Parenthood

My father hung in the belfry
so many called him father, but the old woman in the house where I lived
said he was my father.
When I met Mother superior, her eyes softened for a moment.
The hanging was an accident.
At his funereal, the bishop attended to stop rumours of suicide.
The old woman and I watched the proceeding at a far distance.
I did see the face of the prioress in the window
unblinkingly stern, but in the afternoon glow,
she had tears in the corner of her eyes.
The old woman cackled and said, she gave you to me to look after.
I had a silver cross on my bedside table.
The old woman said it was a gift in case I wanted to become a cleric.

Paris
The rat population
In Paris
Has exploded
The rodents have
Left the sewers
Walk for lunch at their
Local waste bins
And wait outside cafés
For crumbs sparrows used
To pick up
They also obey
Traffic rules
As they are not
Like dogs
Colour blind
But tourists stay away
Empty bed
No one goes to Paris
To make love anymore
And be careful
When eating Ragu
In Paris

Paris Sonnet
I visited Paris for a few days I have been here before
but this time I came alone.
Walked into a café selling delicious cakes had a piece
of cake, a big piece, and had a crust on top
for my untrained eyes it looked like petrified snot.
with tiny footsteps on done by a cook with a fork.
I put a napkin over the cake and drank coffee,
I could stir the coffee with tiny sticks that looked
like sugary rat tails.
The river Saine ran full that year.
Discerning rats prefer cake shops, and why not.
Who wants to live in that ***** river?
Perhaps blind lovers that only see one another.

PARKING SPACE

Where I parked my car, near the building
for a long time, there was no protest, or so I thought
someone and they are always anonymous,
rang the police who has little to do in the pestilence
time, I had to move the car and pay a fine I was
blocking someone's walkway which was *******
the sidewalk is so big you can park two tanks
side by side and still have plenty of room.
If someone in the building had told me it was illegal
I would have moved the car, ut this not the way
it is done it has to be faceless and whispering
not a part of the Portuguese psyche I care about

Participation

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

Passing misgivings
There are moments in once elderliness when
the flowers of the mind, the silver of remembrance
is but a cracked black  & white film.
Old age and wishes blend into a golden patina of
illusion, disappointment  seeps in melancholy
lower the tired head and doesn’t let it look up to see
the sky or sense the wind or rain.
This tristesse where has the laughter gone, the charm
of friendship and the beautiful women are
but ghosts in a threadbare past.
The squall doesn’t linger colours become visible there
is no time not to enjoy what's left in the time glass.

The pay inequality

So Serena Williams had a meltdown
and in the furore called the umpire a thief
this meltdown was quite entertaining
but didn’t stir me into action.
What shocked me was learning
Randi Toksvik made forty % less than her
Pre- presenter, the odious Stephen Fry made at, the same program.
My mother fought tirelessly for the same pay for the same work
And slowly it has seeped in.
In the merchant navy, the equality has always been practised
it doesn't matter what job you have the payment is the same
for men and women.
In my nativity, I thought it was the same in the entertainment industry
this disparity in pay must be addressed and end.

Paying bills
A post box full of bills and only one postcard
virtual cards do not count; it is like virtual flowers
you see them on a screen and smells of
laziness and a forced duty to send something to
show appreciation.
Bills are more trustworthy they want payment now
and follow up if you haven't paid in time with
a stern letter typed words on paper and you can't
pretend having forgotten it.
I have the bills in front of me, but will not pay
before I get the stern letter, showing me they care.

Peculiar things

It has been raining so much that the lemon tree
is taller than a building of flats where we live.
A neighbour who was hit by one of its fruits
is still uncommunicative.

A flat battery in a jaguar is a sight to behold
when sitting in a bough of a tree.

The aroma of lemon juice wafts through the building
the restaurant in the basement sells fried fish
Quite fitting since it is Friday,
I like eating pork chops while driving a porch.

The paedophiliac?

I sat on a park bench beside another old man
we saw a beautiful 17 years old girl walking past
and I said: we can’t get any of them.
The old my smile and said she is my granddaughter
and I sleep with her every night
My God! Another ****, Got out of my seat and hasted away
in my case slowly.
The old man died, they tend to do so. At the funeral
his granddaughter said to me never liked him much
but he made me do it.
She looked at me with eyes as glacial as the Arctic before it began
to thaw and asked: will you be my Valentine?

