Tuesday Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
and I see umbrellas walking by, some of them
stop, fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.

I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; a lady umbrella was a bit
smaller, had frilly silk borders,  was sable coloured too.            

Now they are  all colours but black, cheap and
cheerful a sharp breeze and they turn inside out
and that’s ok; it’s the cheery bit I like.    

During world war two, the German air force
dropped a few grey bombs down into our town,
no big deal, pale flames warmed winter nights.  

In colours everything tends to look good, poverty
too; the hungry wear colourful robes and falling
rockets look like fireworks a festive night.

The Cow

By the edge of the cliff where the grass is juicy
the cow tried to eat it all the last straw you can say
alas, it tipped over and fell into the sea
and since happened in Dover, it swam to Holland
and joined the Dutch cattle.
This was a good solution till the cow demanded
special privileges such as imported Dover grass,
when it didn't get it will, it swam back.
On the way across the channel, it was run over
by a Panamanian registered tank-ship.
Children had to go to school hungry no sausages
or milk for breakfast.
The ship, the farmer (not setting up a fence) and
the Dutch got the blame, this wouldn't have happened
if we had let, the cow gets its own way.

How unlucky can a man get?

There was a man, an ocean sailor,
in Argentina, he met a woman who he married.
During a storm, she was washed overboard, and
he couldn’t find her. Undaunted he continued
sailing around the world, met another woman
(from Sidney) and married her.
In the strait Moluccas, they were ambushed, the pirates shot his wife. Well, life goes on and when he finally came
to Oslo, the press was not there to extoll his considerable feat.
The thinking was losing one wife an accident
but losing two was considered irresponsible.
At the sailors club, he was welcomed with polite
coldness, he knew why rumours were floating about.
Disappointed he sold his boat
bought a flat on a high rise, the seventh floor.
this had a terrace with a low railing.
No, she didn't have an accident if you think of it,
but she did commit suicide.
I don't think he ever married again
But he wrote a book about his many years
At sea and tried to explain his misfortunes,
The book sold well since he used an alias.

Family Gathering

He dreaded family gathering and now
he was in the middle of one.

Tried to lasso the wind (Samuel Johnson)
of old slights remembered.

They turned to him called him a coward
always siding with his mother or being absent.

He just sat as not hearing the coward bit riled
as usual he absented going into his den.

Selling a cottage

I had my little house up for reluctant sale
couldn't get the reward I wanted decided not to sell
I'm moving to Cascais, and it takes time.
he cottage can stand here till it sags and needs
to be painted, too many memories we have grown old
together I need a facelift my fake tan can't cover
up the cracks.
I knock on the door two ladies outside they wanted
to buy my house for the right sum of money,
for a moment I hesitated, money is money.
Sorry, it is no longer up for sale and my little house
breathed again.

Drowning dreams

The lake in this landscape of stones and sky is dark, forbidding
Alluring, like hypnotic eyes coming nearer and see me.
My depth is endless it murmurs, all your illegal dreams rest in
               Me, come swim in me, dive and I will show you the sensual shock you have been denied, you will see your parents in a ****** embrace
floating by, your lust to join them is''  unbearable and out of you
ejaculations. There will be no respite, no hiding place for dreams
you have refused to see.
Has morning light rescued you from the truth?
As you sink further down the hell of your existence shall drag you
Into the flagellation of desire, and you'll see bones of those who
gave in to yearning, forever living in the hell of the impossible desire.
The lid of the dark eye shudders, turn back now, let me embrace
the forbidden, and your secret will go unspoken, like the shifting
Sand in Sahara where only silence survives.

Love is 3

When we are out driving
She tells me the way.
When reaching a roundabout
She tells me how to approach it.
When the journey ends
My face is a mask of forced calmness.
I park the car
She takes the lift up
And a primal scream is heard
emitting from the garage.

Soldiers’ Women

On the plateau, a file of women in black,
war widows waiting to be given tea, bread
and rice from two men in a pick-up truck.
The men spoke hoarsely scurrying them on,
found their work embarrassing they would
rather be back on the mountain fighting.
Thought of the women as superfluous, yet they
had given birth to boys who fought and daughters
who was married to a warrior.
The women didn't look the men in the eyes,
spoke softly about the health of grandchildren,
they had miles to walk down to the village, till
meagre soil and tend to skinny goats.

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.

