It will be alright
It was peace in the valley a deep harmony of those who fled
to the countryside to avoid the foul air of humanity this lair  
called community had fouled its nest and had to sleep in it
Then there was avalanche of thoughts which caused confusion
when it settled a gramophone voice from 1930 sweetly sang
“I love you, yes I do my darling.”
Back then when singers sang, they dressed their evening best now
women sing showing their wares- never mind the songs- but their
**** to the world telling us to win sympathy how they were molested
as children, the real noise began hunters in the wood killing rabbits
and often themselves in an **** of bloodlust
The avalanche has blocked the way to the lake where I used to swim
when young I accept that and find a puddle to wade in and should
I get tired bring a folding chair sit under a bush and cry

It will alright
It was peace in the valley a deep harmony of those who fled
to the countryside to avoid the foul air of humanity this lair
called community had fouled its nest and had to sleep in it
Then there was avalanche of thoughts which caused confusion
when it settled a gramophone voice from 1930 sweetly sang
“I love you, yes I do my darling.”
Back then when singers sang, they dressed their evening best now
women sing showing their wares- never mind the songs- but their
**** to the world telling us to win sympathy how they were molested
as children, the real noise began hunters in the wood killing rabbits
and often themselves in an **** of bloodlust
The avalanche has blocked the way to the lake where I used to swim
when young I accept that and find a puddle to wade in and should
I get tired bring a folding chair sit under a bush and cry

I was in Trieste

It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?

Jacob’s ladder

God had a summer house
In a private cloud, he needed a house painter
Jacob took the jo, and the deity sent
Down a ladder and it was a long climb for Jacob
He was met by God, who wasn’t sure which colour
He should choose, the painter looked around
And suggested light mahogany colour it would
Give God a feeling of adventure in and otherwise
Pleasant environment.
God liked the idea and sent a couple of angles
To fetch the paint.
It took the painter two days to do the job and
He got hungry asked for food, and the deity said
We usually don’t eat up here, but nevertheless
Sent an angel to find Jacob a burger.
When returning, he was blessed by God, for that
He was thankful but asked for money as he had a wife
and children to feed.  Of course, God said I understand
And gave Jacob 4 gold coins which value could buy a bank
And he did and become the founder of a dynasty.
Going down took long as you can imagine walking
Downwards on a ladder is stressful but he made it
And lived to tell the tale.

Jogging
På vein til landsbyen så jeg ville orkediers
men en joggene kvinne hadde også sett dem
Når det gjelder bloster er alle kvinner tyver,
*** stopped plukked blostene og fortsatte å jogge
antagelig på vei hjem til å sette orkidene in en vase
å beundre dem for noen dager.
Jeg var sint ville blomster bør stå i fred til glede
for mage andre som gikk denne veien.
I en butikk så jeg kunstige bloster de ser naturlige ut
kvinnen kunne ha kjøpt disse og latt naturen i fred.
*** var mager, middlealdren med an liten rumpe
og små bryster, *** jogget i ett fosøk å se ungdomelig
og ansiket hadde forstennet utrykk som følge
av en ansikt løfting, og det er jo ok, men *** skulle
ikke ha tukkled med tidens gange.

Journalism

The tellers of the truth
Those who take this to heart
End up working
In underground newspapers
Alternatively, the internet.
Some journalists think they
are intellectuals
Few of them are.
So many journos in the big press
Follow the press
Faithfully write about
The brief they have been giving
Also, do not bother to look behind the screen.
For them, it is a job
That pays well thinking deep is not for them
They tow the line and are respected.
This clique of men and women feed off each
Other in a narrowing world.
Contempt for them is the right word
So, don’t think reporting is journalism.

Joy and Sadness

Every porthole on the ship had flowers
the deck was  an idyllic glade, her masts
made out of eucalyptus and the radar was
an olive tree, the bridge was covered in
climbing roses, the sea was unruffled as
the mirror in the big hall of the ship Titanic
before tragedy struck.  