Pegasus

I saw a plane coming from Lisbon flying high,
It was a clear night sky; I could see a horse flying
besides the plane “did you see that” the first pilot said,
to the second pilot. Yes, it was Pegasus delivering books
to those who cannot read.
We are coming back; something is wrong, the pilot said,
The chief pilot lit a cigarette, which is not allowed,
the second officer objected it was not legal.
When the plane was ready to fly again, it had another chief pilot
the second officer had reported the old one.

Penniless in Le Havre

At the time of my nadir penniless in Le Havre in the drizzle
Saw a blue neon light of a bar I meet sailors there from my own country
They gave me cigarettes and wine, money enough to take the train home
Only among the poor do you find selfless generosity
I had a pencil, and a note block tried to collect my thought to find out what
I was thinking found out I was more educated than I expected, that is
What reading a thousand books do to you, alas I also knew my limitation
My difficulty in functioning in the world we live in.

I bought a typewriter but had no grammar what saved me from go under
Was a heart attack the authorities gave me a small pension enough
To live on and the time to learn and I have written what I wanted to say
In the process lost some friends and gained some others, but most of all
I have tried not becoming satisfied when so much I see is rotten because
When you get old, it is easy to fall into the trap of selfishness.

Personal ghosts
       I don’t believe in ghost
because it doesn’t make sense
so, my logical brain tells me, but then what value my logic?
There are times when a shadow crosses my room
but when I turn to see what it is
it is gone.
A friend of mine said if there is a ghost, the Fantasma doesn’t
it is a Fantasma, but it is a residue of the past
that has yet to be erased into the forever.
This is good enough for me, but I once saw Neptune
he had a wig of seagrass and big ***** in his ***** hairs,
but that was long ago, and I was young and easily impressed.

Personal Deity
I have a friendly ghost in the living room
before the wine glass hits the floor, it scopes
it up not spilling a drop.
But hang on if you believe in an afterlife
It follows there must be a God which you think
Is a myth designed for fear of death?
To disappear into the vast nothingness
Personal Deity
I have a friendly ghost in the living room
before the wine glass hits the floor, it scopes
it up not spilling a drop.
But hang on if you believe in an afterlife
It follows there must be a God which you think
Is a myth designed for fear of death?
To disappear into the vast nothingness
where nothing exists.
So the explanation must be my dexterity
grabbing the glass before it hits the floor.

the pharma
We must say one thing clear the pandemic is running us
we try to reduce its influence by wanting people sitting in weeks in and weeks out
sooner or later, we have to be let out
and since we by sitting in we have no defensive are like the Indian meeting the flu
for the first time, and many more people succumb to this pest.
The vaccine has a field day.
The vaccine might help as long get an ejection twice a year a gift packed
For the pharma- an industry we have been addicted to yet another vaccine telling
we need
Pill taking and injections are the norm we a walking medicine cabinet
but they want us to live - dead people no medicine take-since death has been banished
we live in a fog of legal poison.

Philosophy Giants  

So here we are motley crew of Facebook writers
We rattle our cages spew our anger on the Persian rug-
In our imagination- but, in reality, spew against the wall
Of an Indian restaurant staying open late
Catching any passing trade.
We think we are so clever expressing words with flourish
While we are on dimly referring to Nietzsche, a man
So scrupulous he thought truth was his domain, and we
Refer to this man from the safety of our democracy.
The books we read,
pulling us in the different direction
seeking our ear till we think they speak the truth
“Let God be dead” in the philosopher’s day so daring.
Philosophy is only needed for those who can't let
Go, the end of life means nothingness.

Phobic condition

I woke up it was afternoon and I had made
guest appearance  in my dream.
it was winter I stayed on the sunny side
of the road watching you struggling with your emotions.
I shook my head and told the swans flying to Africa,
on the way he never gets past sixteen and his wings
are not properly developed.
Stop making excuses we have seen him fly, at night
he lacks the courage to make it in public
if you leave him alone and stop worrying he just might
make it to the podium  and speak his poetry

The phone conversation
Late in the evening, my daughter brought me an apparat
that made it possible to talk to the dead.
The first on the line was an electrician complaining
I hadn’t paid him; sure, how could I pay you when
You died before I had money ready?
You could have bought flowers and visited the funeral.
You are right I could but omitted to do so
Because I had no money and it was raining that day.
You could use an umbrella. I haven’t got one,
No self-respecting ****** will be seen alive with one.
Besides I was on a ship near the Azores when you died.
This man always complaining, static noise and other
Voices disturbed the talk.
I thought some people never stop moaning however
Long they have been dead.

