It was, perhaps it still is, popular to take aerial pictures

of farms, frame them, visit the relevant farms and try

to sell them. I had a suitcase full and walked from farm

to the farm I didn’t sell many and was tired when I came to

a small farm, so minor that it was not in my portfolio.

I was thirsty it was July but, I wore a suit with tie to look

businesslike. Knocked on the door it was opened by

a woman who looked affable – this was long ago these

days no one opens doors to strangers- I asked for some

water and she led me to a well lowered a bucket and up

came a pail full of the coolest nectar. We spoke, a widow

a tractor accident had killed him, and she was childless.

I felt a strong ****** pull towards her and could read in her

eyes she felt the same also, but I was too timid to act on it.

I thanked her warmly and left. Years later I read about her

had been married five times and poisoned all her husbands’.

Syria’s new rulers
I’m going out to buy two onions, flowers for my wife, and a box of red wine for no one in particular; since I’m the only one in the house who drinks wine, I guess I have to drink it myself
The checkout woman looked like Assad’s wife
Which made me think of the thousands of prisoners in his dungeon; they have disappeared. There could not have been so many; after all, perhaps it was a hall lined with mirrors.
The Alawites, Druids, and Christians, not that are murdered by the thousands, many hides in the Russian base, not the newspapers say anything about, now that Brussel has blessed them

Great American Literature

Our bookshelf groaned under the weight
of American Literature, and my mother was
principally a communist.
An American Tragedy, I read at fourteen,
and my fascination with A Bridge over San Louis Ray
was endless, and so it went on.
I joined the youth wing of the communist party
of Norway, it lasted a month; they kicked me out
I knew too much to be useful.

The plight of the poor concerns me, and I bristle when
seeing injustice, in short, I will fling my arms around
a horse that is about to be flogged, yet one doesn't
need to be a communist for this. Kindness is not
political and doesn’t carry a flag, you have to pledge
allegiance to, a friendly smile will suffice.

jan oskar hansen. Cyberwit.net

Are wars as natural as forest fires?

The world is a restless war between India
and Pakistan's armies are ready and eager to fight
as usual, the people are ill-informed 
Israel has a problem; people are in an uproar 
the way the sitting regime mishandle 
the constant warfare, there might be a civil war
the USA, that believes in an uni-polar world  but
see they are no longer the world's ruler
Europe wants more war in Ukraine 
Alexandre Dugan believes in a multi-polar world
he is correct; the age for supremacism is over  
Or is it as many people think that war is like the plague 
a natural phenomena buried in our mind
from time to time, to destroy and mass ****** 
will occur, will not stop until the old order is destroyed
then peace can come, and the world is set free

Greenland’s American future

In Nuuk everybody lives in festive houses made of wood, green, blue and red looks homily in the winter landscape
Thei are the people who speaks English, building
A dry dock for submarines, that will protect the sea from intruders, like the Russians and big code fish. The Greenlander will live in nice apartments
That have lifts, naturally the have to pay rent
There will be more shops selling imported food
Soft bread and, of course hamburgers for all
There will be bars with dancing girls included
The local can get drunk and been thrown into the snow
Some locals will lose their apartment leave in the street with dogs and the hapless will be wrapped in blanket given by the Danes, American tourist will come looking at the filthy streets and feel at home
The transformation will be complete, the local language forgotten, spoken only by the very old Innuits, naturally no one speaks Danish anymore
Except for the local doctor a despicable socialist
This is the future for people who become victim of super power, who believes in their exceptionalism

Time's little sister

She is so very young time has been around
for eons, his beginning forgotten
in the haze of no time
Yet, she was there to remember when time was kind
when roses grew, when people fell in love
Children's happy voices, the birth of nations and the end
of horrid regimes
Time is a brute, takes no interest in what is good or bad
carries without reason or regards
but his little sister is there to help people to remember
the world is full of wonders

Towards the thaw

As the days of spring are here, I should be happy having made it through the winter. The April breeze brings regret, remembering what had been pushed aside, no, I was no mother’s favorite son
Recalling every detail, overthinking every word said, reacting with angry silence as a defense to hurts felt as a betrayal. No, I was not a sweet boy happily playing in a backyard with a toy
The spring breeze also tells me of an ending, my doctor’s remark of scaring bathers with dark blue blotches on my white body, it is like the process of death has begun when still alive
My anger keeps me going. I was dealt a pack of cards and did my best, bought the small blue houses on the monopoly board the affordable ones. I have no regrets and wait in silence

Stay with me

The Zephyr breathes with the lungs
unsullied by cigarette smoke
Siesta nap
a lazy Sunday on an afternoon
when flowers wilt, the sky is recklessly
**** in transparent whispers
of silky clouds.
Breathtakingly the silence
if it should
stop
I would fall into a chasm
of pale rainbows,
stillborn moons,
corroded stars
where words of love
are unheard of, a silent echo
Inhale and exhale, my lovely
Blow a gale
But don’t leave me alone in
city parks where aged men sit
Tell us how old they are.

