Loneliness

I have always been a bit of a loner
it is a part of me I cannot eradicate.
I have had few close friends as friendship is an itch
that is demanding in its clawness
My loneliness is a part of me I try to escape
but also embrace as it sets me free.
I became accustomed to living alone when I stayed on a farm
with only animals as imagined friends.
There were no other children to talk and play
Sometimes loneliness can be a burden walking alone
turnaround and say, look at this view!
When I write- I do not call myself a poet-
It is as I connect with unseen friends and the act of writing
feels like I belong to the world.

lonely days
He came home early
Switched on the news
Which was read by a man
Who fell several times, over his own words
There was only one channel.
After the news, a lady played guitar
End of evening TV.
He took his bike out of the shed
And cycled to the nearest pub
There was only 3 of them in the town
And they closed at eleven.
Cycling home was difficult so
He pushed the bike uphill.
Since his wife had left the flat
It reeked on loneliness
He fell asleep on an old chair in the shed.

Lonely is the Famous

Once I met Cliff Richard, a sweet little man,
came into the newsagent and bought
a paper-broadsheet- perhaps that makes
him looks intellectual; what do I know?
He nodded my way, smiled, mind, he smiled
to everyone. He is a professional showman,
smiling for him comes easy.

He had plenty of hair, slim no unsightly beer
belly like me, and I was quite envious till
I noticed the cape of loneliness he wore.
Wished I could help moderate the desolation
that dulled his eyes when he briefly let his
guard down. Poor Cliff sits alone at home, sips
his own wine and dream of happy holiday

Lone Ranger


Three days are gone, alone in my cabin
Not a word is written in these rooms of silence
Writing in a vacuum does not behoove me.
I need an input someone with thoughts of their own.
Reflecting my own thoughts in the mirror
Are unbreakable cycles like a troll under a bridge
That can no longer see the difference between a goat or sheep.
Starve it does not being able to catch rainbow trouts
As laziness seeps into his bones.
Sore is my head from trying to burst out of this encircling
Of the stale, fearful of the new, I must read more,
Work by writers I don’t care for, but has something
Different to say or a new twist of words. I’ve tended to
Read too much, Hemingway.

Long for the Ocean
  

   The old man sits as usual on the terrace overlooking
   the bay of Cascais, the weather is hazy to today take
   his reading glasses off, still cloudy but less so.
   Three ships anchored waiting for a pilot to navigate
   into Lisbon, Cascais has no harbour but a marina
   full yachts and sailboats belong to the wealthy, he went
   there once and was not impressed, too expensive
   for his pocket, ok, it is possible he felt a bit resentful.
  The old man sighs he spent 30 years in the navy
  and the oceans were his friends most of the time,

long is the day
I went to bed at nine a bit early, but I was bored
fed up sitting in all day long, only punctuated going to the shops
where everyone wears a mask like they should be nurses
at mealtime.
People, in general, have stopped smiling no relaxing time
the distance between people deepens us more than physical
we are becoming strangers to one another.
A happy nation is becoming grumpy when waiting in line
at the pharmacy, a place of entertainment for the elderly.
Every TV station goes on about the coronavirus and which country
Leads in death numbers.
The USA has overtaken Italy on the fatality list, so it back to JB Fletcher
And old western movies.
We are becoming a nation of introverts. We are not Swedish
But Portuguese.

Long-legged ruminant

So, you think a camel is an ugly animal
with kissable lips and the eyes of
Marilyn Monroe, and yield low-fat milk
I bet you didn’t know this.
When four wheels stop in the sand of Sahara
the camel with padded feet trudges along
The beast smelled like hell, but who cares
when it brings to an oasis.
Sweet dates, cold water and languor under
palm trees, a dream come true
It was the trusted camel who found the way.
Have you ever tasted camel cheese?

Long Life


Now that the hope for a metaphysical heaven has
Declined longevity is the new mantra, to live till
Ninety and beyond is the goal.

Everyone over seventy must do exercises, go
Early to bed, eat very little, that’s easy now that
Food is getting expensive…and be ***** free.

It doesn’t matter if the last decade is spent in bed,
It’s possible to do stretch exercises from there,
And to remember who you are is not important.  