Agoraphobia

I lifted my glass of red wine, towards the lamplight as seeing
it through a dreamy haze, what I saw was a ***** glass full
of finger marks; couldn't blame the barman since I was alone,
and dreaming of being an actor.
I was on stage once – a friend of mine was an actor- it was
terrifying I forgot the lines “dinner is served, my lord.”
I saw my friend act in a movie, made in Portugal he was Lesley Howard
and was perfect in his role.
This is about agoraphobia which has blighted my life and has disappointed
many by a promise to show up and not going, feign I got the date wrong.
I told that too –tom Hardy who swore he could cure me hence my little role;
Well, Tom died.
My wife has gone to a party, and I'm looking after the cat, it does
not know how famous I could have been.

Birthday Party

The day began to find a place for lunch which was difficult
most roads were closed due to a cycling tournament
We got out of this mess and ended up in the streets where the rich lived.
My wife was enthralled by the beautiful gardens in the district
I nodded but was not impressed, preferring real nature.
Finally, we stopped at a small inn, that was ever so posh,
just in time I was getting grumpy due to low blood sugar.
The meal was expensive but plentiful, and we took the rest home
for a feast when I would not need to drive and enjoy a glass of wine.
At home, I saw on Facebook, many had sent me gratulations which
is gratifying, and I love my absent friends.
Those who didn´t send, greeting especially the English,
I forgive
they do not like to show a display of affection.
The English are this way, is it was a good thing they left
the EU, are a people of great pride and still hankers
for the days when Great Britain was an Imperial power.
No, there was not a great party just my wife and me, that is ok
we are bound together by an emotional seal of loneliness.

Plant Power

When I die, my body shall not be ashes and
strewn upon the sea, it’s polluted enough as it is.
No, dig it six foot deep under my almond tree,
let it absorb my flesh.  

If it turns out that have I a soul too, I bequeath
it to the tree as well, it will then be more careful
in whose path it casts pink & white flowers on
cold winters days

It is a plant’s life.

Up in the continuous night, I saw a streak of light
a dying comet’s last hurrah.
Bedroom in darkness couldn’t sleep too much death
for one night.
Got up and read a book about plants speaking
to each other.
Warning, “heavy-footed human coming your way.”
“Duck, a lawnmower is going amok.”
Amputated roses and tulips chafes in a vase kept
alive for a few days, admire the agony of flowers.
Carrots scream when pulled up from the soil,
good for your health the dietician says.
Everything we do hurts someone, especially plants
except a few that can poison you.
Is my dentist a gardener of my teeth?

Is Platypus a ******? Or is it quacking duck  
Not proper as pet
What to feed this bizarre thing that is odd as
An Australian, strange people the down under
Half criminal half saints
They used to be impossible British Say, 1922.
Their diet was egg& chips, now they are sophisticated
Chips with curried sauce
Always willing to fight for the USA proud soldiers with
tropical hats that make an easy target.
More sheep than people so what do you expect they shear
sheep and like it, chips fried in ewe fat.
The platypus takes no interest in this can it be made into
a Vietnam duck, a country the Aussie were lured into invading.
Australia is in a way a Platypus can't make up its mind whether
it is a far eastern country or a European settlement.

Playfulness

Early morning
the rain has fallen in the night
inhale freshness
“morning has fallen”
makes me think of a fat man
who fall because
he has not tied his shoes properly.
I can´t remember the song
but I think feel it is beautiful
My soul is sentimental
I avoid churches
the ***** music makes me weepy
I don´t know why the ******
***** sounds awful on its own.
Sorry.
I was writing a Haiku but got lost
in the jungle of words

I am not a poet
verse writing is for the daft
with nothing to do.

Look people that was a haiku.

Ploughing

The farmer has ploughed the land around the almond trees
the earth is rust red I took up a handful it was lumpy, full
of dead plants and still warm from the sun.
A breeze was blowing shaking dust of trees and upending
parasols in gardens of those who do not till this land, but
want to be a part of the rustic idyll, tend rose bushes with
gloved hands to avoid callouses on hands used to type on
a word processor, where they try and fail to share the peace
they have found among small farmers travail.

I have the camera with me, but use it not how does
one shoot a picture of the wind or branches of a tree
moving rhythmically as the second dancer at a Bolshoi
performance attended by the prime minister.
Think I will leave the wind to a painter friend of mine.