I didn’t like this dream it made me fearful
I looked in the archive of happy ships only
found one ship the old ****** rode the ocean
with the routine of a Reeperbahn ****
and laughed at the face of oncoming storms.
She was sold to a scrap yard and made into
nails which I used when building my house

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.

Junk Friday
I was going to write about consumerism but thought
What the ******* point when people get up at five
To buy tumble drier they already have or a computer
The one they have can be upgraded
But I’m missing the point people like new shiny object
Like crows buy what the already have, and it is good
For the business to consume it keeps people at work
Even if the product is made far away.
I don't think this junk do anything for the employment
Figure other that robbing the soil for mineral, but I know nothing
Old fashion not thinking we need what we have but the laugh
And tell I know nothing of modern appliances.
So you can have your Black Friday be fooled by capitalism
That  knows you like shiny things

Just a day
The day is partly overcast, shadows and light
chase each other up and down a hillside,
where I came from nature is hardening
and there is already snow in the air.

Tiny lilac flowers grow under- don't know their names
( do I look like a botanist)
Only the almond tree is bare of leaves, unpicked leaves
Hang like baubles that have lost their shine.

I take a walk on the road it is cartwheel wide and has fallen
into disuse, but for generations to come it will be a healed wound
across the landscape.

In front of me, a bird blue and white has fallen
out of the sky; I pick it up- its beak is grey
It blinks and dies gracefully.
I place it on a stone its soul is still in my palm
and gently blow to set it free.
A breeze makes the leaves tremble.

Just another Sunday

On my travel along country lanes
this Sunday afternoon I saw a tree
on yellow sun burnt field, that had
its limb cut off by a crazed axe man
A surgeon named John, had put
a bandage on the stump, but sap
or white blood, had seeped through
the bandage and I could sense its
agony and there are no hospitals for
wounded three.

So much death on a peaceful day I saw an
old oak that had died from an enormous
tumour on its trunk, leaves had fallen off and
gray branches were seeking heavenward,
a gesture of futility. A car ran across the lane
and I spat twelve times for luck

Just a word in your ear

The USA and Israel, here you have axes of evil,
Will take out Iran who has not occupied anyone
Or stolen someone’s land

Just before dawn

It is late at night, almost morning; the silence is as noisy as high
tide washing over the pebbled shore. Gloom hangs in the air like
a horse blanket covering a nag's rain-sodden back.

Tomorrow is the first of October; years have been piling up on me,
This quiet messenger of spent youth and yesterday’s ghosts I have
done my best to ignore, are back mocking me.

Dawn, a cockerel crows I hope my neighbour will **** it and eat it
for his Sunday lunch. The intrusive unvoiced is like watching
a black & white reel of my life, a litany of failures.

Sigh, I didn't get to meet Marilyn Monroe. This moment when I
Should take stock of my life, all I can think about is to buy
for the fire Monday morning

Just writing

My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
Now I was dizzy the rook swayed.
I came here decades ago, and many pens have fallen to the floor
Although I use a word-processor.
Words are my crutches I lean heavily on them to find a meaning
And not knowing what that meaning is.
Just a vague feeling I lost something on my way to the stars.
I write at night now a steady hum tells me I have to make up
For wasted time, but my time of waste was a fun one
Full of women and sensuality

Make it short

Soothing rain on slates
Heal nerves torn to tatters
Unforgiving is life.

Rain is decanting
A transparent carpet of silk
Untouchable beauty.

Rain chased by gusts
Mad dance around corners
A day fit for heroes.

Kicked Around

The football game was over the players had gone
to the changing rooms, the winning side talked eagerly
repeating themselves endlessly while the losing side
was subdued silently blaming the goalkeeper.
The football itself the one they all chased was left on
the field and it was raining, it had been kicked so much
it was rather breathless and now it was getting cold,
it bitterly thought I'm round without me they couldn't
play proper soccer but would have to use a rugby ball.
The lonely ball hoped a boy would come pick it up and
take it home to his room; his mother would shout telling
him to clean it he promised to do so but didn't.
The boy must be a studious type enjoys doing homework
and the ball is tired of the sporting life.

kismet

A strange sound in the village, not an alarm
It went on in short intervals
Perhaps they were tasting something we
We were not a part of.
After some time, the sound went on me
Nerves it frightened me it was
The doom-laden telling of times to come when
Our world is aflame and hurtles through space
And all gold melts.
Ashes to ashes that is the way it goes

Kitchen drama

We were poor
Shared our kitchen with the woman next door
She was in her thirties
I was fifteen.
We met in the kitchen
It started with a kiss
It ended with full ***.
Mother found out
Called our neighbour a ***** gave her a slap
Across her face.
To me, she said.
How could you with that woman!

