Morning in wonderland

I sat on the steps in the yard drinking a morning beer
the dog was dead at my feet as I
reflected on the ruin that was my life.
A single raindrop fell on my lips it tasted salty,
perhaps a message from the sea.
High above among clouds a plane carrying 210 tourists
winged it's way home.
The dog stirred and yawned I wondered if the salt drop
was from someone peeing up there.

Morning in Wonderland


Beautiful rain I had a shower
used rose petals as soap and hibiscus as a towel,
                       while three black crows sat on the fence
crafting giggling commentaries on how I looked
An illusionist came walking up the lane, and
the crows took refuge under his cape.
The mist came rolling in they disappeared
left me wondering about the prestidigitator.
He didn't need to entertain me as I was busy
dancing and singing in the rain.

Morning sun


Sat on the terrace
the sun came up
hit me with youthful
arrogance.
Friendly clouds
came to my rescue
a filter
between me and the sun.
I could sit in peace
watching
the town, waking up.

Morning Walk.  

Seven in the morning I went on my walk wonderfully overcast
clouds were sable and a cooling wind blew perfect on a time
when it gets too hot in the day.
I stopped at times the old trees by the road looked dignified
leaves moved as saying hi.
Wished I could walk and walk to the bottom of the valley where
the stream is, but legs would not carry me so far, the acceptance
of old age come hard mind and body no longer sing in harmony.
It is so wonderful here in the empty lane dogs know my steps and
do not bark I’m surrounded by the natural beauty.

Mortal Man

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

The Burial
Two days old she was attending
her mother's funeral
pictures were taken when
she sees them she will be proud and sad
she will be proud and sad
I did not attend my mother's
she died  a day before Christmas
hurriedly buried the diggers
wanted the day off
when I got the on a plane
it was too late I didn't leave
A small woman
Her bones must be tiny
Her skull big and empty
it has nothing to tell
So long ago
The woman I remember
has been reinvented
so many times
she was pygmy gave
me to a Swedish missionary  
who soaked me in bleach for
a week I'm so white need
no flashlight
I cannot remember the real one
But she is in here somewhere.

The Multiracial

We are all mildly racists at heart; we unconsciously judge the world
and other people's value and beliefs as inferior to ours.
Where we were born and the culture we absorbed as superior to others.
No matter how liberal we are and no matter how good we think we are
it can't be erased by a multi-cultural
Agenda pushed our way. But we can learn to respect one another views even
if they are born out of ignorance as we think it is.
And the “Them” will think the same about us as ignorant of their values
and their superior culture.
When we fear immigrants, it is because we think the will watering down
our cherished culture and replace it with something inferior, we
don't see the beliefs they add are making us intellectually richer
and expand our understanding of the world.
Israel is a good example trying to make their land a race pure state,
we have been there before, and it ended in disaster.
For those who might be in doubt, it is also called ******.

My Phizog
Strange what one remembers?
after looking through ******* magazine and skipping
the dreary articles, written by it founder
I came across this quote: “every man over forty is
responsible for his own face.”
at the time when reading it I was thirty and was not
unduly worried, but now nearly 50 years later I recalled
the saying.  I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, no
I didn’t look anything near forty, hair gone and sagging the skin.
Face-lift? Out of the question, I had no desire to look like
yesterday’s refry. I smiled, the face in the mirror too smiled,
two old mates accepting each other’s elderliness and I came
to the conclusion that I’m rather fond of my face.

Murderous Laughter
From world famous violinist to a murderer was the headline of our newspaper.
I knew the man a musical genius but so shy he only made recordings and appeared
on radio. You never get famous unless people see you in the flesh so magazines
can publish a picture of you shaking hands with politicians and see the blessed one
with movie stars, he was persuaded to give a life concert. The hall was full as he
entered the stage applause broke this was a highlight, no doubt a musical genius.
As his music filled hearts with the immense beauty, he became taller and his
trousers fell to his ankles. Dead silence, then nervous giggles that ended with
hysterical laughter from his audience who could not stop laughing, concert over.