Ploughing
                      I have been ploughing
The field of nothingness
A furrow at a time,
With an elderly mule that farts a lot.
The soil is unyielding
It is cabbage and carrots
I want
You can't eat flowers.
I have the carcass
Of a goat
But needs vegs
To go with it
All I need is for you
To see
I can cook a good meal of words
So far I have two
Who are willing?
To partaking
But my table has a place
For twelve
So I will wait
Till I find
Someone who likes
Cabbage
And never mind
The flowers

Pluto, the forgotten planet

Mars is a stony planet, too big for its own good
those who go there have to live indoors as it has no air to breath
life for the brave must be tedious looking a reddish stones
and the occasionally a yellow dust storm is living up.
One by one the will commit suicide venturing out and explode.
Pluto, on the other hand, is a small planet and it has green vegetation.
A place to grow potatoes and cabbage
it has fruit too not like
here on earth but nevertheless they are tasty
except for the blue lemon that is poisonous
The fauna is full of odd-looking animals that are so friendly
no one wants to **** them becoming vegetarians instead.
Take the enormous flightless fowl they lay eggs that can serve a battalion for breakfast. There is no tobacco
on the planet, but it has big leaves which
when rolled together makes people happy and laughing, on earth
we call it marijuana an odd name for a delicate plant.
There is no snow on Pluto, no clouds but the sun can be a little off-putting as it is smoky brow.
So why is no one going there, say, on holiday for later to live
there permanently, but forget your snowboard and skis.

Roses are not blue

The world as one is a grey blanket of nothing
The same language, the same culture (consumerism)
A haze foul of jollity and hollow laughter.
Lost minds save the elephant and waterholes

Life is self-indulgent rush into the arms of self
And movies of no consequence.

Roses are blue it is the only colour today
Oxalating hamburger, beans in tomato sauce
Sesame seed for breakfast, lunch and dinner
Eunuchs are ruling welcome to globalisation.

Poetry and work

I sit here in front of the computer,
thinking I dislike rhyming poetry it goes on my nerves
Repetitive words to make it sound classical, and who
Decide what classical or mere writing is?
We admire some poems because we have them as pensum
at school, we learned by heart, but there is no reason
Kipling should be taught in Sweden unless one happens
to like reading for its own sake.
I think the verb “verb” should be erased from the language
and replaced with activities we like to perform.
Let robots do the cement mixing when building a house
and leave the design to architects who love their calling.
For years I worked on ships and the hours were long
and let life slips by, how regrettable it is now this boredom
of doing- for money- what I disliked.
We are all ****** renting out our body and soul to exist,
be promised a pension that is paltry to be free to go touring
only to find we lack the energy, the work had robbed us
from learning anything enriching for our well-being.

Critical of a poem

I never express a critic of a poem, because I don’t know
what the poet was thinking of when he/she wrote it.
No one, to my knowledge, sets out to write a bad poem.
Therefore a poem written and published is a good one
even if the penmanship might be a bit shaky.
I do not care so much about spelling I can correct it
in my head, the only thing that angers me is if
the poem is dishonest in its intention, but I let this
pass, since I might be mistaken and it may be something
unresolved in me I have reacted to,

Poetry reading in Paris

Paris, six or seven years ago
I was invited to read my poems in front of an audience
At the time I wrote many pro-Palestinians poems
and I had nothing good to say about Israel.
I read my poems for a packed audience, but when I looked up,
must of them had left.
In the room there about five none Jewish people left.
The man who had invited me was a Moroccan Jew we got on well, but he had not asked me what poems I was reading.
He had disappeared with the others, and someone came to switch off the light.
Paris didn´t impress me much. I had a mental picture of the city as it was in Hemingway days, more fool me.
All was not lost the Shakespeare book shop took in two of my
small books, who knows they might still be there.

Poetry Reading in Oslo
Never had the lack of talent exhibited itself in so many poets.
I'm referring to a poetry fest in Oslo- years ago- for whom
Norwegian was not their first language.
On a wooden table booklets of third-rate poetry trying to
look invisible disowning the poet's feeble effort to make
words sing. The poetry reading was disrupted the readers
a military band next door a blessing for the listeners of
trite words of love. Among the naïve public, women looking
for *** with young poets thinking it was romantic.
What a moth-eaten group of poets assembled in this cold and
indifferent land, hope is when they came home sat down and
through hard work gave birth to poetry.

Poetry writing

There are times when I read some poems,
nice words knitted together to be harmonious
and makes life into a Hollywood romance,
we cry sentimental tears over the trivial.
My almond tree looks like an oversized spider’s web,
it pains me to look at the tree,
but I also know, say, a month from now
It will strew pink petals on my way be verdant,
a princess in the domesticated landscape.