Twitter is going nuclear.
PC rules.

Serene Putin
Camara's smile at him
He winks.

Aleppo is ruined
Captive civilians killed
Rebels have gone.

Mosul and ISIS
Iraqi army of quitters
Behind sand dunes quiver

Lack of Privacy

In Lisbon
Between parked cars
A man defecated
I wondered if he had
Loo paper  
Probably not
I turned away
Drunk or sober
This was his private moment

Lack of women

The plateau of Alentejo has a rich fertile soil but few women
most of them studied and became unemployed lawyers in Lisbon,
something had to be done. And a busload of women came in the hope
of finding a wealthy farmer.
They were in their forties but tried to look 35 with heavy makeup
it was pathetic, pale, sweaty faces the sun is intense under the immense
blue sky exposing a life lived inside nightclubs.
The women had the task to do the mucking out. put new straw
for the sheep and milk them.
For many t was too much, they took the bus back to their civilization
as they knew it.
I didn't see the end of the show the many ads took a long time
I got bored and flipped to another station.
But some women stuck it out they thrived, and who knows?
They might find their affluent farmer.

Dear Delilah

My, my dear Delilah I was drunk and fell on the floor
there I saw your lover hiding under the couch.
My, my dear Delilah I slit his throat with a knife
there was so much blood on the floor you got
a mop and tried to clean it up before the blood
was running down to the next level.
But I run away before there was a knock on
the door I couldn't take anymore I feel sick
when I see so much blood, forgive me, dear Delilah
for you got twenty years in the goal.

Tree planting

We, schoolchildren, were sent to a field to plant trees
I was given a handful of samplings and a mall *****
the soil was black and moist early spring cold fingers.
There worms who appeared to dislike this sudden light.
I asked a teacher if worms knew they were worms.
“ never mind the worms, he said, dig a tree.
Behind me, the lads dared each other to swallow one,
later he said he stomach cramps and was allowed
to go home.
Wish I was that smart.
That was seventy years ago the field is a forest populated
with rabbits and foxes, wolves are banned they
eat children for breakfast, the adults said.
I don´t care much about worms, but my hands were
cold, I had put them under my jacket, and I hated the teacher.
Nevertheless, I like to think I once helped to plant trees.

The Laps of the North
I was going to write about olive trees goats and donkeys
and ancient stones in the holy land but I keep
thinking of reindeer in the Northern Norway
not so long time ago the Laps people where
not allowed speaking
their own language, children, were sent to school to learn
Norwegian and forget about their past
Needless to say with the best intention, this pathetic attempt
to eradicate race's history failed.
The snow and cold stop this advance today the laps are
proud of their heritage schools and a University in their
in their own language. As for the Palestinians, they have to go
on fighting for their right until the world stops this inequity

Last dance

They had danced to the dunes of a juke-box
dawn, they were alone except for the barkeep
he was asleep, leaning his head on folded arms
on the mahogany counter.
Soon the sun will shine, followed by the day
and they had to face the dreaded future.
Both were married but not to each other  
was love strong enough to survive the day?
They didn’t know the answer.
Just one more dance.
Hell is tomorrow with heartache and loss.
My god, let this moment last forever.