First light of dawn
Uphill, he walked still dark, he had
to be at the farm at five milking times.
The westerly wind makes the climb hard
the cattle will be mooing in their pens
the boss is grumpy, he is hungry but
has no time to eat
milking eight cows by hand is no joke.
End of the last hill he saw the farm's
the farm, there is light in the kitchen,
Emma, my dog, barks and stops when
she hears his steps, the morning light he
stop and catch his breath, they are not
I am going to think that he was hasting
  a quick mug of coffee
a slice of ham, just like any other day
they will wonder, the maids whisper
but do not ask where
and with whom he spent the night.

The  furrows of Life
 
The narrow way leading up to the farm from the main
the road had a gate, so cattle could not wander off to
the main road getting. The way had three furrows, two
caused by a narrow cartwheel and one- much wider- from
the horse´s hoofs. Deep furrows meant a hard-working
farm. The landscape was flat and often windy on my
way to school, I tried to walk where the horses had trod
the soil was softer there, the horseshoe patterns told
me if it had been a small or big horse that last had pulled
a cart here if the load had been heavy
A useless knowledge, I often wonder
Why do I remember it so clearly
like a black-and-white photo?
Lately, I have been remembering this dirt road
the people and animals
I often wonder if there is a message here
I have overlooked it.

we had it coming
looking at pictures of an empty Piccadilly Circus
or the Eifel Tower in Paris is empty of life except
for police cars cruising to fine anyone breaking the law.
The emptiness is enormous and frightening to think
how quickly humankind can disappear forever
When the pandemic is over, there might be another one.
Millions of people all over the world rotting in their homes
the disappearance of humans is a near reality.
The only hope is that we lived a tolerable good life.
The future will consist of animals hunting each other.
Cities will crumble art and culture of no value.
We had it coming, I despair.

Refugees
I know of a forest where all trees are equally tall
and the distance between them is strangely wide
is so they can get the same amount of sun and
rain will fall evenly on plants and mossy ground.
Trees grow fast here  next year, harvested
and a new sling planted.
For the birds, rabbits, and foxes that had made
a home at what can be called a new estate will
have to move or find shelter in the old forest
that is full of thorny bushes in deep shadows and
and ****** boars that never had a bath unless
caught out in the rain
Nests will be too near others, and there will be squabbling
rabbits and foxes have to make new burrows
and they will be snubbed by the old dwellers who
will call them lazy or, even worse, the new rich should
They have shiny fur or colorful feathers and will
not be sent a Christmas card that year.

After the surgery

I was flat on my back and not
allowed to move, an assistant  nurse came to feed me
A stern-looking woman older than the others
soup she fed me; open your mouth wide, she said
I did her, eyes softened, and she became motherly
scolded me gently when spilling soup on the nib
When I didn't want any more soup, she said I had to
to eat it all
I felt drawn to her as a baby to his mother
it was a beautiful moment; she tucked me in
I fell asleep.
Then it was morning, I was allowed to sit up and
later stood up. looked out the window, a football pitch
the players’ red and yellow shirts, it looked like mating
ritual, the one who scored the most goals
gets the sexiest girl, that's ok, but I got to be a baby
and remember it.

The Odd Narrative
Steamed up the window, my finger I paint a landscape,
Mountain, forest, and lake; the peak cries into
the lake becomes a vast ocean,
where trees made into wooden rafts floats
Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest,
this will happen to the Himalayas,
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 forgotten,
he has married a big fish
which he thinks is a mermaid, often puts his hand in
the sea and strokes the fish’s belly: “without you,” he murmurs
“I would truly be alone.”