No one talks about quality of life, I rather die on
A glorious day when sea and sky are in harmony,
Then in an iron bed in a room that has a white wall.

look-alike

my look-alike
was a book-keeper
I was one too
But got bored,
Joined the navy
I have not seen my look-alike
For forty years.
There is a mirror
In the hall
Tell me of times gone.
He has sent me a thousand email
But it feels like
I have sent them myself.
I want to be free of him
He occupies
Too much space in my head
But, the chain isis unbroken
It has roots stretching
Across the globe.
Finally, we will
cross the river together.

Looking at things

Walking on cobblestones is an ordeal
and more is the traffic, I look out of the window
when I walk on my treadmill count how many
cars going around the roundabout.
When I have counted 500, I stop this treadmill
15 minutes have gone by.
When I lived at the border of Alentejo I walked
on the soft grass and counted flowers
saw grass grow into fodder for sheep.
A Moldavian family bought my house, people
tell me how lucky I was selling the house
I had many offers but told no one, hence “lucky.”
My lyrical mine is all but dried up, now reduced
to write about furniture, a sad fall from grace.

Looking for Gumbo  

He had wanted Gumbo, the local café was out
he had to seek a broader horizon at home he couldn't find it.
He took the coach to the end of the country, but no
the further away he got the less Gumbo, he got the blues
and bathed in the river, which was natural for him to do,
moved into people’s home, but they didn't have Gumbo.
At a bakery-café where mostly women sit and drink tea
eat creamy cake and talk about their weight, he found
a lady who had the recipe for Gumbo; followed
her home, she really had Gumbo, but wouldn't let him sit
on her new furniture, so he took the coach home, where
to his surprise, a new café had opened selling what
he needed for free, and he didn't have to pay for it.

Looking for Redemption


                      Great minds are at work to prove or disprove
the God's existent's we know this I a game the intellectuals play
because they cannot accept the plain reason,
the world exists because it is an illusion.
a conjuring trick, forgotten by its creator.
God is a perfect idea it resides in everyman’s mind
It asks an abstract good for life eternal,
an echo no God can answer

Looking for serenity

At the corner shop
They have sold out happiness
On sticks
Dreams too
They sell fresh bread
Moreover, plastic toys.
The greengrocer next door
Sell carrots, cabbage and leeks
However, no heart-shaped
Tomatoes.
Further down the road
A shop specialises in exotic cheese
and milk products
However, none of them sells Joy.

Losing Paris

The village has been enveloped by fog for days.
The world is shrinking; all I see is our apartment.
And the misery of prisoners of the pandemic.
We are sinking into abjection, and we can´t run.
Do you remember Paris ten years ago, she says?
Well, vaguely I murmured, then she told me of us
travelling there on a bus that took forever.
She had visited family and friend, visited her
brother grave and enjoyed herself.
I had read poetry at a venue and met with silence.
I had gone to a theatre showing a modern play
falling asleep drunk and farting loudly.
I walked the streets, drank in a bar told an arrogant
waiter to *******; thrown out.
God, I hated Paris it, was not like meeting Hemingway.
I was 80 years too late.
In the morning I was ill, had to go to a hospital
they stuck a tube up my ***** so I could ***, and now
I sat in the kitchen agreeing with my wife it had been
a great trip; it had been an accumulation of misery
caused by myself, you see, I couldn’t find
the Paris of my dreams

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.

Lost Chances

On a crowded Christmas Street, I saw her
something of the way she walked, I sensed her perfume
I hurried after she touched her shoulder, alas
it was not her, not the woman of my dreams.
I said sorry; she smiled and said that was ok.
in her brown-warm eyes, I saw a hint of invitation
alas, I was in love with the mythical one, said sorry again
flapped my wings and flew into the night sky
to seek her among the stars.
In the cold outer space, I realized she was a seraph
and I, earthling; I flew back to earth looking
for the brown-eyed one, but she was gone.

Lost Love
25 years ago September met April and
September fell in love; she was eighteen I was 52
…I know what you think.
At the post office, she worked, and I posted letters
to pretend friends in Liverpool and return address
and if someone opens them know they will find
an ocean of words about loneliness.
One day when I came there, she held the hands
of a young man, her eyes dripped of love and
I never sent the letter to a fictitious girlfriend  
at Beck Street number 12 in Liverpool.
You could not help falling in love with her she
was perfectly formed had long blond hair and
laughed like an angel.
It was the usual story she married had children,
then a messy divorce.
We are friends now I told her how much I had
loved her, but I never had the courage to say so.
She held my aged hands and said: I loved you too
but thought you didn't care about you many
girlfriends on the Merseyside

Lost Space
The room is bare only a chair
still warm from the woman who sat there
she won't be coming back.
The room is stuffy needs airing there is
a sofa in the corner with a sleeping bag.
A faint aroma lingers.
Curtainless windows, grey dust on sills
the ceiling is yellow by cigarette smoke,
white squares where family pictures hung
I leave close the door, it creaks
the last fear-ridden dissent the room can
keep its sadness of broken dreams.