Laughter

They were young at the stage when old people
But not your granny look funny, those young faces looking
Or perhaps not into the future without any trepidation
I enjoyed their laughter even if it was directed at me with
Hair was sticking out of my baseball cap; they looked edible.
I knew with resigned sadness when they came to age I would
Be no more and they would stop laughing and face
A future of devastation, need and hunger and many of them
Perhaps most die of wars no of their making but of what
Political leaders decide today
Despite this foreknowledge, I would like to be there
And laugh with the survivors.

pretence
      where lies are common to be polite and opinions
are only accepted if it is the realm of what is
viewed as the norm and must not be overstepped.
I believe in the free expression but am sceptical of the free will as it will only bring chaos such as abortion as on the whim of the day. You can say I'm an authoritarian ascertain order has to follow the law of nature, which many consider as an infringement of rights.
What Right!
Europe has a shrinking population thanks
to the idea that the morality of the unwritten law
that can be overlooked without any consequence
of the future generation.
Abortion is capitalist thinking eat your cake today
and never mind what happens when we have gone.

Leave us Alone
A risky apathy is darkening our time emails damning
the Clintons never stop arriving and are left unread
The scandal that could have sunk a battleship barely
makes it headline news
Some newspapers are tired of WikiLeaks bring nothing
but unpleasant news; tell us a joke instead.
The Settler on the west bank and Israeli soldiers are
losing their humanity their cruel banality no longer
stirs the mind, we are tired of bad news, therefore
a joke must not have anti-Moslem overtones not make
the fun of religion and not be seen as anti-Semitic
We are tired of falling bombs and the dust they create
clouds of coarse dust drift over a depressing landscape.
Show us sweet pictures of a kitten and cute dogs.
We don't want to look into the darkness of the coming
the sufferers will have to suffer alone until mushroom
swirls make the humanity extinct.

Legal *******

  The young man had the ability to get an *******
on demand, but to do this he had no *** life, as he had to save
his ability, but went around with constant lust
At the drawing class for ladies, the door was locked to protect
their blushes as they tried to draw a **** body with a creation
A lady - in a trance- got up an touched the man's member,
once, twice, trice and he ******* all over her face, the hounds
of ******* broke down the door and ate the woman's head.
blood on the floor and an orgiastic copulation; on the You-Tube
it was viewed one million times.

The legs

Sitting in shorts. on the terrace, I bought ten years ago
I try to get a tan hiding them from the devastation of time.
Several vessels in the bay, I wonder what kept me sailing
long after the romance had gone.
I liked going ashore to meet people from life, not mine
it was fascinating to see what was an important ritual  
for them and why.
The in-between time, called the deep sea, was often long, not
being talkative, I spent my time reading in my cabin.
Hundreds of books were read over time, some the good
others were a waste of time…almost.
Books were my escape from tedium; I made notes
of words to use later but somehow lost them when leaving.
At the time, I relied on my memory of the unwritten.

Legs

Marlon Dietrich – Blue Angle had shapely legs
She advertised long after she was sixty-five
Selling sleek socks and perfume.
Legs are smooth or rugged coastline in a fjord
Get narrow and narrower on the way to the port.
It can take days to unload and recharge,
or a hasty in and out like modern container ship.
Leaves the birthing unsatisfied and restless.
But on the other hand, ok, if it is business.

Lemon tree very pretty

I lived in a village where the neighbour had a lemon tree
it was on rich soil in the small garden where chicken roamed
In January, it was full of perfectly formed fruit, beautiful shining bright
with an effervescent hint of green.
I wished someone would take the tree to an art gallery
as an example of perfection.
At an art exhibition, I saw a painting of a lemon by Gunther Grass,
it was beautiful looked real in its yellow lushness; he won a Nobel prize,
not for the lemon but for his marvellous authorship.
Near Ramallah, there was a similar lemon tree greatly admired
by the locals, but the settlers came burned down the tree.
This is what happens when the brutes rule.

Lemon tree very pretty
it was a summer night many years ago
woke, thought I heard the whimpering
of a baby, thought it was a dream,
Woke up again my wife was not there
by my side but in the garden where she
had made a hole under a lemon tree
She put what looked like a shoebox in
the hole filled it in and placed stones
on top of her buried secret. Next day she
didn't get up stayed in bed for days and
I looked after her but said nothing.
When she got up she looked slimmer
and took up jogging to stay slim.
The lemon tree grew too I got a man to
chop it down but left its root, she got
upset loved this tree and when unseen
wept. I used to long for her to tell me her
secret, but not now with the tree gone
I do not care to know.