The Voice of the People

The morning is excellent and calm
I try to write about the feeling I have inside me,
but can only come up with a feeling
of boredom, that comes when looking out of the window
too often and see nothing has changed.
I don't want to live here anymore, but is fearful
of the unknown – being outside my comfort zone-
even if it is tedious, I find the world scary,
a cacophony of a common scream
That comes with unbridled democracy, everyone
                       Has the right to be heard when they should be quiet
                       or speak sotto voice
when they can only produce banalities
Thinking has to be approved by the masses and
those who call themselves liberal

Life is a life
Driving home I nearly hit a rabbit
braked hard and the can of lager fell out of my hand.
We country folk drinks a lot; the police never stop you
unless you drive off the road and plough into a flock of sheep
then you are fined, and the police take the carcass home
dinner, for a big family.
So who am I sentimental over a rabbit when
there are chemical attacks on children in Syria,
and the war of attrition never ends
by courtesy of those who do not want peace there.
How am I sentimental when children are killed?
In Gaza children wounded by teargas have damages lungs
who am I to talk when witnessing the ****** of a people?
That demands to be free of Israeli tyranny.
But deep in my heart if I were hungry enough, I would
have killed that rabbit taken it home and cooked it.
So what this makes me? A sentimental fool crying
over spilt life? Deaths for a higher political cause
like stealing land from the losers.

Shoplifting

At the supermarket, my wife pushed the trolley
While I walked around in the hope of finding some
Unboring food found a tin of tunny in hot sauce
I could make a breakfast of this (diabetes).
But the tin in my pocket to hand to my wife
And forgot about it.
We paid and left.
Outside I froze we hadn’t paid for the tin!
What to do know? Go in and pay for it, the line
To the till was long, forget about it she said.
I was a shivering wreck when driving out of
The parking lot and no guard tried to stop us.
Ok, I ate the tunny for breakfast, but if I had been
Caught stealing, how to explain it and be believed.

The re-membered

Speak to me of a memory that ran into the sand
taken by the high tide drifting away
but at low ebb glitter on the lonely strand.

Speak to my memory as seen in a child's eye
when my mother was young and danced
had laughter on her lips and stars in her eyes.

Speak to me memory in the haze of dreams
when life was lovely, and summers were long,
hold on to your vision of yore till your life ends.

Speak to me a memory of your time as a ******
when life was often sad, but books made you sane
in every port a letter from your mother.

The infancy of TV in Norway

He came home early to see the news
on TV. After the news weather forecast
Then a bit of entertainment
a lady played the guitar and sang badly
end of TV for that day.
He cycled down to the nearest pub
they closed at eleven, the town only had 3
Uphill was more difficult.
On Sunday. the Tv was more lively
mass, sport and the Flint Stones.
Monday evening, film night, often
a dreary Polish film. Good night!!!

doctor. Lunde

Let us go to doctor Lunde she said
I found a place near the bus terminal that no buses
A police officer came and told the parking place was only for bus-passengers.
He offered to drive there us- in my car- but got the gears wrong
And we ended up in swallow lake.
You drove they are into the lake I said
But it is your car, and as such responsible, we called a tow car.
It dragged the car up, and at the same space, rules are rules
The officer said even when there are no buses.
We finally found parking outside the doctor’s office, he cam
Said it was his space and besides he was a chiropractor
Called himself doctor people trust them.
I lady from the cleaning- police said I had to wash the car
Instead, we drove to IKEA, looked at furniture with strange names.
Selling stuff, you had to glue tighter yourself
I’m not a handy man.
We ordered Swedish meatball without mashed potatoes,
You have to have mash the lady said it is the rule, so we ate
The ***** and left the mashed potatoes, the lady who serves us took it
As an insult to Sweden so we ate the mash too.

Modern man and machinery

Now those nuclear power stations I have shown to be too dangerous,
people are looking for an alternative.
An open cast coal mine in rural Germany they are
destroying natural beauty in the hunt for coal which in
my mind is wrong.
The workers and the drivers are burly men in their fifties
and the machinery they employ is like substantial greedy aliens
the men work long shifts despoiling any life that might have lived here.
Open cast mining, dust and noise and a far cry from Nirvana,
yet the people live longer, but someday in the future, the bill has to be paid when tampering with nature.

Guns in Sweden

Sweden has problems with too many guns
shoots hole in the night.
Many refugees came to Sweden, who thought
when the refugees discovered a Nordic paradise
they would become Swedes overnight.
The inhabitance of this Eden has a discriminatory heart.
The glance of an eye tells the truth.
There was a clash of culture.
People of the same philosophy likes to live close to each other,
for them, Sweden has a cold heart.
No work no education, guns are easy to buy.
I don´t know the solution
Perhaps the Nordic people, are too regimented
and it will take time to change this attitude.