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.

Love and a door

He was poor but had great ideas of riches
to be equal to the wealthy and meet the same respect.
Alas, he had no business talent his great thoughts
on how to obtain riches fell asleep on a park bench.
He saved enough money to buy an imposing front door
that looked like an entrance to a big villa of the type
one sees in the Bahamas.
The problem was his house was a shack and the port looked
like it was guilty like it was stolen.
Can a door be embarrassed?
The police came asked questions, but he had the bill
paid from the door maker,
after the law left, the door felt insulted became
politically interested everyone has the right to buy
an imposing entrance, he loved the man indoors, protected
him from grins by those who only had a communal
produced doorways.
A rich man was driving past, and he offered to buy the shack,
door and garden, the man refused point-blank and the door
bristled in anger, love is not for sale.

Sassoon and Owens?
The learned men spend much time in libraries
to find about their private life,
dissecting poems to find the banal truth
about two men, “as no men love for long.”
I have read some of their work and my Scandinavian
soul find them a bit “over the top” perhaps feminine
In their endless longing lurking under the surface
Of the excellent verses.
They wrote famous lines. Therefore, they are celebrated.
Their gayness or not is too prosaic to mention.

Love is a spring day.

In a parking lot, two plastic bags danced
in the spring breeze elegantly circled each other
came near almost, touched but danced away
only to dance close again and shyly kissed
A paper napkin with smeared lipstick
wanted to join in, but the dancers only had
eyes for one another.
shamed the napkin, took refuge under a car  
that drove off, no place to hide.
It danced alone in slow motion; eyes closed
as it was dreaming, the lipstick smiled.
A gust of wind blew the napkin to the sky
away from the parking lot, to a secret place
only exploited paper napkins know of.

Love at first fall

When I first met the girl, who had fallen off her bike,
she was ten years old, and she said to herself I’m going
to marry him and I was not a party to her plans.
When we met again I had been unhappily married and
happily divorced, I fell in love with her but worried
about the age difference of about 15 years.
This made no difference to her she had loved me all along.
From thereon she took charge I liked to go out drinking
I loved smoking, but this ended.
She loved me and I her and that was enough even for
my bewildered soul.
We have been married for forty years, and I have no clue
what to do without her and I don't really mind but I still
wonders how a ten years old girl could be so sure.

Love Bug

This is my last letter
I have loved you   from the first time I saw you
Something about your eyes
And the kindness of your heart
You know if you can explain love there is none
You are going on a long journey
With your man and that is ok,
And when you return will not be here
I just want to tell you how much I love you
How much I enjoyed your breathe
The aroma of your body when you’re teasing
Me with your youth and my old age
I didn't even hope but took the nearness of you
As a dulcet dream unobtainable.
Love is a rainbow it does not tell you where it falls
Good bye my darling thinking of you
Have eased the burden of my later years

Love eternal

Why we parted is a mystery
forgotten by the time.
You rang me often
and I rang you,
But best of all was your letters
they shone so brightly
like stars leading my way
To understanding.
Now that you have gone
I love you every moment
As love is eternal.

Love that once Was

When I met her she was spring flower and pretty
as the zephyr undulating gently through a field of
tulips. But there was no denying I was September
and set in my bachelor way, and my bashfulness
stopped me from approaching her.

Twenty- six years later and she is slim and pretty
in a waxy way, in her eyes I read unhappiness life
was harder than she had imagined her husband had
left her for France, leaving her with two children
and a small grocery shop.
  
We drank some wine, she cried because she too
had been too shy and she still loved me. I told her
loved her too, but I was not true it was her youth
I had loved and the newness of her aroma, but it
was too late and I left her to the memories.

Love in a Name.

Crystal Falls, I saw this name on the net
I could so easily fall in love with a woman like her
Her name has so many possibilities a song
Or a dramatic love story that ends in loss of love
She will forever be a song in my heart even if
She left me with a man with diamond studded yacht
Crystal Falls know diamonds are forever
Love is a sunny day in winter land.
Why did people, tell me she is an ambassador for
A club of people who like dining at fancy restaurants.