Leonard Cohen

The elegant poet
Has died
I good looking Hebrew face
I admired his hair
And stylish nose
His enchanting voice
Singing the same poems
What people like
I read a collection of his
It told me nothing it was
When he sang
His poems
Chorus and suitable
Setting
Came to life like
A late blooming rose
This old charmer I liked
To watch him
Singing his poems
A poet
Ought to be an entertainer

Let Iran live

Those who want a war in Iran, ought to look
At the people in the street, shopping laughing a good time is had.
Millions of them will be killed and maimed by war is as idiotic as it is senseless and solves nothing. Other
than giving more power to the Saudis and the elephant
in the room which tactfully not mention.
I ask Europe not to give in to” a coalition of the willing” you
Plant bombs, **** people on others behalf
And call it democracy.
If you do the retribution will be endless

Let the bear sleep  
On the sunny side of the road going down the hill
An almond tree dressed as a bride and I thought what will
Happened to you when the frost from Siberia comes  
The bridegroom will not arrive in time, and you will be left
In a cold church a vicar with a cold, and shivering guests
Fortitude I say the wedding cake will last to spring
Living in the corner of everything we hoped winter somehow
Had forgotten us but its rage encompasses the best
The nicest person and the apple thief with an ulcer
We are entering a new world that is highly dangerous whatever
We do we have to do a slow waltz and not upset the bear
An animal that does not attack but reacts to our aggression not
Wanting it to eat blueberries in peace

Liberal Democracy

Think if you lived in a liberal democracy
With almost restriction, except one.
If you write your sentence must be how you like
And respect women, even if you think they sound
Like the harridans in the Guardian, a bunch of tarts
Do not use words, like ****, **** and ******
As it fits women’s physiological makeup.
After this, you can write whatever you like to do,
Before I forget, never hold a door open for a woman
She will take it as an affront of their dignity.
You are now a certified middle-class person
And have *** without a ******, but ask first.

A Life
My life has three stages, I was young once
it didn't last so long, and the downturned came
in my middle thirties, I sank into a gloom which
now is called depression, everything terrible happened
in quick succession divorce, ***** and lose women.
I sought company with people who were my inferiors
and they took advantage of my need to be liked.
It took a long time to get out of this fog I never got the help
I needed all I heard was “pull yourself together.”
But dawn came into my life I went to live in Portugal
I discovered the joy of writing and the pleasure of silence.
I have lived a wonderful life for thirty years and let
go of my ego, to enjoy the day I have the freedom to do nothing
And feel good about it. Today I have been listening to music
on you tube until the strange cat that lives on the terrace
protested; well” the three tenors” sing loudly.
There is much poverty among the old also in Portugal should
I feel guilty because my life is good? No, I will not have slept
on a park bench I have been through the mill, and it was luck
that got me out of it, so I go on living as long as it lasts

Life as we know it

I think we humans suffer from a death wish
we destroy nature, a heatwave in Siberia
burning down down the Amazon all in day´s work.
After this pandemic, the next one will be worse
we may be the last humans before we go up in the fire.
I´m tempted to throw off my mask, kiss people
and mingle with the crowd.
Apart from wearing the mask, I'm into hugging strangers,
but I can change.
Yet, there is always a yet, life is the only thing
we know, death is a foreign existence we now little
about and we fear its appearing nothingness.