The shipping accident

It was late evening when the captain of a Russian owner cargo came down from the bridge where he and the first mate had mapped the route from Humberside to Amsterdam. North Sea is always a busy seaway
In his cabin, lit a cigarette, sat down and opened his personal computer to send an email to his wife; he had a two-month vacation coming soon and said he missed her and loved her, if she came to Amsterdam, they could travel to Swiss
Then, an almighty shudder, he was thrown off his chair, hastily got up, ran up to the bridge, to his horror, his vessel had collided with an American reg tank ship; both ships were on fire, but since it was a calm night, the crew survived.
Back ashore, he gave his version of the accident to the relevant authority, as he left the building, he was arrested for manslaughter by the police; he knew the Russians were hated in England except for the wealthy types

The unreasonable hatred goes back to the time of the Tzar when the Bolsheviks killed the Tzar clan his wife had been one of the Queen Victoria’s relatives; the old queen had relatives in most of European royal households.
Politics entered the fray; the captain of the Russian ship was thrown into jail to await a trial that was not properly investigated since the US ship had carried jet fuel for an American base in a mediterranean country
There was a rumor of sabotage since NATO provoked war in Ukraine, the notorious newspaper, the Guardian, which is known for its anti-Russian stance, didn’t hesitate to accuse Putin for bringing the war to British shores

Newness
she walks slow
I sit on a bench
waiting for her
in cracks I see
the beginning
of newness
among *** butts
office worker
sits here when
there is a break
today is sunny
I face the new sun
she catches up
sits slowly down
and speaks
we need a new kitchen

The Future as Irony

If we try to look ahead, say ten years when ex-president Trump sits in a cell in Arizona sent by Elon Musk, who rules the world and has an army of all-seeing AI officials, people will wonder why Trump lived that long, living on burgers and Pepsi Cola, concluding it is a long-life diet they too must live by to become very old.
They don’t know that Elon Musk, the Titan planted a chip in Trump’s brain to keep him alive showing us he has no hard feelings against the man, who got him sacked in 2025 from a job he had taken delight in because there had been many protests from other wealthy people, who the truth was told about their thieving.
Elon Musk is a remarkable man, he puts on a false beard, puts in old clothes and pretends he is poor, walks into cafés, asks for a burger and coffee, if the staff refuses to serve the poor man food, Elon Musk reviles himself and fire the staff who has to beg for food to survive as a moral lesson, the chart-savvy people applauded him

My English Brother and the Rich
I find it impossible to be envious of the wealthy, buying superyachts one bigger than the other, when they get seasick at the thought of sailing out to sea
Marrying a ***** blond with ******* often taller than themselves, or buying a newspaper and dictating their political views that frequently consist of sour grapes  
Some very rich people indulge in ****** fantasies of the sort a 16 old might have and visit an island 200 times to satisfy their depravity and live in fear of being exposed
I know of a mega wealthy man, whose dream is to be the first human on the planet Mars to colonize the place in case our earth burns Is he going to take his 14 children along?
My father, although working class, was not unlike these people there was always one more woman to sleep with and I now learn he spent the war years in UK fathering a child
I hope it was a boy, my own brother died young, mind my English brother must be 80 by now, in a terraced home freezing, since the pensioners lost the winter benefit

No out

A man coming home from work saw a shadow
a figure leaning against a dead olive polishing
his hoofs and sharpening his scythe.
The man said no, you are too young to harvest
he then took a plane to Madrid
where he got employment at a legal office.
the first day, he knocked on the door
death sat in the chair and said
from now on, you are my helper
Go back home and dispose of your parents and their
time has come, greatly disturbed
the man took a plane home
and the death was leaning against an olive tree
a shadow on a sunny autumnal
day. In the house, his parents said they had  buried
their son, but they did not see or hear him,
and the man knew that henceforward he was
Death's little helper.

The Cloud of Hell
It was a perfect day, cobalt sky and azure, glittering sea
When a stygian cloud came from the east, the Lord of Wars
spat phlegm, spraying us with horror

Inside this monstrosity, body parts, headless, were
Flying by the noise was unearthly, and my little dog
sheltered under my coat, I bought in Hamburg.

When the cloud had passed, I saw a landscape
Devastated as Ypres in the Great War when then
as now millions of people have died for nothing.

My dog was limp and had stopped breathing. I blew
Life back into it and in the terrible noise of the sky
We heard nothing, not even the stillness.