Bombing raids

I was born before the world war two and remember
sitting in the basement of a school, in the dark with fearful adults.
The bomber planes where British looking for the airport
but everything was in darkness, failing their objective
bombs were dropped hit house many died, and there was fire.
It must have made a big impression on me, although
I cannot remember the fear, but when I hear sirens, I panic and look for shelter.
Mother sent me to a farm in the countryside, as it happens
it was next door to a military camp and sometimes at night
when enemy planes were in the air and cannons were fired I shivered
in my bed and took to sit under a footbridge that crossed
a small river saw little fishes swim and shiny stones.
Otherwise, I had a good war except
I'm petrified by the look of guns and fireworks New Year’s Eve.

The old poet and red wine

                     The old man gets up early in the morning; he doesn’t
                     eat breakfast but drink coffee, switch on the computer
                    look at the blank screen waiting for a word to come
                    so he can try writing a poem; it is a hard going so he
                    mounts his training bike and get some exercise.
                   Noon is the best time of the day; he walks to his café
                   have a good meal and a jug of red wine, which puts
                  him in a good mood and talk to the old men in the park,
                 Sometimes one of them say something interesting he
                can use when writing. The old poet knows his best
                work is behind him, but he still tries to tease another
               poem out of his mind. His evening meal is simple he opens
                a tin of soup and drink a few glasses of red wine watch
                TV, or makes comments on the Twitter.

The Plateau


The plateau is so much bigger than I thought it took years
to get here but the distance is so enormous will I reach the other end.
Before my birthday which I try to ignore those I loved have
died and not spoken off they are a ghost in the machinery of living.
The world has turned around the sun many times and what mattered no longer do so,
but I'm happy to find my reading glasses on top
of the freezer. I pity those coming after me; they and their brood will be nuclear dust.
If there are any survivors, they will start making flint axes and learn to communicate. I
have made my warning and will hereafter say no more about the subject

http://imglogo.podbean.com/image-logo/716014/poweredbypodbean.jpg

The racial question

There is a black female politician
says Portugal is not black enough her liking
I find this preposterous.
The Portuguese who settled in Africa to make
their wealth mixed freely with the local black
population, as a result, blackness seeped in
and blended with Muslim blood.
Algarve was once a Muslim province
to the extent, the Iberians have a laid back
attitude to time.
The female politician may get her to wish fulfilled
with a shrinking white population
and black people from former colonies arriving
I think the day will come in the near future
the Africanization of Portugal.

A tired day

Yesterday I walked to the tax office
Not that I had any business there
But the woman next door said it only took her 15 minutes
To go there.
It took me two hours going there and back.
Tired today watching cartoon a man was knocking
On the door of a suburban house pressing the doorbell
selling vacuum cleaners
A beautiful woman opened the door
My doorbell was ringing too; it was the waterman
And by the time I had paid him and taken the water
Into the kitchen, I was too late to see what had happened.
I like a cartoon; the impossible becomes doable.
The ship with for cranes is still at the anchorage perhaps
They can’t get a master.
Should I offer my service

Holland

In Holland this sweet clog walking land
have too many cows realising methane gas into the air.
There are many gas explosions in Holland
no one has yet to connect the gas with the cattle.
But it is difficult for them the have fewer cows.
Once I met Prince Hans of Netherlands, I drove his stuff up
to his farmhouse and he never paid me, and that is way
they are successful living in the middle of Europe and
somehow voiding paying tax.

The Optimist
It will all be alright one day you will see
When we have eradicated greed, economic wars
Seen off people who works against  
The common good of man but preaches a religion
Of superiority and blood lust
They will disappear from the earth's surface as
Will other religions also their true nature exposed
Take our freedom and enslave us
When the hallowed word democracy means equality
For all and not a way of the smart to exploit
Those without economic fortitude but prefer to walk
In an enchanted garden and dream of Utopia which
If those who think they have been privileged by
A deity invented by a scribe would let go of their
Sense of injustice and hatred against the world
Yes this has been a good day and all will alright
One day, it truly will

The Evening Light

I ought to take an interest in death
But I no longer find it an interesting subject
It has to do with acceptance
Which I find comforting since I’m not religious
But has a strong spiritual streak
I believe in the mystic
What we fail to understand in normal life
I have second sight
I can see the near future only I suspect it is
Caused by experience
I believe in ghost by those who have not
Accepted death they are generally unhappy
And totally powerless they can't call up
The devil since he does not exist
I have seen my dead dog on several occasions
She lives in my mind, but I do not dream of her
As I used to and now she is in black & white
Demise is in a way a monotonous subject
There is no future in it, here I manly laugh
Look at my watch I will have drink at eight swim
In ocean of mild intoxication

Was it a Painting?