He went to live in Alentejo in Portugal; no one knew him, got a job as a shepherd,
had a room next to the sheep, but took his meals in the kitchen. One day a tourist on
a walking holiday came to the small farm asked direction looked at the violinist and
said:” you are the one who lost his trouser on the stage.” The tourist told the story
of this to the farmer and his wife and the all laughed, dogs, cats and the mouse
in the corner. The musician got up went to the barn picked up a pitchfork and stabbed
the poor tourist to death and, at last, the laughter stopped.

Musical chicken and an old man  

The old man with too much time on his hands
tried to get a chicken to cluck to music, he played
a tune on his mouth harmonic and fed it grain,
nothing and he came to the conclusion that chickens
are stupid, only a fried one is a good fowl.
The bird belonged to his neighbour, who has a chicken coop,
scrawny looking lot with matted feathers,
While the chicken
he had tried to train was fat; the neighbour killed it
for his dinner, and didn't even give the old man a leg.

My Serengeti

I have neglected to visit my “Africa”, the flatland between
two hills that appear like a young mother's *******.
I know the trees and bushes, used to drive there to say hello.
Time changes I have no motorbike.
On the road driving to the shop, I can see the valley, yellow digger
And blue tractors near the wadi where I once saw a brown crocodile
waiting for rain.
Once I saw a tiger leisurely walking across the lane.
A hyena laughed and said it was not here.
They are building a new Algarve type village with swimming pools
and an ambitious golf course.
But not for you and me.
No, I will not look at how work progress let my dream be intact.
But I do wish a tsunami would come and wash it all away.
Alas, nothing stays the same like the olive tree at the entrance of my driveway.
I have lost my kaleidoscope

Myanmar

Half a million people thrown out of their country
the silence of our guilt is the weight of shadows
when we unforgiven do nothing to help the people.
To defend them with UN troops, or for that matter
give NATO, a none political role, to stop this inequity.
Myanmar is so far from Europe and the Rohingya
people so primitive and they have no famous writers.
We know nothing of their music, the weight of our
silence is darker than the night.

My Days

I’m trying to remember every day of my life
Even before I stopped believing in religion
And Santa Claus I have to start from the bottom
And work my way up.
It is a herculean task, so many days are hazy
I have to break through this fog to see
Decisions I took and understood why.
My insecurities have to be examined as
My tendency to volcanic anger and out way
And how my personality immerged to what
I’m today.
I want my days to be crystal clear like
An uncut diamond polished by time.
To do this, I must be ruthless and don’t find
Excuses and omission to be totally honest
May not be possible, but I will try.

My lie is bigger than yours.

So it is Sunday early afternoon light rain
and I'm not a weather forecaster, and   no one pays me
for this observation, perhaps the seagulls do
they are flying low today.
The journalist who bravely fought 15 men, was put him
in a rocket that exploded when high enough, I found
a finger that looked Arabic, but the dog snatched
out of my hands before I could examine it more closely.
The world is so full of lies we grasp at nails
to accept the lie that is implausible yet has a ring
of bafflement enough so it can be business as usual.

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

The myopic state

We live in a precarious world when opinions
other than the official ones are banned and ignored
I’m thinking of RT (Russian TV.
That brings news and analyses of current events
the commentators are usually scholars, intellectuals
that do not get a hearing in the usual media
I watch the channel and many others to get a perspective
of the world, we live in.
I Germany RT has been banned because of not having
the right silenced. this is not true and RT is taken
the relevant authority to court.
Probably RT will lose.
There is in Europe and the USA a myopic view
of what we can say or do and many of us who question more
Will and cannot be heard.
This brings us to those who refuse the covid vaccine
they are not criminals but people who fear the restrictions
will lead to more restriction and when a constraint is in place
the likelihood is will be permanent that will
curtailing of freedom.
Our liberty to have a view other than the one accepted
by the sensors who works for the state against the will of the people

Mystery
It occupies my mind sometimes I can't think of anything else
walking on old tracks were many walked before me some of them barefoot.
Death is surrounding me.
Leafless tree no bird or insect visits them n planes
among spring flora their useless boughs and branches
are unwelcome truths I take pictures of
a rare flower not yet discovered by a botanist and made
academic with an unbelievable Latin name.
The small bush so delicate it will be taken by the zephyr
in the morning while the sun is still cool.
Sheep will eat them and I will not fret except
black pellets were wildflowers stood.

