Love, ***, and Religion

Why should I tell you this, again and again, this love story of despair?
Entwined, our bodies wrapped together as one, her sea green eyes exuding love and my innocence was total.
slowly shells fell from my eyes I had been sleeping in a bed
soiled by many men, in this warren of inequity.
I begged her to stop this behaviour, but she said she was a free spirit
and could do as she pleased, and I closed my eyes and waited till she
had time to see me, but was no good!
The thought of other men ******* in the bed of love was too,
much; threw up at my disgust, on this bed of dissipations.
Her pursuit of gratification was voracious, for many she was but a *****,
I loved because she once said she loved me.
She is old now her lovers gone, she sought refuge in an evangelical sect,
and once again I lost the woman I loved

*** & the Sea
We do live in a moral time the exchange of money
for some company, a meal and laughter.,
is frown upon, but without these willing women my
life as a seafarer would have been an impossibility.
There were married ****** who stayed on a ship for
two years to save money, but they never thought of
the ****** life of their wives. Mind, some of the women
had lovers, and why not? Being married to idiots was
not easy, and they could not write to their husbands
and say: “come home and do me over.”

Prostitution is bad it is about using women for ******
gratification, but it is a business if properly seen to
help many lonely men, who because of are victim and
not thoughtless oxen smelling a cow in season.

Be Nice to the Police

It was like watching me on a film clip,
surrounded by four police officers
one of them a woman who yelled at me
for not speaking proper Portuguese.
I stared at her with contempt
It was a tense moment.
A conciliatory officer stepped in.
No big deal he said, a little scratch the car
is insured documents in order
have a pleasant journey.
I have often wondered why female officers
are so aggressive, is it because they are smaller,
land compensate the feeling of inferiority
by being brusque?
I met one smiling woman officer once, black and
six foot ten, refused my offer to marry her so I could
feel safe, was married she said…so what!
Before I forget the rude female officer was standing
behind a car in the dark smoking a cigarette and she
was overlooked by the male officers

****** love
What do you do when your lover is a thief?
What could I do smitten as I was by her ****** allure
she looked like Marilyn Monroe but lacked her
honesty and innocence while my lover as a taker Marilyn
was a giver, but what could I do?
She was a sickness a cold that would not go away, I often
left her in anger vowing not to return, but I did
despised myself as I sold my car to keep her in style and
expensive restaurant.
Every bad situation comes to an end she knocked
down by a speeding car, the one I had sold.
With my last money I bought a big wreath her mother cried
I was glad she had gone which brought on a depression
because no one had done it as good as her.

Shakespeare& C0

6-7 years ago, I was in Paris for a wedding and reading poetry,
the reading was met with protests by the public who protested again
my anti-Israel and pro-Palestinian poems.
The day after walking about I was trying to find the Paris of Dos Passos
and Ernest Hemingway, found a city overpriced looking like any others.
I happened to walk past a bookshop “Shakespeare & co” I walked in
met by a million of books.
I had two slim volumes of my own effort, and naively asked if I could place
them here? The answer was yes, I filled out a form with my address,
and that was it. It was only later I realized my tiny books were the company with
the greatest poets and writer in the western world.
I never contacted the bookshop again, but often wonder if anyone has browsed
through my work and liked what I had written.

shame on you

I was about eighteen when meeting the girl of my life,
she lived in the outer town and both her parents had office work
which back then was regarded as a posh position.
We met often walked in the park, and we kissed chastely hold
hands, this was love.
It was a pleasant Saturday even when she came she scented
of wild roses how beautiful she was, we went to a restaurant
we sat there as long as we could, it worried me to take her home
I lived in my mothers tiny flat.
There was no welcome. My mother stayed in her bedroom
I told the girl she wasn´t well.
We sat on the sofa the one I used as a bed, as it was chilly we
sat covered in a blanket until we both fell asleep.
There was no bathroom, only cold water from the tap in
the kitchen and we walked to town to the railway station where
she had a wash and the rest.
We didn't speak about the night spent together, sat silently
on a bench, waiting for the train to take her home.
When she boarded the train, there was no talk of meeting again,
only a short goodbye and she was out of my life.