Her nom de guerre is Crystal Fall; her real name is
Johana Solar how can I love a name so unmusical
A vase dropped to the ground it was made of mineral
Shards of broken love.

Love is a pain in the neck

It was an odd week of lovelornness
he kept singing, “born to lose, and now I´m losing you.”
Perhaps it was an Elvis Priestly song.
He sighed a lot, but otherwise slept well.
He had been a victim of his ego.
The song in his head finally disappeared,
there were
So, many beautiful girls around that summer.
He sometimes sang the song “blanket on the ground.”
***** Nelson´s?
Does a sweet song beget love or is it love that begets?
a sweet song?

love is forever


I had an aunt who fell in love with a soldier
their home was an oasis in a restless time, and they had a child.
Her and his love were resolute nothing could separate them.
How wrong and naive they were, he was called to serve at
the Russian front, he pleaded with the officer to let him see
the war out with his beloved, but an order was an order.
My aunt never saw him again he disappeared in the churning
steppe machinery.
When peace came she suffered much abuse, people calling
her a **** to use a friendly word
she never married again was steadfast in her love for him
and cherished the time they had together.
Sometimes love fall where it falls there is no consideration
like confetti strewn in the air.
She had fallen in love with a German soldier and had to pay
a heavy toll-

Love is Odd.

She is in the kitchen cooking something for tomorrow
I do not criticise what she is doing
when I did she shouted like a tempest and silenced me.
we spoke and I promised not to make any comment on
her frequent use of the washing machine and I promised
when peeing in the night to keep the stream in the ***
which is not easy three in the morning?

My wife went to see a doctor today, and she has seen
many but I made no sarcastic remarks, she has exhausted
all the doctors in our town and the net widens.
Love you see it tolerate your partner's obsession and
dutifully listen to her symptoms. I do this without shouting
although a ****** helps

Love not deeply
It was an odd week of lovelorn
I kept singing “born to lose and now I’m losing you.”
Perhaps it was an Elvis Priestly song
I sighed often but otherwise slept well it was more
An ego thing she left me.
The song in my head finally disappeared there were
So many beautiful girls that summer
I loved them all, but I sometimes sang a line from a song
“a blanket on the ground.”
Willie Nelson's I think.
Does a sweet song begets love or is it love that begets
A sweet song?

The love not spoken of

Newcastle and it was summer I had been paid off
from my ship and sat a the train station waiting for
a train to take me to Liverpool when a young man
came and sat near me. He was beautiful the nearest
I have been to human perfection and we spoke
about life, we were going to a cabin somewhere in
a Scottish hill but he didn't like to be alone and his
large brown eyes looked mournful and I was ready
to join him, but said nothing  because if  he followed
the boy  he would turn out to be human and demanding
a type of attention I could not give without corruption  
His train left before mine I waved and that was that,
when I arrived a Lime street station I was drunk and
spent a night with a ******* and she killed a beautiful
man sitting alone in a cabin in some god- forsaken dale.

Lovers End

Love is doomed to an early death, forever tinged
with sadness; even ardent lovers sense it can't last.
Ah, the mythical illusion no one in the world loved
so deeply as us. Entwined, yes so heavenly I was your
body and your body was me. Sensuous we smiled
I saw my image in your face drown in the miasma of love.
The cooling of ardour was not for us, but we could
not stop time. Grey sky, why must delight die?
The ship has left the anchorage and the sea is endless.

Love Sonnet
This afternoon at the local grocer I had bought a bottle of beer
and a tin of tuna fish and I meet the daughter of the woman
I had been in love with, I had never seen her before and said
halloo like she knew me and she was as lovely as her mother
was. Her mother came and I said something flattering, they both
smiled knowingly, you can't fool a woman about love. I'm sure
her mother had told her daughter of my trips to the post office
where she worked t the time. And they have been laughing, not of
derision, but by my inability to express my love openly.