The mystery of man
This is the third day after new year and the day
equally dark and miserable as they were before
the new has number changed.
On the Eve of festivity, drunk people thronged
narrow streets hoarse voices and screams
upsetting dogs and cats.
oddly, we celebrate the new year with
warlike gestures like fireworks.
Most of my friends are dead, yes, we too danced
the golden calf, not knowing what life was about
I still don’t know.
On the third sober day, the same old **** bombs
killing people, as arms dealers drink champagne.
Our democracy is for the well to do
for us subjugation and waiting for Godot.

Mystery Ship
It was a hot afternoon when a big bulk carrier left a harbour
on the coast of Bengali bound for Sydney, Australia, with a cargo
of scrap iron of ships that once had ploughed the seas that had
a retreat for some and work for others.
Then the sea parted the ship fell into timeless zone where life
repeats itself the cook is making soup and the captain studies
a map of ocean currents and lived in the now.

150 years passed, a convulsion through the zone and the ship
was back on the sea surface again and the cook served his soup.
The captain called up the harbour authorities needed a birth for
a ship no one had heard of, but its manifest stated, Sydney,
they let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city to
the disappointment of the crew who had wanted to go ashore.

When the pilot left he was pale and shaken he felt as he had
been talking to the ghosts through layers of yesterdays.
The official from shore found quantities of cigarettes and whisky
products that had been illegal for the last sixty years in the chief
stewards store, only marijuana was legal, good for the health if  
smoked in moderation.      

The crew was arrested send them to a camp for interrogation, but
it was clear they were brainwashed not even water torture helped.
Then it was noticed the crew of the ship were getting older first slowly
then rapidly, nurses were called for, to look after men who could no
longer walk and many were incontinent suffering advanced Alzheimer
disease and chronic heart failure.

One morning nurses found skeletons, dark in colour and very old,
like waterlogged wood that had been thrown ashore by an irate
Storm and onto the strand of time by. This was the same time
as the ship they came in sank and broke into pieces of rusty iron.
There were rumours in Sydney about aliens, those who knew were
forbidden to speak, and experts could continue to talk about how
a ship sank so suddenly and disappeared in the sea of Bay of Bengal
on a hot afternoon 150 years ago.

Mystery Tour

I hired a car wanted to drive to the countryside
where I spent part of my childhood.
By a farmhouse that looked familiar, I stopped
a dog came out of an up- ended barrel greeted me,
Is Jason coming home?
The farmer and his wife came out, he patted me
on my head, and his wife gave me a hug and said:
“a little boy once lived here.”

In the kitchen, they gave me two slices of loaf with
blueberry jam on, my favourite food as a child.
The couple had not aged in fifty years and their
eyes I was that little boy
I took my farewells and promised to visit soon.
A bus drove passed throwing up dust and when it settled the couple,
and the farm had disappeared into the mist of time.

Mystic dwelling
The house
I live in an old house
That likes
The quiet time.
At ten it slams doors
A sign that
It wants to sleep
So turn off the telly.
It gets up early
Groans and creaks
Till breakfast is over
If I go out
I leave a light on
It doesn't like
Being in the dark
It gets resentful
And pictures fall of walls