The master of wars was visiting us the peace
We had enjoyed it for too long; it was time for
Bloodletting, the revenge of the sand dwellers

Gaza
The baby
Wrapped in a blanket
Looks at the camera
Emaciated face
Large eyes
Incomprehensively
Looks at me
I lower my gaze
Who is going to
Switch off
The killing machine
This harvester of
Of death
Not yet, not yet

Rich man poor
The man from
the gutter
who fought
his way to the top
has much hate
and contempt
For those who didn't
succeed
because they were
too kind and
had consideration
for fellow man.
When the rich man
Donate money
He is called
a great
humanitarian
and it is
envious to
I disagree with that.
A bronze statue
in the park, but
it will be
hollow inside

the horses

Three horses graze on my land, and one
is still a foal.
In the twilight and with gentle rain falling
they remind me of the horses of bygone
days when I steered the plow that made
furrows in dark, clean soil.
When I stroke their flank, the good aroma
of warm horses arises; dreams are endless.
In daylight, they pretend to be boulders, but
even then, they make the land serene.

The actor I knew

Mikael Elphick, a talented actor
I admired
he liked to read my poems and said they were like stories
and therefore, easy to read
He understood I was trying to find a space between
poetry and prose, that is why I dislike calling
what I write poetry, vignettes seem in order
Mikael was a kind man who liked that I was not
hanger faking friendship and being agreeable to his
political opinions, which I found eccentric
The last time I spoke to him was outside a café, he
was struggling to walk home, I gave him a lift
a reporter from the Sun newspaper sat in a tree
it might have been Pierce Morgan, as we know
has bullied his way on X
a few weeks later, Mickael was dead, killed by
his alcoholism

The less important

Every TV channel
carries
the same news, it is as posted from a news
central Trump is good, is Putin bad
and no one asks about its verity
by some nice people who look sincere.
I'm  overcome by angst
it starts from the inside going out
my skin is grey and pale and sweat drips on
my T. shirt.  
I should know but I can't find the source of
its conception, but I try something about
eyes and in them, I read, surprised by the oncoming
I saw him fall
heard the crack of a broken neck
Walking away, nothing I could do but
stepping over an inert body and into boisterous life

When love is a failure

The bird of love sits in a gilded cage, sometimes
it gets out and flies in search of mischief.
Anton, a young student from a middle-class family
sat in a crowded café drinking a beer, when Maria
entered, she had a coffee since the café was full
Anton beckoned for her to sit with him at his table.
Lovestruck!
In infatuation, they had met by chance and nothing
about them made sense; Anton was well-educated
Maria could barely struggle through the headlines
of the local newspaper, but she was of a generous
disposition, eyes that mirrored her warm nature.
The bird of love was back in its cage and felt smug.
Anton’s family threatened to disinherit him,
Maria’s family of Tinkers were outraged that she
loved someone outside the clan.
The loving couple lived in the poor part of the town
Anton had a horse collect ******* and brought
the stuff to the town’s waste depot, he
drank a bit, put him in a mellow mood.
After work, Anton sat in the stable reading books
and newspaper, sometimes Maria came and they
spent the night there.
At home were two sons who blamed their parents
for their poverty and lack of progress, they also
made fun of the mother, who had grown fat and
had rotten teeth, they also stole Maria’s cash
she stored in an empty biscuit tin.
Their love was so overwhelming they had no time
for the children; in the cage, the bird of love grinned.

The God Thing
I often think of God, but Morgan Freeman's face gets in the way
So, now we know God is a handsome actor looking godlike and
that is
Ok, if he had looked Chinese, I might have objected
Death is a conundrum; We accept the physical death
but the problem
Is what is happening to our thoughts from experience?
After a long life, we like to pass knowledge on, but
selectively, as we can not talk about our blunders and our ****** misconduct
I have lived an egocentric life is the only
way I write
but if I have written something to anyone for whom the big
sleep means nothing we are grateful

What the papers didn’t say

We read the octopus is an intelligent animal, I’m not sure if this is true but they can be trained to
play with dipping bottles filled with water. The sinister side is the female octopus, who after ***
takes her partner's fertilizing instrument with her
and soon the male octopus will die. In our world, it is not that bad, a man risks losing the house and
the lawn he had lovingly trimmed, but he had done his duty leaving her two lovely babies
his ending might come on the streets of San Diego Today I will not be cynical but leave this octopus behavior to Marina Hyde
Gerhard Depardieu is in trouble for ****** assault
which denies, ******* the maid, in the kitchen is
nothing to bother about and the maid was a willing participant, I think the great actor lives in
Russia, I hate to think why he does
The great IDF has killed 50.000 Palestinians and
those left alive are starving to death, if you are in doubt about not stopping mass ******
We are not able to hear their cries our sight is
on Ukraine to stop that war that the people in Brussels want to last till 2029 and never mind the killed soldiers, it's war baby take it on the chin