Poets and intellectuals

A big white screen I look at it and type a few words,
utter banalities about a washing machine, the brain has nowhere to go
but to think of the near things.
There was a time when I sat on top of a mountain feet dangling high
above ground when I thought if I tried could fly; everything was possible
now I’m dead inside. Death starts when the mind goes numb
and you forget your childhood, was I a Child? I don't know wish I was
a giraffe and could see life from a lofty height.
The TV bores me, I was never the poet I wanted to be I don't want
tomorrow to happen it is too difficult to write anything sensible.
The thing is to break new ground plough pristine earth and produce
something that doesn’t look like carrots.
But up from the earth sprout old clichés written over and over again
by respected intellectuals and famous poets, except for Oscar Wilde
they are just boring old ******* dressing up their ordinariness in
words we had to look up the dictionary to understand, but it is still trite.
But their reputation a great thinker follows them into perpetuity.

Poets and intellectuals

A big white screen I look at it and type a few words,
utter banalities about a washing machine, the brain has nowhere to go
but to think of the near things.
There was a time when I sat on top of a mountain feet dangling high
above ground when I thought if I tried could fly; everything was possible
now I’m dead inside. Death starts when the mind goes numb
and you forget your childhood, was I a Child? I don't know wish I was
a giraffe and could see life from a lofty height.
The TV bores me, I was never the poet I wanted to be I don't want
tomorrow to happen it is too difficult to write anything sensible.
The thing is to break new ground plough pristine earth and produce
something that doesn’t look like carrots.
But up from the earth sprout old clichés written over and over again
by respected intellectuals and famous poets, except for Oscar Wilde
they are just boring old ******* dressing up their ordinariness in
words we had to look up the dictionary to understand, but it is still trite.
But their reputation a great thinker follows them into perpetuity.

Religion and a poet
When I was nine years of age I came to see religion
as a fairy tale and as we know the bible is written
by many scribes during a time, some of them were wise.
I like the Old Testament because it is full
of blood and thunder, the New Testament is a construction
a clean-up of the real thing making palatable for the squeamish.
I think the creator of our world as an overarching intelligence
that when the job was done left its way.
The creator is neither good nor bad for it has no interest in
the world besides creating it, so it is entirely up to us
to make the world a liveable place, alas, so far we have failed.
Mankind have dreamt of extending life long after
its natural cycle even if unseen by the pulsing living world,
that is how some transcribers constructed Paradise so
we can exist into the indefinite and beyond.
To be and not to make no sense other than easing
the fearful heart and comfort the transition into death,
at this point my thoughts were interrupted, my wife
came and told me to do the dishes

The action is downtown going quickly there
are girls dancing on a pool symbolism not needed
this constant friction any ***** hair left
it doesn't matter it is in garish colours and
music that arrests free thinking and lap dancing are for losers
the only time the get an intimation of ***
and going home and pocket ******* and feeling quailed
drying your shoes on the mat, your mother saying there
are sandwiches in the fridge
not let her know you had dancing girls sat on your lap.

*** plants
I have no picked flowers in my home
If I see a beautiful flower by the wayside
I stop and admire it, perhaps touch it slightly.
In my house, are there many *** plants I water them regularly
Some thrive with much sunlight in the window sill
Others like the shady interior.
If you hand me bouquet of roses, I can't think of why,
You are handing me impending death.

Power play

I sometimes think people get what they deserve
****** was elected, Stalin too and Netanyahu is also elected,
but when the house falls it's easier to blame one person
calling him evil and thus avoid looking at ourselves
The majorities of the Israelites have a hardened attitude to
the Palestinians, it is as they look at them as vermin,
we have heard that before in another time here in Europe.
When the downtrodden take power they have much to revenge
Usually, it is the weakest that get a taste of their whip.

Power play and roses

The USA has a pinball machine rigged in their favour
And pin by pin the countries in the middle- America fall
One by one the collapse when they try playing just
Against those who have stolen the mafia’s textbook.

I wonder why we high have regards for liars they are
Nothing But a soul that thinks we are expendable garbage.

Revolves around the dancefloor under candlelight
Over glasses of whisky whisper satanic conspiracies
Shiny bejewelled wives are a mere decoration
Evil men are lovers in an unbroken circle of power.