A Youthful Texas Sojourn
At a feeding barn near Houston Texas, we drank lone star beer
and ate giant size hamburgers and king sized hot dogs
Perhaps it is the Stetson hats, but Texans appear bigger than normal,
but they were engagingly civil towards us and to other patrons,
armed people tend to be polite.
As beer bottle after bottle were sunk into
prominent stomachs  that wearers thought
of as chests, there was this mechanical bull to ride
….3 seconds I lasted on that blood bull.
An enormous woman with a hat big as
a life- boat, took  a shine to me and
dragged me into the dancefloor, whispered promises of a lustful nature
something about she riding me till dawn,
am I a horse?
The lady had to go and powder her nose; she said that  
That was the change for me to get out, take a taxi; she had a gun in her purse
not a lady to let down.
Somehow I ended up in Mexican neighbourhood and had great fun
till the rangers came, bulky men oozing of authority   light grey suits and
the ubiquitous hats were checking papers.
A woman of short stature and big heart named Rosita took care of me
we made love on her mother's sofa in the living room.
She drove me on board when the air was still dawn chilly and I polite as
ever promised to marry her, she kissed me gently and didn't
believe a word of what I said

MY uncle

My uncle gave me a fire truck as a Christmas gift
it was made of wood and had wooden wheels
that fell off after one hour of play.
When I lived at a farm, he came and visited me
helped the farmer get in dray hay.
He stayed at the farm for a week, and when
he left I was sitting behind a stone on the outer field
feeling miserable, he could have stayed
A few weeks more.
He had to go, found a job in a town called
Porsgrunn to stoke the flames of industry.
Worst of all, he got married had several sons
Why did have to do this?
That is the problem with adults they always
let you down.

My Way
I saw the three tenors sing “I did it my way” mind, the fat one died,
and the two others hate each other and never appear in public if
they can avoid it. Of the two one looks like an aging matinée idol
the other suffers from being mobbed at school  and looks scared
has nightmares and takes to tears before going on stage.


I still like Frank Sinatra's rendition of that song better he sang
it so relaxed with a clear diction and  made me think of a man
with a six pack ambling on his way home  he too is dead to
“My Way” is about human hubris we think we are masters of our
destiny when we are leaves blowing along a wet asphalted road
in the autumnal half-light.  

Thinking back- I can afford to- I never got a thing my way which when
young caused me bitterness the highest prize eluded me kismet knew
I could not handle illustriousness it would have made me look absurd
a swaggering fool hated by colleagues, on the stage of life. Yet, when
dancing the tango at a nightclub in Buenos Aires 54 years ago the applause
I received still rings sweetly in my ears.

Naked Politicians
Once someone sent me a photo of a famous German politician
The photo was from a nudist beach and natural she was a sixteen-year-old girl
smiles shyly –with some reason- she never was a beauty but
All sixteen years old are gorgeous
For me, it made her more human and I have never seen the photo since
Wouldn't be great if we saw all politicians in the ****, say, Trump or India's
Morsi. The Israeli prime minister would cast a rotund figure without his corset
Erdogan and his wife holding hand only shielded by a newspaper
he has banned, Putin naked in his swimming pool perhaps he has a small ****
naked around a conference table somehow the impressive would became
less so and more human to bow to a woman who has forest of a ****** or
shake hand with a man with a dangling *****, my dear they would look so
vulnerable that a war would be impossible and we would giggle and they
would go home stat judo classes or take up jogging or spend time in the gym
they would never have time for war.

this person you have never seen before.
If you saw Obama walking down the same street, you would
see him as a slightly balding man of colour, you certainly
would not call him a ****** unless you are bigoted racist.
If you see George Bush along the same street, you may
think he is a retired school teacher whether he was good
at his job wouldn´t cross your mind.
If you saw Joe Biden, you would think he was an old man
walking from a restaurant to his car, and not think
about his political past, and the wrong decision he has made.
If you talk about the merit of people in power, do so
by knowing what they have done, name-calling is an emotive
reaction and blind us for what good they might have done.

The Odd Narrative

Steamed up window my finger I paint a landscape,
Mountain, forest and a lake; the peak cries into
                   the lake it becomes a vast ocean,
where trees, are made into wooden rafts floats.
Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest,
this will happen to Himalaya,
it will be a grassland on a plateau, where horses gallop,
                                   flying mane and all that,
since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them
drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas.    

