in some roads of my childhood to stop tanks,
does no longer has picture only a voice and moving shadows,
it was a struggle to get it into the car and down to the bins where
a man with horse and cart will pick it up on Monday.
Now I have to buy a new one and that is ok, the modern ones
are light weight has young colours and a beautiful girl doing
the weather forecast, I think so I have yet to buy the TV.
I threw it out in a fit of anger, since my wife sat in the living room
watching banal love stories on the bigger screen, and I had
been banished in the kitchen. There has been a storm I have been
unable to get on the internet this is Portugal when something goes
wrong it does so a long time. C'est la vie.

Flag Days

In the village people are not keen of waving their
national flag about (Portuguese) it’s regarded as
rude boasting. An American, who once lived here,
hoisted the Stars & Stripes every morning and, at
times, tied yellow ribbons on almond trees.

Politely we didn’t mention this banner madness it
was as it never happen; then he suddenly died no
one took the flag down till it was in tatters and
blew off in a winter storm; as for yellow ribbons
the almond tree bears beautiful flowers in spring.

Sobriety
In the beginning, it is like walking on a narrow track
With olive roots over the ground to trip you up and branches
Of trees slapping you in the face, if you fall get up and
Continue to walk to be tired is not an alternative for a rest
The track gets smoother and wider, but it rains muds up to
Your ankles and you have to cross a stream.
After the ordeal you look back and wonder who helped, you inner
Strength the id it stepped in when most needed
Ahead is a shiny asphalted road waiting just for you.
I can't promise you happiness and Hallelujahs,
But promise this when at home and the day was long you
Will smile feel contentment for you have walked the walk,
Your feet are dry and life is not as bad as you thought.

Trust in yourself
If you trust others, they do so
Out of self-interest
Not what is best for you.
To be a follower is dangerous
When you wake up naked
And nowhere to go but follow
The stream. Give up.
Making you unhappy and discontent
A deep-seated irritation
Of a loser who lost his way
By not listening to the inside voice
That made others miserable, bur gave
Your peace of mind.
You dared follow your path
And are not riches but the satisfaction
Of doing the right thing.

Alone in the night


During the night I had no angst
but my teeth hurt and sleep had gone truant
Time is relative the clock on the stand
appeared to have stopped checking the time
in the living room, it was 2 minutes faster.
Four in the morning too late for a glass of wine
not a common drunk, got nothing to hide.
When awake the toothache had gone for now
it was overcast nine o'clock and gloomy

My Lovely
I wrote your name
On an autumnal leaf
And let it blew away in the wind
Now you are forgotten
But only your name
I hear your whispering in my ears
On cold brisk days.

Vanishing flowers

On the bush near the terrace, the one sparrows
pick small leaves for their nests the red roses are falling off
they dance with dust on the road are run over
by tractors that have no soul.
A puppy tries to catch them when it does it spits
those out, the flowers are no food for it.
In a few days, the flowers will fly away don't
know where, but they will be back next spring.

Vita Contemplativa
We do not live our lives in the now but remember
it as a passed and what we did not do when the past
was now and disappeared as an ant's breath    
as there is only one beginning- birth- we are shackled
to the past we didn't choose but was pushed on us as
we had no ability to anything in the now

The Great Man

Harry Lesly Smith was born poor in a slum
he had no education but rose above because
he was of a sunny nature.
I read excerpts from his book (he wrote several)
and he expresses himself in a pure working class
vernacular way and since he was not a famous
literate one thinks his book sells modestly.
I too was born in the slum and Homes, finally
ending my boyhood at a farm for the rebellious.
By nature, I’m five minutes before midnight
and tend to see the darker colour of the time
we live in, these the last hours before the world
explode and hurtle through space.
I too have published several books of what I call
“alternative poetry” I can't even give my books
and have never sold a book through Amazon
or bookshops.
I liked Harry he represented the excellent human
and I will remember him well

Providence
When
They tore down
The statue
Of the dictator
Left
Was two
Rusty tubes
Hanging
in their
What happened?
To the tube
We will never
Know
Perhaps
They were used
As drain pipes
Pipes

About poetry

If I feel the poem I read it is ok
if it makes me laugh that's good too
if it makes me cry alright
if it is pompous I stop reading

Caravaggio

  
A painting of Caravaggio has been hanging on a wall
in a modest house when it was discovered, it was painted by the greatest
Painter of all time.
I gladdened my heart. I´m a great admirer of this robustious man
A misfit that didn´t fit in the company of artists but walked his road.
No, I have no Caravaggio on my wall, only prints of his work
his original belongs to the millionaires and collector who byes the great man´s
art and hide it from view.
Art should be available for all he speaks to us working-class few other
painters ever did.
A museum is a suitable place for him, not rotting away
in the mad people´s world
who thinks art equal money?