I'm telling this because when I came from hospital in December
after collapsing and had been given a pacemaker and the onset of
the shingles I was in despair both physically and mentally and
I said if I had died I would have no knowledge about this tristesse
My wife cried and I promised not to speak thus again and I would
not met the daughter of the woman I loved

Unlike love story

Sweet dawn you are not
in your embrace I'm not reborn.
A night with you gives birth to bitter regret.
A promise to not seek you out
will not help,
I love you more than life itself.
Nightfall brings long shadows
irresistible your allure,
Our lair is not feathering of tenderness
but thorns of demanding ferocity.
A pact we made in a church that reeked of burnt wicks.
desiccated roses and the redolence of death.
Our love is agony,
we can´t but clawing us asunder

Love story

Her kiss tasted of iron railing a frostbitten dawn; my lips bled.
Her eyes were frozen stars in a deadly
galaxy of tranquillity.
A beauty flawless.
Her body…unbending, unwilling, an ice maiden in a winter forest.
Her blue lips had spots of cardinal crystal,
my futile attempt of resurrection.
My love, I laid by her feet, struck a match in the vast night of silence.
Ash and ember I was free.
In the glade among roses of gold,
my new love waited…hand in hand
we walked to where the day begins.

Love story
Eva Braun was a Greenland seal lived in an aquarium Herr ****** Liked animals
his dog loved him truly. Dog lovers are supposed to be kind. Love on first sight.
So perhaps there was a call for a loving word that was denied in his childhood;
by the fireside and on his lap the dog sat and he whispered sweet words into
the dog’s ear a moment when his mind was not contaminated by Jewish blood.  
In the country, I lived in there were many islands most of them have
a bridge now and no longer feels like islands.  Nevertheless we were standing
by the gangway of a ferry you were going to see your sister, I knew you were
getting away from me. My love for you were total, yours were not, you just left
without telling me why. Distances I beginning to feel but my unhappiness was
an annoyance, you gave me a phone number too, but it didn’t work, gurgling noises
a phone dropped into a fish tank, but I heard repressed laughter
You were married to a sea master golden rings on is uniform and that is ok;
you and the master of the sea never got children. Widow a childless woman
your dishonesty bothers me, Eva Braun’s fish tale was as phony as
your love for me was.

The love impossible

The cafe was full, a young woman
was looking for a table, I told her to sit at mine,
she did, she was Irish and, yes, had green eyes
and I fell instantly in love.
We exchanged phone numbers I rang her the next day
her phone was disconnected, she never rang me.
I was devastated felt as fate had robbed me taken my true love away, and the five children we
would have had. ( had given them names)
if I remember right, she wore a sheepskin coat and an emerald ring, and I wonder if she still has the ring?

Lower class

When children we were poor, and that was ok,
we knew  hunger,
it was not so much not having much living in unsanitary houses
no bathroom we all lived like this and thought nothing of it,
it was that our life was staked out by authority
our job after
seven years schooling was to man the factory, some went
further and became welders and others electricians which
the nearest we could get to being middle class.
Most children when young accepted their future life and
after long years  in a factory got a watch from the administration
and a picture in the local newspaper.
There were many losers some became drifter didn't want to
we called them lazy some became ****** while other sank
into alcoholism and they were the clever ones
no one saw their talent, and the gifted didn't know how
to set themselves free living in boarding houses walking in
the shadow, luckily many of them died young.
Life is better now we have a better chance there never was
a time of the good old days.

The lunch café
I'm not dying to die, but I like to weigh less
To be free of this old body this harness of humanity
It was not always so I was young once
And made a drama out of politics and ***
In a way, I simmered down when reaching middle-aged
Then a wanted a daughter by didn't find a woman
Suitable, they were ti stupid, and I wanted my child to
Be a genius be, say a brain surgeon at 15
I met a doctor once we had much to drink I nearly made it
but she woke up and refused.
Then suddenly I was old had no future no higher grade
from the old people's home nearby they came and bath me
change wet sheets, tough women and that is ok,
they give me lunch not what I like; politely I throw the food
into the loo and flush than I drive to my café
where they know what I like.
Big table cloth down to the floor if Flora slips under there
and give me a blow-job ten minutes before lunch
it will be a perfect day

Lunch on a park bench

I had bought two hamburgers
Each had a lettuce and sliced tomato.
When she showed up the burgers were cold
and the lettuce had lost it crispness
the tomato had mould
The whole thing tasted of a paper bag.
She relished her burger and ate mine too
The one I have saved for the ducks.
We shared a can of soft drinks then she
had to go back to the office.
So that was it the greedy woman only
seeing me for the food
When she rang the next day, I didn't answer the phone.

Madness
Stood by the window, saw a man with a cane, walking
down the road, I waited for him to return I waited all day long
till I was so hungry that I rushed into the kitchen
grabbed an apple and continued my vigil waiting for
the man with a cane to return. Darkness comes the road has
no light I had a flashlight to lit up part of the road  
should I hear some noise? Two in the morning I heard him
he looked startled in the flashlight, this was the moment when I knew
I was truly mad.