The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still
it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking it’s seeing
                                     is so deeply in love with the image,
that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgot,
                                     he has married a big fish
which he thinks is a mermaid, every so often he  puts his hand in
the sea and strokes the fish’s    belly: “without you,” he murmurs
                                    “I would truly be alone.”

Nature is acceptance

Three hatchlings in a nest high up a tree,
It was time to fly the mother had stopped feeding them.
So small the wings, so far to the next tree,
The first one tried and made it looked embolden,
the next one to try landed on the ground but was able
to find a branch of a tree.
The third one was not made the heroic stuff, it hesitated
too long and when it did it ended up a vat of water
meant for the sheep, where it drowned.
Forgotten by mother and siblings it was only sentimental
humans who felt the sadness of the scene.

Nature and love

When a male meets a female and sweet music appears
In the animal world, a jaguar couple stays together for days
but as the mother feels to the sense of motherhood the male leaves
his job is done, and he climbs up his lonely tree.
And it is nature´s way.
Something similar should happen and often, is when a couple
have had a few offspring and the father has brought the bacon home
he has become superfluous.
He is jealous of his sons feels sexually attracted to his daughters,
and fatherly love is an abstraction. The mother jaguar takes over
to teach them how to hunt and survive and not letting them go before she is happy, her brood can make it alone.
A male jaguar sits in his tree and waits for a female to come along
the act of impregnation is his only job.

Nature program
  I can't use the internet the line is broken
can use the word-processor though but on whole
I have to watch TV for news.
today I saw a nature program about spiders. The one
that impressed I was a spider that walked up
To the intended victim and told a series of jokes to
the intended victim rolled over laughing, it was
then my spider punched and injected venom in to
the laughter that kept giggling.
I take it the joking spider told the same jokes since
the audience died every time.

Nature wonders

The morning was ice blue
Cold
Wild animals
Freeze
Whish, they had
A human overcoat
The sun thawed
Raindrops
Big as balloons
Exploded on impact
Damaged cars
Drowned cats
The sun
Dried its tears
Dogs barked
Came out of barns
The day
Continued
As nothing had happened.

Nature Wonders

The morning
It was a blue
Wild animals
Whished
They had coats
Like the humans
The sun thawed
Raindrop big as balloons
Exploded on
Impact
Many cars
Were damaged
Rainfall
From a clear
Sky
The sun
Dried its own tears
Dogs barked
Came out of barns
The day
Continued as before

Navigating Life

My house is a boat drifting down a river; I’m
mystified by rivers why do they recklessly
seek the ocean and oblivion? Do a river, think,
it can have a calming effect on the giant, ease
its uncontrollable rages and influence ocean’s
flows and landfalls?

I’m here against my will, owner of a houseboat
I dread the great oceans its vastness gives me
a phobia I’m compelled to conquer or live my
life in terror. The river and I are siblings finding
it difficult to accept the ending of the script that’s
written just for us.

Navy and dishes

I had kitchen duty on a fateful day
when the dishwasher exploded with an almighty bang.
just as I reflected on the irony as the only one trained as
a caterer I had to the dishes,
A royal navy is a strange place something to do with ranks
not so much about what you know.
The captain thought we had come under enemy fire and sent
an angry signal to the nearest ship.
Later that day when transferring oil to another ship there was
a collision and we had to go to the nearest dock.
The captain had to take the blame, which is customary in
the navy; he got a job as a marine attache in Paris.
The next in command became the captain, a good man.
As for me, I was left to clean the pots and pans.

**** Time
Uniformed men with ice blue
crystal eyes marched up and down
our street.
Bomb fell, the earth shook
and I was two years old.
An officer with steel rimmed glasses
and thin cruel lips said; this child is an Aryan.
Proudly clicked my heels and ****** my thumb.
Went to sleep, while mother sang
sentimental leider and dreamed of becoming
the Kindergarten's Fhurer.
To my regret peace broke out and life
became rather dull for a while
until I was circumcised and could pea
higher up a wall against the wall
then the other boys, this made me
a natural leader

Kathmandu
a quaint, romantic name,
had wanted to go there now it is a dream.
Nepal, this small mountain country
often used a golf ball between big countries
for purely selfish reasons.
Thousands of people killed and classical
palaces are reduced dust covering
mountain tops
as a fog of sadness  
Cry my lovely I can only offer you friendship.
But for the tourists who evacuated on
Himalayas’ sacred top.
Filling valleys with empty cans of beef
and toilet paper flapping in the wind,
I have little empathy
rich tourists that had to bestride and befoul
a holy mountain.