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.

life span
I’m at an age when people tend to die
As our life span has come to an end as it must.
I go to bed every night sleep well
And doesn’t think I might continue the sleep
The point is irrelevant should I not see a morning
I will not do such a thing as I will not know
Of every morning before I died,
I friend of mine was told he was going to die he
Travelled to places he had never been before
To enjoy the beauty a busy life had not permitted
Him to see back.
In the end, it was rather futile as the end of life
Erases whatever beauty you have seen.

lights

Sitting on the verandah looking across the bay
he noticed all the lights blinked in the dark they had an amber hue
and the ship at anchor had bluish light
but the street lights near the building were still and cast light
in the darkness,
He thought the light across in the bay were busy talking to each other
after all, they had been none communicative during the day
and wanted to share the experience after a long silence.
the blue light from the ship that gets its current from a motor
in the engine-room were talking about the bad rain last week
or reminiscence about stormy nights in the Atlantic ocean.
When I came to the village, there was no street lighting, and we had real light except a lamp showing the way into the village.
The dog knew the way and nudge me when I was walking the wrong way colliding with stone fences.
Nevertheless, it was a good time, and there was peace in the land-

Like a painting

Is anything more beautiful than an early morning
in Cheshire, I walked along alone it was like being
in the middle of a painting dripping leaves and
dew on the grass.
A lone horse came to the fence I stroked it. Then
it went back grazing again no longer alone.
On the other side of the field a gate opened., a flock
of sheep came, company good enough for the horse
I was free to go.

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

Limelight

Once I had to go on stage
reading my poetry, I was a nervous wreck
but when up there bathed in light
that shone just for me I was in my element.
Each poet had read three poems, but I was unstoppable
until the arranger of the festival dragged off stage.
The audience consisted of 50 people who are not
who are not afraid of a poetry reading.
I was afire and wanted to read poetry everywhere
but my wife got me to go to bed before the fool
in me took over.

Linkin is like the facebook
Only posher and middle-class
Here company directors,
Guitar players and teachers
Can write learned articles
Mainly about themselves
And what interests them.
Apart for being pretentious
It is free of baby pictures
Which is satisfying and keeps
Facebook users at bay.

Magazines
I used to read Readers Digest
it was like the Fox channel
before internet
and we believed yet thought
something was wrong,
Israel was great in a sea of hatred
and the magazine never said
a thing about Palestine whose land
was stolen.
Arabs want to **** Israeli
******* we thought forgetting about
holocaust   which happened in our
back- yard. But then we grew and
read books
giving us a different view, yet we
sensed that being successful we should
keep our innocence of mind
we had when reading
“Readers Digests” and its odd sense
of humour which we were asked
to be serious about

Living forever

The knowledge of living forever
is already here, all one has to do
is renewing one's cells once a year
beginning at the age of forty
or there about when a person is
self -sufficient.
It is also possible to renew cells so
often that one regress to infancy
and looked after by your son who
is unable to grasp that he is changing
his father’s *****.
But longevity has its own risk how to live
you can alight from the 9 bus
and be knocked down by a car,
the autopsy would show the killed person was not
forty years old but 110.
The best way to be old is to **** someone in Oklahoma
get 200 years in a padded cell
be  fed through a slot in the wall
And when the years come to an end,
refuse to leave the prison, your home on earth.

living in the shadow

The restriction we have been living under in Cascais
has been slightly lifted, and we can walk freely about
as long as we use a face mask.
For us elderly it is not so bad we are at home most
of the time anyway and have no need going out
celebrating for its own sake.
For the young, it must be hell, say, keeping social
distance and no holding of hands.
They have secret parties were the throw off the mask
drink and dance, never mind the virus.
To the shock of many young people catch the unseen
enemy and many dies or are maimed for life,
they wrongly thought it was the very old the expendable
died, they could live with this as long as it was not
the grandparents.
The wearing of masks has become political in Texas
people marching in the street carrying placard proclaiming
“My body, My choice.”
Freedom without responsibility can be lethal.

A lizard Sonnet
If you travel to escape the small lizard on your back
you eventually are outside your parents´ home
to find they have long since gone.
Someone else lives there perhaps a child sleep in your bed
dreaming your dream.
You will walk down the street where you used to play
but no one knows and the sense of loss is overwhelming.
Swallow hard not to cry because your memory is untrue.
You left a small-minded town, poverty and screams in the night.
but it was worth returning to remind you what an awful place you left.
I have a small lizard in the kitchen I have tried to **** it
Because it is grey and without redeeming colours that I could use as a pet.
It is also quick and hides behind the fridge where I cannot reach it.
I will let it live for now.