Did I write a poem called “Pieces of Sky?”
Apparently, the poem was well received, and I'm glad for
this boast to my flagging self- confidence.
The nearest I can think of pieces of sky are mountain lakes
which mirror the sky when it is blue and the lakes ditto.
This happens in Tibet or thereabout when the mountains
scrap the heaven and pieces fall off.
In the holes they make you can see forever, before unseen
hands **** the sky into blue velvet,
that is ok, you are not meant to know everything
and become a tedious know-all.

The best of years

in a side room where things are put to be used later but never will
there is an old “brother” typewriter gathering dust, bought a day
I felt like Mike Spillane, drinking whisky and smoking cigarettes
while writing rapidly about the hidden crime world of Liverpool.
I went into pubs where the gangsters are supposed to hang out
And were met by people buying me pints of beer and telling jokes.
Then, the word processor came along, spelling was not a burden.
Yes, I know, I sold out for a better life; I miss the tapping sound
Pure nostalgia I wrote a poem of love, the one who disappeared
In wider and wider circles, I walked till she was smoke and mirror.
One day I will take the “brother” out and try to locate her.

The Ruin

There is a ruin only a few metres away
from my back terrace, once it was a ruin that could
be repaired, and I looked inside it had once been white
I could see the mark where the cross had been,
but it also had a well in the middle of the floor, it was
too small for my needs I didn't buy it.
Now the roof has fallen in and it beyond repair, yet
it has a dignified charm of the utterly fallen.
Once it had been some one’s home children had
been born here and they had played outside, now it
will be torn down and there will be a space
and it will only be remembered by me and by elderly
people who will only recall when the house is no more.

Local Memorial Service

Outside the funeral agency two employees
dressed for their job, stood smoking, by the pavement
a hearse with coffin inside stood waiting.
finally, they threw the butts in the gutter started
The car to take to the church where the casket would
be decorated with flowers and then with a cortège
of mourners followed behind led by the local padre.
There were no many men among the marchers, they
thronged the bar on the way and only joined
in the last minutes.
The padre did the rituals and packed up and left
the mourners cried and there were many handshakes
among the people and talk about the dead person
who apparently had been a bit of a ******* cheating
in cards and not to be trusted.
Of course, nothing of this was uttered at the cemetery
it was later in the bar the person of ill-repute was mentioned

The molester  
On a podcast, I heard Cardinal Pell so poised,
the boys’ were telling lies,
he wouldn't dream of doing this to anyone,
but time moves on he was not believed;
whether he had ruined anyone’s life is debatable.
We had gone on a walking trip it lasted two days,
we slept on a hay-loft and the young
Priest (not Catholic) took my hand on his ***** *****
and made me ******* him,
next day the other boys said he often did that and giggled.
Boys are resilient they do not commit suicide after such
an encounter, it is just one of the things.
The young priest became a bishop, and his serious face on
TV makes me laugh that no one can see the falseness of
the man who is a child molester.
A warning though if it happens to you tell the other boys
but not your mothers who will make you feel guilty
drag you through the court and ***** up your head.

A dog's life

The neighbour's dog barks
it heard me coming up the driveway
I usually stop and give him a cuddle
but today am too tired
When barking doesn't help it howls
I get up to go to the dog and play a little.
Dogs don't demand a lot they get sad when ignored.
Five minutes of my time and the dog is happy
Just sits there and love me with his eyes.
If only life had been so easy, but it ain't, the day has been filled with driving to
the mechanic
to repair her car and driving her back twice.
When old one likes to be left in peace for a day or
so, and since we are moving I have to carry her
stuff, sometimes she forgets am eighty years and
Have a pacemaker. Hope she will come home late
meet some friend at the supermarket she likes people
as I need a break from her relentless demands.

A Greek poem


We were walking uphill the mule and I it was hot
and we stopped by a spring trickling down the mountain
there was open barrel for animals to drink.
The beast drank and drank; when I looked it was big as an elephant
and since the track we walked on was narrow it lost its balance
fell to the bottom of the hill.
When I came down it was ok if a bit hazed and we began to walk
uphill again.