Neptune's call

Hot is the Caribbean night
with added stars and the moon big as a Swiss cheese
on a velvety theatrical curtail.
I stood on deck leaning on its railing
dreaming of Jamaica as the ship slowly ploughed
white crested black water aside.
The ocean sang to me I listened intently and before
I knew it the sea had tried to drown me.
Had I fallen among sharks and see the fading lantern,
would anyone but Neptune have heard my screams?
I lit a cigarette, thought about my endless voyaging
from port to port jaded I was Neptune had read my thought.
This had to end before I got lost in hollowed eyed boredom
there is no place to pole-dance on as hip

Never a mother


She was a rescued dog a tiny mite
lost in the wilderness of man and left to die.
A shivering whelp, it was a cold day
held her under my coat the trembling stopped
she fell asleep.
At the time I was rebuilding a ruin I had no
furniture only a camp bed.
I put the puppy on some canvass the workers
used when painting, and she wouldn´t hear of it
she ended up sleeping on the pillow.
A few months later, I had her spayed since I was
not sure whether staying or going back to Norway.
Thirty years later, I´m still here.
The dog, I named her Bambi,
when an adult sometimes looked mysterious,
stole from the basket of the ***** laundry building a nest behind the sofa place by the wall.
She spent most of her time there, but after a few
days, she forgot all about it and wanted to run in the forest chasing rabbits.
I regretted robbing her of motherhood, but my intention was good,
had I left her chances of survival would have been better not having
a litter to take care of in an unfriendly world.

Never Look Back

It was the poverty of vision that got to me, the drabness of moving
from one home to another. I wanted sunlight, not the dim light that shines from a basement's kitchen window.
Fled, sought other shores.
I was not able to escape the ghost of the past; letters went unanswered.
The uncle of many children and a father of no one
I should have stayed fought my corner from the base of the beginning.
It is a sunny day where I live, up North snow falls, I feel a deep sadness
of the coward, yet have no regrets

New beginning

After 200 years after a devastating that whipped out all life
the nature that had healed itself began blooming

the first sign was minute flowers covering wounded fields
tree roots awakened tiny samplings became a green forest.

In the sea, microbes changed and looked like fish
Swam in the swallow some of them could breaths in air.

The fish near the shores felt threaten by a bigger monster
sought the beach, and as time evolved, they looked human.

They had brains used to snare other life forms for food
The saga of humanity started again without a past.

Was bound to make the same mistake again till a new
Armageddon was bound to happen again.

New Dawn

Darkness at the edges of my vision
Blurred as time erases contours of the past

The evoked is as sharp as a lone tree on a hill
The dark shadows at the foot of the mountain.

The loneliness of walking on a road where no one lives
Knowing you are the last one of your tribe

The memory has shed the execs burden of triviality
Distorted remains float out of reach to make sense.

A new morning is a mere comma in the vastness
In the end, life is a dream of no consequence.

New driving license

Going to the doctor make me nervous
I was renewing my driving license and feared they would say
no, you are too old and have many illnesses.
It was not so bad
I had to read the letters from a chart on the wall
the doc whispered something I had to repeat, And that was all.
Except I can´t drive faster than 90, that was no problem. as
I'm a slow driver at the best of times.
If stopped by the police, I will ask them for their tattoos a new rule today is that police have a tattoo that can be construed
as being of a racist nature( one wonders if this also include
naked women) have six months to remove them.
I have in my life at sea, never had a tattoo done this is because I'm not too fond of needles.
Now that I have diabetes, I use a needle every morning one gets used to what one dislikes.
We live at a time when everyone takes offence for bagatelles,
like throwing statues into the sea, it will not erase history which
when all is said is not flattering for the white man, if we keep
a narrow historical view on these things.