The Shark

Sharks are smart
After wandering the oceans
Also, nearly eradicated in the cold water
Of the north.
Decided to seek revenge
By going ashore and with a shark’s cunning
Sought, financial centres where there was the power also.
They dabble in politics too and sit behind
The president's throne whispering sedition and flattery.
The sharks are successful they want to be
Rulers of the world and enslave us
Beware of sharks!
You can find them in the funny way they walk.

She finally left

She has left her premiership
This ungainly woman displaying her diabetes
On her arm like a diamond-studded decoration.
She has wrecked the consensus in Britain
And that was the plan, everything to make life
Bearable for Jeremy Coburn.
The working classes used the referendum as a protest
Against austerity, the rich leavers for opportunism.
The Tory party has done everything they can
Stopping Britain becoming a socialist party that
Will take transport, water, gas and oil back to
The people and give NHS founding to treat the sick
In our society, and equal society where no one is
Left behind and sleep in the streets.
But suspect the conservative, and the rich will do
Anything to stop this madness they have much to lose
And no newspapers are telling you the truth.

Shibboleth

It includes our political parties
Distant past their prime when they had a meaning.
Also, Christian theology is passé
As philosophies anchored in old thinking are
Like rusty ships waiting to for dismantling
A new approach for our modern question about
Life and dead must
be written in a language
That reflects the time we live in
It is not about old ideas being dressed in jeans
However, a fundamental rethink that if not breaking
From the past entirely, find a new expression
Because the structural problems will always
Be there the question, what is the meaning of life?

The ship of ages
It was a hot afternoon when the big bulk carrier left a harbour
at the coast of Bengal bound for Sidney (Australia)
with a cargo of scrap iron from ships that once had ploughed
the many seas, alas too slow in our modern time.
Somewhere in the Indian ocean, the sea separated and
the bulk carrier fell into a timeless zone where life repeated
itself endlessly; the cook is making soup, the captain is
reading a map of the oceans’ great currents.
150 years passed convulsion in the time zone. and the ship
was back on the sea’s surface.
The cook served his soup, and the captain called the harbour
authorities in Sidney, he needed a birth for a ship no one
had heard of, but the manifest stated Sidney.
They let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city
to the disappointment of the crew.
When the pilot left, he was pale and shaken as he
had navigated the ship through a layer of time.
The customs officials found cigarettes and whisky,
products that had been banned for over sixty years
only marijuana was legal if smoked in moderation.
The crew, the captain and the cook were arrested and sent to
an open camp for interrogation, it was there a nurse noticed
the tribulation was getting old by the day, and the crew could
no longer walk, many were incontinently suffered from senility
and chronic heart failure.
One day they had gone, what was left dust blowing in the wind.

Shipping as it was

He had many ships the old ship owner
He liked to visit his vessels eat the onboard cuisine
Talk to the crew he knew their names
Listened to them and their problems
****** stayed onboard long on his ship some
Tor years they knew nothing of life ashore
And when the ship was in harbour only ventured to
The nearest bar one can say they had become
Shipionalised  
He died the old man and the expert shipping people
Took charge, reduced the crew number no benefits
Finally hired crew from Asia and flagging out to
Avoid paying taxes.
Shipping as we knew it had come to an end, sad
But nothing lasts forever but it galls me to think
Fifty thousand seafarers lost their job and
It didn't make a headline in any newspaper

**** is real

I have an intimate connection with effluence
or **** of the animal kind.
I could, by aroma alone, which animal
had passed the track.
Most animal dung smell sweet, except for dogs
they have lived so long among us
they crap like us,
Dogs love their excrement and eat it.
A horse evacuation is like rare wine you promise
yourself to buy a horse when you have a garden
Vines that have been fertilized by a foals
morning *** is divine.
If your hands have been in the muck
nothing in the world can offend you.

Shoplifting

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

Short circuit
Why do we do what
Logic tells we should not do
To punish yourself
Or someone else who will
Not know of our act
Of self-destruction when
Logic has been suspended
Still, the question remains
We can't explain it
The great “WHY.”

Senryu

Endless summer heat
In January when cars won’t start
I’ll dream of summer.

One by one
Rose petals fall like old dreams
Heartache is your name.

Whirling dust
On summer empty lane
Melancholy.

Short verses.

Hurriedness is a sin
Against art and nature
Slow down time.