Pots & Pans

We see on the net a dust bowl of horror called Gaza
people with remarkable pots and pans begging for
food around an open kitchen; the thought is, do they
keep the poets and pans so clean, do they take turns
licking clean any vestige of nourishment of the said
utensils, which tells me there is a Palestine under 
the ruins and there will always be a Palestine, if not
Today, but tomorrow it will be the day the flag will
hang from every ruin, free of Israel's hatred, and
endemic caused by the malicious influence of the USA
From the time America was influenced by the people
of the Old Testament

Like the father the son

He is a lovable rough, the father of a famous son who keeps us guessing what the hell he is up to next, a father who is a buccaneer, sails the deep sea, and fears not the tempests on his way
Can a son ask for more?
The father never was a nine-to-five sort of bloke who operated at the edge of the law, like a pirate would, fingers in many lucrative pies, that is what daring men do those, who believe in themselves, live to tell the tale.
The son might lack the old man’s charm, still, he has otherwise emulated him but prefers to stay ashore, an influencer of magnitude selling his ideas to those on top of the political heap and like his father faces tempest with bravado.
As for me, a shy poet, thrown ashore with irregular works and lacking the go-get appetite for life, his father is the type I wish I were.

the mind is open for a change

Headless embrace an easy life a lift down the seventh floor to a foyer and doors that open automatically a café serves one from cooking peeling potatoes and ready-made salads
a walk in the avenue of shops that have empty words while expensive cars drive driven by owners whose sense of beauty is a Musk truck dead steel against the greening grass
then you know there will never be dog hair on the sofa, and there will be no happy, friendly dog you're here and she is content
You plan your escape from the trivial, how fast a lift takes to ground level, but meet an obstacle called old age and the maidens have gone
Finally, you see yourself in the bathroom mirror the ultimate purveyor of truth, the loss is
absolute, but despite that dreams are bigger than you whisper and tell you of a way out

Grecians 

Hellas and the port of Piraeus hold a memory
in my seafarer’s heart, civilized people, no
they are not leaders of efficiency, but you can
talk to them and expand your knowledge.
Not forgetting ******, they had time for a drink
sharing, a joke, and didn’t hurry you.

In Hamburg, it was never thus, no smiles, no foreplay
efficiency ruled; money on the table, the trousers
down **** fast, get out, no need to take your
shoes off. Yet the Germans are admired, but
when they have nothing to export
The Hellenic people will go on smoking cigarettes
and being civilized.

Come  Home


I dislike Israel, but I accepted her as a historic
happening and a place where Jewish culture
can flourish undisturbed by foreign culture, and
thus can sink into navel-gazing.
But it cannot be so Europe without Jews and
the Jews without Europe's culture is a script
of a disaster not yet written.
We in Europe need the Jews as scientists,
in the arts, but the Arab World does not need
resentful Jews who brought an iron heel to people
for a crime they have not committed but  guilt that
lives in the culpable images of Abraham’s people.

Just a thought.

If the Palestinians
had looked like the Danes
and with blond hair and blue-eyed
Less Semitic
Would West Europe have done more
to save Gaza
From the genocide we witness
Are we witnessing racism in action

The Watershed

There was a time when 45. I thought life had passed me by
I had spent too much time seeing the night train leave.
Through the rain, the soaked train windows saw people 
reading others looked into space, some were crying
My friends had drifted away, and my old mate
Trond had found God, and to think we sat all night long
talking about books, and in the morning, we went out with
his boat fishing, drinking cold beer and falling asleep 
the sun danced on the blue water in the fjord 
wind from the dark mountain didn’t blow.

The best women, too, lost patience and took the tram home
To Mum and your dad, waiting for you to grow up.
At 45, your parents begin dying, and the impossible
happens you are a floating iceberg lost in a glass of whisky.
And just as wheels on suitcases were invented, you grow up
Polish your shoes and find that little cabin in a hidden
valley has a leaking roof and has been waiting just for you.

The blues affair

I met her where the light was weakening
an enduring twilight had settled on what
was re-lived in the memory of summer
moving out of the convention, tired leaves
in the soft breeze on its final breath.
We spoke of the past but not of the now
the present didn’t matter.
I saw her as a disappearing holograph
dying in the mist of life lived
past emotions could not awaken
she had gone to a place I could not follow
as her face was erased.