Haiku


Early evening
The day gives way tonight
The child cries.

Tranquil is the sea
Ripples onshore as tar
Absent is the wind

Autumnal darkness
Impatient winter waits
Storm knocks on windows

Frost cracks on timber
Snow makes the land secretive
Will there be a spring?

Spring after rain-fall
Aromatic is the landscape
Broods climbing trees

A new home

Waiting to go home to my house in Algarve, 30 years after
the Berlin wall fell with the blessing of Russia, in case you forgot.
In the meantime, more walls were constructed mainly in Israel,
stopping Palestinians wanting to home, we dislike talking about
This is because of the political Holocaust.
The wall between the house and me, old to age, to live life deep
in the Paradis.
The Chinse wall is a tourist attraction, the ugly Israel walls will
one day is building material.
There are many unseen walls among classes the rich build walls
so, they can avoid seeing what is the result of their wealth?
The hope is to tear down all walls whiles we wait.

New leaf

I dream of sleeping in a bed of rose petals
like an Indian potentate waiting for his favourite concubine.
I know as I wait the petals will be crushed cling to my
body and the bed will stink of decay.  
I drive my motorbike across the Alps, the cows don't bother
to look up they have seen elephants.
I Swiss hotels are expensive and cold and smell of edelweiss,
but I don't care, not since I bathed in the Ganges.
In India there is a temple for rats, I like to go there
it may cure my fear of rodent.
Jasmine flowers are permanent virgins only open up
at night when the world sleeps.
I will not change any plant for my almond tree it
flowers every winter and I dream of snow

People and horses

The Newmarket was the oldest market in town
farmers came here selling potatoes and other greenery
Their women-folk sold thick, long underwear
winter can be cold when the North-west blows.
Horse manure was quickly scooped up the town’s housewives
good for the rosebushes.
Horse **** gave off a fragrance of time gone by.
Time changed, first slowly farmers had trucks
sold orange, tomatoes and exotic fruits never heard of before
and one day the horses to had gone.
Everybody was busy not time for a wee dram and a chat.
It was the horses that made the market pretty
oddly enough the iron ring on the railing is still here
Waiting for the warm breath of the workhorses.

The News
During
The Second World War
We had two kinds
Of newspaper in Norway
Mainstream papers
That was ****-dominated
Illegal papers
That got their news
From London
The ****'s tried to stop it
Said they were telling lies
Those caught printing
The real truth
Faced a long time in jail
As owning a radio
Was a crime
Today we call
The truth peddlers
Fake news mongers
So little has changed
Since the war

Newspapers

I read a few people read the newspaper anymore
I have in the shed the English written publication going back
twenty years also have some copies of the Guardian
which no longer sell their broadsheet abroad.
Regarding the local newspaper that first was run by a Canadian
It was fun to read they even printed my eccentric views
but it has – the paper- gone down it
is aimed at the affluent
and those who play golf and the little they have of news
is invariable right winged and that is sad, and I think of any more
good dammed self-satisfied than the English community here
but the paper has its use some supermarkets give it away
for free and it is an excellent way to lit the fire in the winter.
But I lament the passing of the Guardian as broadsheet it was
more liberal than it is now and it wasn't Russia-phobic
I read the Guardian in line every day as it is their politics
and their harping harridans aside a good newspaper.
But I'm getting off the point which is that what is written
on papers endures what’s on the Internet disappears in a cloud.

New Time

Temporal tears dripped off the wall clock onto the floor,
in a pool of time, I swam to the bottom to find the light where it began,
but I didn’t have the stamina or the will to find a new illusion.
When I surfaced, it was late afternoon, and soon the sinful sun will paint the sky pink; afar,
by the foot of the hazy mountain, a pair of leather clad cowhands gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.

A New TV

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