Cold is the wind in Europe
It is a stormy evening brown leaves flying in the storm, they a
re dank and slimy tore from the tree with no home to call
their own. I'm thinking of Macron, the president of France
He is extolling globalisation, I'm a nationalist I come from
a country that has naturally evolved has its own culture and
an unspoken agreement on how people should perform.
We don't want a global nation with one culture one language,
one thought as dictated by a newspaper owned by the globalists.
It has been tried before under the dictatorship of Stalin.
Macron is, in the words of Oscar Wilde:” Deep down he is
a shallow thinker.”
Migrants are welcomed in my country if the can blend be as us
and not a confused mob demanding changes in the way
we have accepted the system as it is.
Mass migration is a manufactured phenomenon it could
be avoided by investing in the countries they hail from and
is political to sow discord in Europe.
We see how the USA a beacon democracy, has been turned
into a semi- tyranny helped by the opaque forces of Zionism
they want globalisation to serve their end that is  to enslave
and bend us to their will.
The working class in Britain get it and the ditto Germans
to see the way their countries are going and protests
because of the know if this is not stopped a new war will
begin a war that can only benefit the Zionists.

An inert tarn


In the pond of pleasant memories, a duckling paddled
like an unwanted thought a spring wedding in Brussel.
Flat stones skipped on the pond in the night, quacked
refused to spit out half chewed toothpicks forgotten.
Expel the duck send it abroad to the Saragossa Sea
to a shadowy barren island in the stream
where the monster Amnesia lives; you must be warned
keep away if the ogre gets hold of you, it will not eat
the unwanted, but also the memory of those you loved.

When time is right

When re balloons float upside
Down and green snow whirls up
From ground


When the moon drips silver snot
And stars are moths eating holes
In mammy’s tapestry

When preacher of gloom stalk
Streets of fear and people hide
In tear-stained caves

When the skeletal finger of my past
Claws at my conscience, then I
Know it is time for a glass of wine.

Dropping bombs

During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.

Failed States
So they killed Gadhafi to free Libya and
got the Western world to help them. Alas the rebels
only fought for what they could get,
and now Libya is a failed state. They have tried –rebels-
to get rid of Assad with the help of USA, the country is
on its knees, but some nations are seeing through this charade
and are willing to keep Assad in power, for the time being.
It will not be easy the Americans and the Israelis
are doing their best to turn Syria too into a failed state.
it is up to us to stop them

The Daughter

I looked her into her brown eyes and said, I love you,
just straightforward without any hesitation or reservation
I had sometimes taken to get to this point because
I had said this so many times before to other women.
My wife believed me, and when I come home telling
her I have fallen in love with the check-out girl at
the supermarket, she called me an idiot but knows
the girl is the daughter I never had.
No, do not feel said my reason for wanting a daughter
is that I don't want a nurse to look after me when
I get really old. You see my vanity is considerable
I have had an operation in my eyes, wear no glasses.
The next is a hair transplant, I long for the days when
someone thinks I’m my son, but I still dream of
a compliant daughter, and I wonder if this makes me
an anti-feminist.

The saver


He began saving money when 15 years old, liked to see
his bank account grow, not for him to spend money on
restaurants, drink beer with friends.
He inherited his mother's house, repaired it cheaply by
stealing materials at building sites; he was rather proud
of how little it had cost him.
He had a small investment that paid him a small sum of
money once a year, and in his bank account, it went.
Needless to say, he lived alone a wife costs too much,
wanting this and that, so he visited elderly women who
didn't want his money only a bit of love.
Then one day, he was eighty lived on potatoes and
cabbage all his life and the cheapest of wine, but he was
too old to spend money now; a lonely millionaire
who only read the statements the bank sent him.

The Enemy among us
The western world has lived in peace for sixty years
mainly because of EU and shared horrid memories.
This has not been the Palestinians case who were
shooed away to give room for a colony called Israel and
those who object – freedom fighters- are called ISIS.
The USA have dropped bombs in the middle -east for
a long time and produced more ISIS fighters which now
is a common name of all who do not like being bombed.
Ex-president Obama sends drones they are intellectual
from the out- set. Trump drop a bomb the biggest in the world
it made a terrible noise, and 36 Taliban were
killed, they too are called ISIS.
(In Trump's case one wonders if he suffers erectile dysfunction)
China and Russia is ISIS in disguise, as are left-wingers
and those who do not believe in the American dream.