The valley awakes
Brush strokes of crimson
Rabbits in the field.

Beautiful May
Your rare flowers didn’t last long
Soon it will be June.

A field of oats
Wild and strew around
Mine? Surely not.

Short verses

Warming sun today
The wind has taken a break
We smile behind masks.

At the amusement park
We didn’t eat fried onion rings
Too many children.

Walk along the coast
The sea-breeze doesn’t sneeze
Tells us a story.

Once I was a seal pup
But was born with hands and feet
Expelled to shore life.

Introversion
Just home from an art exhibition
brought a couple of poetry to read
but I didn’t stay long left my books
on a shelf and sneaked out.
In the old days a glass of red win or
so helped me overcome my natural
shyness, but my hands were shaking
spilling the water in my glass on to
the canape
My shyness is the bane of my life I‘m
supposed to sell books not give them away
It is a phobia and it appears there are
Many this suffer from this annoying
crawling obsession.

Sic Transit Gloria

When I saw a picture of him
I remembered
Well suited,
hair combed back
Business like
He was smoking a cigar.
He had a heart attack
Greatly humbled
He left the hospital
No more cigars
No more whisky
Lost his hair
Friends gone.
He is old now
Spend much time
In his pyjamas
Amble to the shop
Buying goat milk
Sic Transit Mundo.

Sighting

Far out the on the Pacific ocean
I saw a ship sailing upside down
A fata morgana, a mirror from another
Dimension sailing on the outside
Of the horizon.
The explanation given was trite
I preferred to believe in a world outside
Our horizon that is limitless.
Everything is true, and everything is false
The keel of the phantom ship was held
Up by blues clouds.

In Kashagan
The silk road begins
I bought
An apricot
From a woman
wearing
A red shawl
Over her black hair.
A yellow dress
She was stunning.
Kashagan
Has the biggest
Outdoor market
In the world
Europe is puny
And far away.
A new silk road
Is being
Constructed
Pipelines and trains
Expanding trade.
that is ok
as long
as they sell apricots

A sink bucket
Today I forgot to buy milk, black coffee in the morning it is so
easy to remember the past it shines like jewels lost.
It was the winter of 1964, it was dark my brother carried
a big sink bucket and I a smaller one, we were on our way to
the coal depot to- if we found a hole in the fence- to steal coal.
We were caught by a man who wore an armband of the new
people in command and they were taking no nonsense from
anyone least of all seven years old thieves.

I have often seen that you put a uniform on someone who
who never had power and they behave like little ****** sprats.
On the way home with two empty buckets we came across
a wooden fence that had partially fallen down we took as many
planks as we could carry and had a warm Christmas Eve

Sisterly Support

I was thinking of my sister she had a blue and a green
eye I adored her when a child I followed her around
“Bormann” she called me and since I was not socially
adept she promised to look after me when old.
She has been dead for forty years
All the women it was like playing poker with cards missing
Kings too posh Knight not my game, I gave up went to
another country and bought a new set of cards…and won
Her eyes are onyx but that was Ok, before her I had met
a woman who had sea green eyes and I nearly drowned in
the embrace as deceptive as the North Atlantic Ocean
I was lucky to make it ashore.
So I made it then to old age take my pills go early to bed
and say to myself: you lucky old ******* you

Skating


Two skating sisters, one was brilliant
The other just middling and that was not good enough
In a world that demands perfection.
The average sister raged planned retribution and had
A pair of skates made of gold, but with a hidden flaw
They broke on the highest jump.
So, it came to pass at the skating finale in New York
When the brilliant sister took the highest jump
The golden skates broke in half, and she fell, so hard
On her back, she could nor skate no more.
Now it was the mediocre sister’s hour; she came in the ring
To finish the act, but the cruel public booed.
The evil sister’s fate was to push her brilliant sister around
In a wheelchair, the rest of her life.

Sitting by the window

  “Come, Karoline, open your door…” I think it is
an old song was written by a soldier in the Napoleonic war
I have never met anyone called Karoline and why
should I remember now seven o’clock in the morning?
I knew of a young woman who always waited by her door
when I came home late, she lived in the house next to mine
I  often wondered what she was waiting for perhaps she
was a “Karoline” of the modern age.
Come to think of it many women stood in doorways or looked
out of the windows as the was pre-TV time and women
like to see what is going on while the husband is asleep on the sofa.
I have seen many women in seaports like Rotterdam and Hamburg
sitting half-dressed by a big window and dimmed light, they were waiting too
for any man to enter those who did didn't stay long.
This I think was because none of them was a Karoline.