Madness
Stood by the window, saw a man with a cane, walking
down the road, I waited for him to return waited all day long
till I was so hungry that I rushed into the kitchen
grabbed an apple and continued my vigil waiting for
the man with a cane to return. Darkness comes the road has
no light I had a flashlight to lit up part of the road  
should I hear some noise? Two in the morning I heard him
he looked startled in the flashlight, this was the moment when I knew
I was truly mad.

Madrigal

it is six in the morning
I get down and move the car from
the place reserved for vans.
This the best of times cooling before the heat begins
only a few people out walking their dogs enjoying
the peace of a beginning.
I could have parked my car in the space between
two cars, but I lose my nerves, this after 60 years of driving.
in the night the wind blew hard from the sea
tiring itself out, and me too I hate the wind it takes my breath away
leaves me a husk falling asleep in front of the TV.
Yesterday I carried water to the house, the porter usually
do this but my wife thinks he takes too much money.
Being able to carry bottles of water is better than not being
able to carry water, my heart does not agree.

The maggots

One morning in the village, millions of maggots
At the cemetery appeared protesting about hunger.
They merged into a big fat pink ball with tiny feet
chanted: we want more corpses, the supply side
has let us down
It had been hitherto a healthy village few people died
those who did were elderly with meagre flesh
The day after the covid struck, the supply was fine
despite nurses and doctors valiant work to stop
this avalanche of untimely death.
As for the maggots, not a pip from, say, complaining
of too much to do.

Maggots
  
If ******* *****
From millions of seafarers
Over a hundred years.
Think of this floating loneliness
had met up and formed
An Island.
And up from its depth
Sprung the unborn
Like larvae
Whose only contact
With mothers
Depended
On what the ******
was dreaming at the time.
Not a new Atlantis emerging
But an island
Of tedium
And tired desire.
Not on a chart
To see its existence
So, be careful when dreaming.

The maiden voyage

My first voyage on a ship was on an old tanker
who took us to Novorossiysk in Russia to load oil for
Iceland (Reykjavik.) It was an arduous voyage
in the Black Sea, we got stuck on the ice for days which was
better than the darksome Novorossiysk where we could
only go to restricted places.
Reykjavik too was a dreary little place but we could
walk about as we wanted and the people were nice
only it had no restaurants to speak of and the cafes
sold ghastly beer.
Then the ship was bound for Curacao, a Dutch island
full of bars and ******, it was on that voyage I wrote
my first poem “The Ship plough on” it was met with
amusement of the type I disliked and did attempt to
write anything for the next 30 years but read hundred
of books.

Menage et Trois

On the farm, I was sent to when my mother was at home for tuberculosis,
I was quite happy, the people on the farm consisted of a middle-aged couple
The sister of the wife and two mentally deficient women did the work
The farm got payment from the state keeping them; they didn´t liven the house,
but in the barn sleeping on straw mattresses. At the time I saw nothing wrong
in this but they were cruelly exploited doing all the ***** work which farms produce.
As usual, I walked around in my own world milked five cows In the morning and
fed the beasts, the cleaning I left for the two idiots to do.
In the house the two sisters argued a lot, the farmers sometimes slept in one bedroom,
his wife’s sister and at times with his wife.
It appears I saw a manage et Trois were one part was an unwilling participant,
which only stopped when the unmarried sister moved out.
When my mother was coming home from the sanatorium, I told her and there
was much laughter in the family.

Morning sight
  
A man and his dog
Are coming out of a house
The man has an umbrella
The dog is not happy.
It stops by the curb
Empty its bowel, *** and
Sniff a tree.
The man, further down
The street calls his mutt
It ignores him
Runs back to the house.
This is not the weather.
For long walks.

Man drinking beer

At the downstairs café on its terrace
a man in an overcoat drank beer although
it was not yet ten o'clock yet.

he looked lonely a doomed friendless
person wondering what happened
to a life that started out encouraging

I could have been a winner
hadn't it been for the ****** divorce
in the hour of need, he was deserted.

Ok, so he hadn't been at his best
but he contributed to house and home
he was not the cuddly kissing type

trying wife, he had worked much overtime
to avoid going home and often stayed
too long at the bar.

Nevertheless, he had been a dutiful man
paid all the bills
and this what he got loneliness.