Golden locks
The girl I fell in love with years ago when summer
was excellent, and we bathed in
the lake I didn't ven kiss her but patted her shoulder.
                                                     I wanted to embrace and kiss her making her mine
                                                      but feared to ruin our friendship which was for me
                                                      a costly gift in my new life in a foreign land.
I had written about it before she was so young,
her bright, lovely smile I could not risk that with my
clammy hands around her slender waist.
                                                       There was more I had lost someone like her before
                                                       I had lost her in lust and forgotten her friendship she
                                                       had been my mate till she tired of me and left.
She is still there in the village, divorced now with a son and a daughter who treat me
like a grandad, they treat me well ring and bring me gas bottles when needed,
and it strikes me by not making love to her,  I got the best friendship can offer.

The ****** Brexit

It should have been so simple
There was a referendum
People voted leave
And Britain should have withdrawn
In an orderly fashion; but no.
The remainders wouldn’t here
Of it and the spectacle become undignified.
One would think the UK didn’t exist
Before the EU it did.
Boris Johnson is an opportunist he is
Not remotely interested either way
He wants power
And the American why of health service
The leavers should not entertain him
But continue their fight to let Britain
Go its own way.

The beginning
When I went to school, it was only on religion
Christianity! Jesus with his cross and Danial fighting
a giant ogre, none of the pupils, believed any of this
yet it was entertaining stuff while we wait for
the school term to end so we could jump on our bikes
and play cowboy and Indians.
But what though as a child sticks lately, I have been
thinking of the origin of religion it must go back
thousands of years long before Christianity is there
a beginning, or is it all man’s fear of death?
Perhaps not, once a word was spoken but mankind
forgot, the memory persisted, and we have been
looking for the truth ever since.

The compulsive

Autism in the like of Julian Assange
And Greta Thunberg is a force for the good
Their passion can for them be tragic
they go to any length to follow the truth.

I had a tailless female dog, circled to find
the tail, till she got dizzy.

Obsessive people can be tiresome, have
great courage and suffer for their beliefs.
Heroes are for the quest for honesty.
We should be grateful.

The Amazon

The Amazon rainforest cries and the mighty river senses the doom.
The inhabitants of the forest are beleaguered in fear of losing out
the logging, the clearing of land, estates for cattle, future
hamburger meat.
Those who try to help the people of amazon are murdered
not by the rich but by the deluded poor who fear for their livelihood.
A tragedy is enfolding the world watches helplessly, wring hands
and write learned articles about the plight of the Jungle people.
If the rainforest dies, the river will die as well
A new desert where nothing grows except scorpions and snakes
and the nature will suffer the people who lived there
will be extinct, in the name of democracy where everything
is legal if you are mighty; in the end, the globe will die.

The Social Life

A monkey sits on the roof, eats a bon, bon
with its wrapper on teasing a dog.

I sit in the bar, with Sylvia and Fred, drink
cola through a straw.
Bottles on shelves promise me I will be
strong, feel at ease with this weird couple.

Fear will flutter away
like butterflies in a glade
disturbed by a hare.

A small glass of beer,
the monkey laughed.
came down from the roof.

I'm confident again
Fred is funny and
Sylvia is beautiful

The Pacific

The ship was going down a water mountain
only to be met with another mountain and
going up and up, this dizzying dance no rest
only holding on for life hoping the Typhon
would blow itself out.
Towards morning the see was simmering
down leaving us to try working, but the talk
in the mess hall was subdued.

The drunk

When drunk he is expansive tell jokes
Others find insulting give vent for his opinions
That is not asked for; suddenly he is offended
With what someone said and with drunken
Dignity leaves.
When he is sober, he much regrets what
He had said the day before and walk
In streets strange in the hope of not meeting
Anyone he knows they will see him for what
he is a rather modest, shy man who never
Grasps it is what people prefer, his likeability
and not the opinionated drunk with a bottle
of beer in his hands.

The Enemy among us
The western world has lived in peace for sixty years
mainly because of EU and shared horrid memories.
This has not been the Palestinians case who were
shooed away to give room for a colony called Israel and
those who object – freedom fighters- are called ISIS.
The USA have dropped bombs in the middle -east for
a long time and produced more ISIS fighters which now
is a common name of all who do not like being bombed.
Ex-president Obama sends drones they are intellectual
from the out- set. Trump drop a bomb the biggest in the world
it made a terrible noise, and 36 Taliban were
killed, they too are called ISIS.
(In Trump's case one wonders if he suffers erectile dysfunction)
China and Russia is ISIS in disguise, as are left-wingers
and those who do not believe in the American dream.