The skeleton
A hole was dug
In our street
The workers found a skeleton
Of a male.
Had he been religious
He would be an angel
Flying among stars
Had he been an atheist
He would
Continued to be a skeleton.

Skeleton

My hands have excessive skin
Blood vessels like roots on an old Carob tree
And I try to think of them when shorn of flesh
Folded on my rib cage
Space where the heart used to be
And the hollow soil filled middle
I say to myself what a sorrowful day.

The ski outing

Went on a school trip inland I hated it we were skiing
I fell, in the ******* snow it was no joy the other boys,
laughed I would never forgive any of them.
My mother had given me some sarnies with cheese ate them before we arrived and later was sick of hunger
.
The ski fastening didn't fit, gave me ulcer on my left heel
I took the ****** ski off and hid them behind a hut
The teacher came he demanded I find ski and put them on
I refused and told him to get lost.

I was sent to sit on the bus it was icy with engine off, God
I despised every blasted moment of this, I'm not a team player and
don't find snow fun it is not a woolly blanket.
The other boys also came had frostbites and cried we left
the snowy hell, the bus now warm was I was human again
and plotted my revenge.

Skirmish

                            It turns so fast
from happiness to sadness,
yesterday
was a warm spring day,
then without warning
Cold.
Winter beddings
packed away
we fought
over a blanket
I lost
she is blaming illness.
Today is miserable
a clumsy time
doesn't know whether
to cry or shine.
No internet
that's a ****** shame.

Sleeping sun

The audacious sun finally showed up
and green was the winter landscape; I also saw
where the sun sets, behind the carob tree
soundly and snug under a carpet of wildflowers
the sun snoozes till dawn.
Over the easterly range, which is the first defence
against Spanish marauders and the rain on the plane
the clouds were dark blue, more rain tomorrow.
I the fading light musical notes dance down a phone line,
The first flirt of spring?
Should it rain tomorrow, I will not be downhearted
this day will keep me warm for a week or so.

Sleepless Night

Butterflies in the glade
Settled I my eyes as a carpet of sleep
A dog barked
They took flight
Flapping wings dispersed in the night
Awake like the day
At a time when all flowers are grey
And wings of dreams fly high
Butterflies in the glade settle in my
Eyes as a carpet of sleep

Sleepless

O, sleep, why did you forsake me
I close my eyes will me to sleep
Nothing!
Better get up watch an old movie
A western one and you know who
Are the baddie and the sheriff
John Wayne is holding in his stomach.
The fake fight scene with furniture
That breaks easily.
O, sleep, why did you forsake me.

Sleepless again
It was a night without sleep
I had seen the movie “The Jacal.”
Twenty years ago
Ripping stuff!
Then I went to bed and saw the movies again.
Scene after scene
So young, the actors were.
I liked the inspector the best, he with a bushy moustache.
Not so happy about the ending
Of all the police on duty, he asked the right one?
The general could have been hit, say, in the foot.
Couldn’t get the movies out of my head
Had to breakfast at six o’clock.
From now on, JB Fletcher will do; it is predictable.

Sleepless in Cascais

It was a strange night
Couldn’t sleep thoughts and images
Kept churning around and I was
Horrifyingly awake.
This is pointless, got up and drank
Several glasses of water, my brain
Was talking to me and I had no answer.
To distract myself I watched TV, till
Four in the morning slept like a baby
Until noon, the past is a bleak territory.

Alexander Graham Bell

It was fine, quiet winter´s day I listened to distant noise,
dogs bark -you can´t avoid this in the Algarve-
smoke from chimneys straight up before disbursing and disappearing.
A few clouds drift about looking like wedding dresses of the unmarried,
The sun is a golden coin captain hook would **** to obtain.
I smell grilled sardine, and a cat on a fence is watching me.
I sternly tell myself to go for a walk before it gets too cold
But blithely ignore the inner voice.
As I drift on a slothful cumulus, my phone rings
I answer the voice says, sorry, the wrong number.