The oddity of the truth
To shift through information
And false intelligence
Delivered by men in suits
Paid lackeys reading from a cue
Semitic voices
Feeding the air way
With hatred
Compliant press repeat the untruth
Rill, we believe
Wax lilies in the pond is real

Feral cats

After a month of rain, sunshine and blue sky, I have removed
the plastic sheet is covering the fire wood so it can dry better.
A cat sits on the top of the wood and hisses if dogs came near,
it's a smart cat has noticed the village dogs are cowards
when met with resistance. The feline around here feed themselves
catching rats and mice, mind, they eat your food too but
will not sit on your lap and purr.
I have just been feeding an elderly dog left behind by hunters,
shouldn't do this when I go to Cascais who will feed it?
It is tough for a dog to have no home.
Have lit the fire; the wood emits an intense aroma of nature,
think of the curtailing of freedom in Europe; the press has been
tamed, they can print whatever they like as long as it is not
The Truth on how we are ruled; then it is called treason, what's
left are soft **** and TV quiz.

Mortal Man

The water broke
Jubilation
Soon a child be born
The pain
Has gone
The battle
Is done
Can't see or speak
Slowly life
Ebbs
And a life
Is extinguish
Sometime
The unspoken
Relief
Is etched
In mourners
Faces

Love, ***, and Religion

Why should I tell you this, again and again, this love story of despair?
Entwined, our bodies wrapped together as one, her sea green eyes exuding love and my innocence was total.
slowly shells fell from my eyes I had been sleeping in a bed
soiled by many men, in this warren of inequity.
I begged her to stop this behaviour, but she said she was a free spirit
and could do as she pleased, and I closed my eyes and waited till she
had time to see me, but was no good!
The thought of other men ******* in the bed of love was too,
much; threw up at my disgust, on this bed of dissipations.
Her pursuit of gratification was voracious, for many she was but a *****,
I loved because she once said she loved me.
She is old now her lovers gone, she sought refuge in an evangelical sect,
and once again I lost the woman I loved

Writing a poem

You can read hundreds of books by famous writer
and learn of their stories how to write.
You can read other poets work and learn the craft
of poetry, there are so many styles, in the end
you can sit down and write a perfect poem and
it will be admired for its style and perfection,
yet by doing so, it is still not a proper poem
because the poet is hiding his emotion and honesty
in aptness that is a barrier to the truth
For without the integrity and passion the poem
will be a perfectly executed poem, it may win laurels
and win in a competition, but it is still words that
will remain so as a demonstration of the art of writing
but it will never be a poem.

This not a good day despite sunshine
he feels like a blob without muscle tones
dripping from the wall.
an unspeakable person he has become
to think he always wanted to be slim and elegant
in a tailor-made suit. His whole family are fat
it doesn't bother them swilling beer eating pork
sit there with ample bellies being satisfied,
it as they think it is a sign of prosperity and not
a mark of embarrassment.
Tomorrow he will go for a walk, stop eating
and force his physic into shape, but not today
there is a program on TV about slimming
he wants to see.

The Marine world
The fish world is like a horror movie
they can't sleep at night or play during the day
The small fish is hunted by bigger fish
that again is chased by sharks and dolphins.
The whale that is not a fish lives in relative safety
because of its size, but is hunted by with harpoons that tear into flesh colouring the sea, red.  
Many people are defending the whale, not so many
are concerned by the humble sardine, if you swim
in a school of sardines, they will do you nothing, the same
cannot be said if you meet octopuses with their
arms break your bones and swallow your whole.
I prefer to bath in a swimming pool where the bottom
is painted blue and it no deep than, say, four feet.

History of the people

At the Newmarket, it was the oldest one
in town,  the farmers came with horse and cart selling their produce
Their women folks sold thick long underwear,
handy in winters when the North-westerly blew.
Over the scene of banter and friendly business hung
the aroma of horse and the whiff of a wee dram.
The change to modern time came slowly at first some farmer
had bought trucks it was easier that way and warmer too.
Then one day there were no horses left exhaust fume and rain
time was going a little faster no time for a chat, and I was
fifteen and had other interests.
It was the work- horses that made the Newmarket more pretty.
Oddly enough the iron rings on the fence where horses
were *******, are still there… waiting
for the warm breath of a steed.

Insubstantial

I opened, one early morning the window in the door,
and was met with a face that looked like a cloud; it
blew frost roses on the glass, they were so beautiful,
abstract, and oh, so fragile.
Years ago by the cloister's wall, I saw some miniature
looking roses, I replanted them in my garden, they
disappeared I thought they had died out, but this spring
they were by my wall nodding shyly in the breeze.
As the spring turned into summer, they had no shade
and disappeared like frost roses on the window glass;
and that is ok by me, cause I know they are there just
under the earth waiting for another spring.

A few words

Absence
Is not a peace
It is possibilities
Wasted


For the old
The stillness holds no peace
Only an echo of the undone


Peace is not an absence of war
Warfare is mechanical
A battle is the one we fight
With our demons.

Participation

I like to observe people, and the way they talk and act.
My dog observing me, knows when she has done
something wrong I’m angry, she also knows
my anger I mixed with love.
As a talented dog, she reads other people's minds also
baring her teeth if she thinks they are antagonistic.
I was a member of a Scandinavian group my dog
didn’t like them, so I quit.
I’m not a real poet if I sound like one it is entirely
by accident; however, I have written a few books
of vignettes, they serve the distinctions of not being read.
I never bother about this side; what is written stands
like a beacon that tells me I also participated.