Power play and roses

The USA has a pinball machine rigged in their favour
And pin by pin the countries in the middle- America fall
One by one the collapse when they try playing just
Against those who have stolen the mafia’s textbook.

I wonder why we have high regards for liars they are
Nothing But a soul that thinks we are expendable garbage.

Revolves around the dancefloor under candlelight
Over glasses of whisky whisper satanic conspiracies
Shiny bejewelled wives are a mere decoration
Evil men are lovers in an unbroken circle of power.

A Day of Precipitation

A window is a good place
To look out
When it rains beautiful to see
From a warm room
A bookshelf of old friends
Some remembered others
Rediscovered
So let it rain, rain, rain.

Pre-dawn
No wind blows
Stillness
From the bakery
Nearby
The aroma
Of fresh bread
Light is probing
                       Morning
                       I hear the rumbling
                      Streetcleaners
Some get up
Early
Wear yellow vests
Voices
Morning
Has arrived
The smell of coffee
Wafts
Through the building.

President Jacques Chirac
Was laid to rest today and with him
The Europe we loved, the civility and elegance.
Democracy and decency when Paris
pulsed with life.
These days one has to get to the regions
To meet the real French
Paris has been taken over by foreign tongues
Whose demands are not French but
Adoption of the life they lived on
The hinterland, say Pakistan or Algeria
The hope they would integrate and become
Real Parisian was a dream too far.
We have to accept that the old ways are over
Moreover, who knows? It might be better.

President Kennedy

50 years ago, how young we were I was on a happy
Little ship that had crew enough so no one got overworked
The ship ploughing blue water on her way to Jamaica,
It was a wonderful day and after the Cuba crisis, we felt at ease.
The peace was shattered through a crackling radio came
the message, President Kennedy has been shot.
It was like losing a brother, he was our generation he was
different from the other old men, he was the future our hope.
The work and voyage continued, but there was no laughter.
We tended to be pro-Americans back then, this has changed
As we read more and understand politics.
Ok, with this said no other politician has inspired us as Jack did.

Pre-Surgery

A green long-leaved plant on the table
she says doesn’t need water for the next fortnight.
Does the plant bear flower?
No, she says it is supposed to be green striped like this
It has a lovely colour and is not a bother
Not like the rose plant that craves a constant attention
If you leave it alone for a week, it wizens.
The Christmas tree is white this year to give the
illusion of snow
this tree doesn’t need looking after, I say
It is better to buy a Chinese tree and save the forest
she retorts.
Surgery tomorrow, only light food and water, I feel grumpy.

pride

The water in the bay is deadly calm
Diamond encrusted angles mirror themselves
God is asleep if he knew he would frown
Upon such frivolity.
Yesterday I fainted blood sugar level too low
Banged my head on the mahogany table
Two men from the red cross came helped me up
Gave me an injection; oddly, I struggle
to keep the sugar in the blood from being too high
and suddenly it is too high.
Today I sit on the balcony admiring the sea view
Nursing my wounded pride.

Propaganda
  
It is a cold day, no more sitting on the terrace
watching ships sailing by and dreaming of the old days.
With little to do, I watched on Netflix about the making of the **** party.
Time was hard in Germany people were looking for a saviour
****** and his henchmen came.
Sig Heil.
Peoples’ stupidity never amazes me, believed the propaganda
the promises of a better time.
Millions followed him, this man without charisma, but he promised
to make the country great and the people unthinkably followed
to the bitter end.
71, million people in the USA voted for Trump his lies didn´t matter
people preferred lies even when confronted with the truth
they still believe he could lead them into a great America.  
Now we have Biden.
The new president has promised many sane things, yet he
is regarded as weak
He lacks the panache of the liar.
And he, being a member of the political establishment, is not able to cut
the head of the snake
because he is a part of what is wrong with America.
Only groundbreaking revolution of what ails the USA, but it must
come from the people and not highjacked by oratory charlatan, can remedy
this sickness of the soul.
No single person is a god;
we have to turn to the Christian faith, with all its fault finding
the compass to rectitude.

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

The pseudo-science
    
Cooking is not rocket science but would be cook has to
learn the basic after this he must discover why some
food doesn’t go well mixed with the wrong ingredients
The rudimentary is salt, pepper and butter and then
spices depending on the dish.
The food on the plate should look appetising but not
over-decorated, a cook should not aspire to be an artist
for that, he should go to an art school and paint Pretty pictures.
To put a bit of full-fat cream in some gravies
Is ok, but the dish should not swim in grease.
Always serve fresh salad and go easy on the potatoes.