Slow-burning fuse

A sad day first heavy rain going into mist
it is not an outdoor day, but I had to pay some bills
which was not spiritually uplifting.
This is a Wagner day, never cared for his music
one has to lean to the far right to appreciate
this sort of substantially handed music,
I’m waiting to go home it has been delayed again
now it will sometimes be next week.
Portugal is famous for being a friendly country
but there is an underly of hatred that manifest
itself when we read so many women get killed
by their husbands every year.
Resentment is a rumbling volcano that explodes
and lava flows down burning houses and
the woman who got in the way.

Little fishes
It is not easy to be baby fish
They are on their own from the word go
Avoiding bigger fish.
No time to build sandcastles
Or play hide and seek in the seaweed.
It is about survival most of them get eaten.
They have no empathy, we have but
Ignore it when killing children in Yemen
And ****** them.
Some children never see daylight
Abortion so easy to come by sees to that
Forever dreamless eternity
We are losing our empathy and humanity
We are becoming like the fish
Survive or die no one will care for them.

Small fry

Fingerlings are playing among seagrass in shallow water
they stop when the big shadow of an adult passes overhead
sometimes they play is so exciting they forget
and end swallowed whole by a fish that knows no mercy.
Alas, the tiny fry has a short memory and soon leave
the seagrass attracted by shiny pebbles shines like nuggets
of gold on a summer day.
The play stops as it just like old school friends drift apart
to other seas and too smart to anyone bearing false bait.
There are no promises for elderly fish when finally caught
a fishmonger awaits them or the supermarket’s frozen
counter displayed in all their faded glory

Snow 1956

Snowy night, streets were covered in a calm,
carpet of white and since it was Sunday morning,
with few cars about, the grubby town looked as
beautiful as a fairy tale; till Monday, when traffic
would churn snow into yellow, ***** slush and
people, in black or drab grey, would have mist
coming out of their mouths as they moaned about
the weather. In the park, the snow would last for
days and I could make my footprints large by
subbing my feet on white ground land contrasting
black trees and pale sky made for stark beauty; in
front of park benches where old men sat, talking
ships. Tobacco spittle. Winter 1956, colours only
appeared in comic strips, and in western movies.

Sobriety
In the beginning, it is like walking on a narrow track
With olive roots over the ground to trip you up and branches
Of trees slapping you in the face, if you fall get up and
Continue to walk to be tired is not an alternative for a rest
The track gets smoother and wider, but it rains muds up to
Your ankles and you have to cross a stream.
After the ordeal you look back and wonder who helped, you inner
Strength the id it stepped in when most needed
Ahead is a shiny asphalted road waiting just for you.
I can't promise you happiness and Hallelujahs,
But promise this when at home and the day was long you
Will smile feel contentment for you have walked the walk,
Your feet are dry and life is not as bad as you thought.

Social Housing

It was a socially correct house each one
Had a window facing out and a window into
The next room, privacy is the beginning
of capitalism; and curtains were out seen as
afire hazards.
A loophole, plants were allowed and people
Planted in front of inner windows and later
Wherever there was an open space.
A greenhouse?
Yes, they began selling the food surplus at
the town’s square and generally behaved like
A new middle-class; it goes without saying
That the right people got a juice tomato
And thus, corruption began and a social
Experiment failed.

The Social Media
In the basement kitchen cold cement floor no hot water
a towel hung on a nail, wash you face a corner each and your hands
to dry, after a loo visit it also gave us tuberculosis
bad skin, and rashes. But we were lucky there was no social
media, kind ladies to do good, take a picture of misery and feel like they
as they had done something helpful pressing coins into our hands.
****** people their finery was an offence to those who had nothing
like giving a Bible to one who cannot read; the hope is that they got
head lice because we could not give them the *****.
A war was over for us it was just the beginning of a deliberate rise to
self -respect the Social Media was not interested in this the butterflies
of self- aggrandisement

Soft coat

On the rapid asphalt road
****** fur, a rabbit caught
in the glaring headlight of
a speeding car.

Poor creature, don't cross
the road at night, do not
cross at all unless you're
an angel and can fly.

No one loves a rabbit unless
it is a child's pet and lives in
a tiny cage. So run rabbit run
but on the forest's floor,

Some Doomsday
The heaven is held up by eight boa constrictors, when they shift
positions cause thunderstorm and blizzard. They feed on stars and
sometimes when you see few of them it is because the snakes have
been eating too much, luckily big snakes can go for month without
food so new stars can breed and if the Christmas night is clears we
can go on the veranda and admire the stars and be filled by the bliss  
of sleeping to ten tomorrow. Every year the heaven descend a bit
the boas are getting tired, some are dead and rotten pieces of them
fall down to earth with an almighty splash usually in Siberia.

One day earth and heaven will be a pair has long desired one
another and in their deadly embrace all life will be extinct except for
polar bears and there will no one around to ask why them, but
I think they will be the new crab louse on the Venus  berg of earth.

Some mornings

When you are over eighty, the medics lose interest
in your health, I used to see the heart specialist every six months
and check diabetes every three months
now they have stopped seeing me.
It is like they think, what the heck he is old enough anyway.
Not that I care sitting all day indoors looking out
of the window seeing life lived as a spectator.
The phone doesn´t ring anymore and the few friends I had
are dead or in the ***** of AA, their life has been reduced
going to meeting keeping their morale up.
Listening to the endless yammer of self - obsessed people
talking about themselves their goal is sobriety, and they spend
rest of their life cocooned in safety while dreaming of whiskey.
We old people are so ugly we walk ungainly, and we have
forgotten to live in the day.
We have lived our life lost the zest and our laughter when
we laugh, is a scream of despair

Some summer night


The summer night is hot you can see the flames of hell,
acrid smoke and soot through the open window.
In the interior of the house, a primal scream
two wriggling bodies try to produce an offspring who
will grow up and be like them and die like them?
But not before it has tasted love, a seed of humanity.
Then sinking back underground, spent, forgotten
in the mass-grave of boredom
decorated with flowers that radiate deaths to come.
The Tasmanian tiger howls to the moon and forever
vanishes into an ancient forest,
While werewolves’ sways to a Mexican dirge

somewhere

It is a beautiful morning in Cascais tourists are still asleep, as is my wife
A police car hastens through the Avenida and the young officers
who likes to drive fast through the empty streets?
Yesterday was a great day in Moscow, so many beautiful uniforms,
blue and gold
When young, I wanted to be a general but being petrified of things
like bullets flying through the air, I donned a white apron.
My days as a recruit in the royal navy were not a success: I do not
handle being given orders without protest.
So long time ago, now I sit on the terrace a seagull lands sit on
the railing and shrieks let it be nosy at it, wants, bravely I ignored
It demands of me not to sit where I sit.

The writers

Autodidact I read not entirely I'm a trained chef
a purser and a milker of cows on a farm
Which the literary cognoscenti find amusing.
A leading newspaper invited some famous
intellectuals to talk about the future
of which they knew nothing but showed
the arrogance of people
far removed ordinary people's life.
I have noticed when they talk about democracy
they mean their rights
when it comes to the man in the street
they think some restrictions of freedom are needed
as their freedom leads to chaos.
That is why when the famous talk about Israel
they wrap their opinion
in several woolly scarves as not to upset anyone.

The song contest.
There has been a song contest in Europe
Russian singers and musicians were banned
Which makes the contesting political?
Needless to say, Ukraine won.
One notice Israel appeared but not
Palestine, who was mourning a dead reporter
Killed by an Israeli ******, but we will not hold
this against he musicians and singers

the soul

Why should I write about my soul? I don´t know?
If a soul thinks if the entity that vanishes when the body dies
into the air, we breathe like autumnal leaves on trees?
Was Stalin a good soul with a dark mind or a smart mind
He good rid of (killed) the obstreperous officers
In the red army to **** off any dissent, he succeeded.
Or was he simply a dark soul?
My mother thought he looked charming, but she failed.
To see his snake eyes.
I can´t make up my mind about ******´s soul, his clownish
The body got in the way.
I don´t think, and there is such thing as a soul it is not
Tangible but we can´t call it an aura, ****** had an aura.
He liked dogs and sweet cakes when not murdering
Jews and other miserable, like gay people.
In other words, a soul is a Christian idea that promises
A life ever hereafter how else could heaven have
a place to so many people