Alfred and the wilderness

Alfred, who with the greatest of ease tells, he is not my father
and I went for a walk across a chlorophyll-filled field.
Alfred, who is a musician and never ventures out in the landscape
saw some grazing sheep and wondered if they were dangerous,
No, I said they are sheep and born friendly
as God created them, to this, Alfred called me a crypto-Christian.
A little Lamb came up to my father, it was so sweet,
as only a lamb can be, he lifted it up, which the ewe disliked,
and it butted him in the rear.
Alfred was shocked, got up, and demanded that I bring him to safety
in the nearest town; never trust animals, they are all out
to get us, he said while limping to safer ground.

God and Austerity
The supermarket that calls itself Forum,
has a bell tower, but now, in time of
austerity, no one flocks to buy anything
when its bells ring every hour.
Sunday, when I drove my wife to church
the car park was full of vehicles
the bells didn’t
toll in vain; when I looked through
the window people were singing hymns.
When time is good, god becomes distant
But with economic times and threats
of a new war is looming, people turn to
an abstraction in time of an unsure future.
Mind, god looks after his flock, walking
around the car park, I noticed most cars
looked new, but if you have got it and want
to keep it a prayer goes a long way.

They ****, children

A hum of silence met me
Dead babies everywhere like dolls on the filthy carpet
a lone soldier guarded the ghastly scene
looked stunned and dazed, said we had to do this
they are the enemy of tomorrow
a man in a protective suit and mask came in
spraying white snow like powder, covering the horror
body fluid ran out of me and covered the floor
an ice rink of sin
I was drowning, but how to swim in this torrent 
of sweat coming out of every poor
The soldier who had shot the children shot himself
the man in his protective suit said he was weak, not 
the type of soldiers we need
The dead children, they would have become Hamas
of the future
Lethargy and helplessness 
My inaction had condemned me for all time
the morning sun refused to shine over this devastation 
Forever, we have to struggle in a fog of depravity

A Bus Ride

I had bought a
newspaper in town and was taking the bus home
an hours ride
up to my village. I looked at the
headlines
noticed the paper had no date
was I reading yesterday’s
today's news or tomorrow's
The bus was empty this afternoon
it struck me how silent it ran could only hear the swishing
sound of
rubber against the
asphalted road.
Then the bus stopped on this journey outside my house
so many flowers now in November, my dog sat on
the steps waiting
just for me.
The bus door opened with a sigh,
but the dog didn't run to me
I hesitated; was it the same house
yet not the same this one looked immaterial
the flowers were pale, a copy of a painting
forgotten  rural art
exhibition arranged by a local culturally interested GP
Not my village
I said to the driver and sat down
“Are you sure?” the driver asked, I didn’t answer
the bus rolled on.
Opened the newspaper
It was Monday.

Endurance 

For we are the blessed 1% surviving
The long night in a nameless town
and meeting two well-dressed Arabs
gentlemen suited in the style of 
ninety thirty-two and floral hats 

With fortitude, we face this modern
A time when lies are deep in sagacity
where the whims of the stupid are
the politics of the day, drink coffee
knowing we are the eternal.

The dog of my life

This is not an evening when one feels jubilant
When I look out of the window, I see a few cars going up and down the road till they reach the roundabout and drive back past my window
There is nothing to be surprised about in this town, dramatic car crashes happen in America
Where Hollywood is afire
When I lived in the countryside and had a dog
We walked in the forest and there were always new things to discover, often we stood still and listened to the silence, we could hear trees Coming home I lit the wood stove while the dog
Oh, so lazy stretched out on the sofa, feeling
while I was in the kitchen preparing her food
I had given up telling her to eat slowly
Contentment never lasts, we had twelve years
Together what’s left is a wonderful memory

The politics of reality

A leading Norwegian newspaper takes the view that it is the Alawites and the Christians who are the problem in Syria, which is blatantly untrue. The Brussels Mafia have decided that the former henchman is the right person, which suits Israel too for the time being
What is disturbing is that Europe’s leaders do not understand that globalism is over and that we will see new security zones that will leave Europe a quaint place for Russian or Chinese tourists. For a small country like Norway, the new system is a bonus as it no longer has to rely on the continent

A Poet Road
Now that it is hot and the sun has turned from
a warm friend to a raging enemy, what did I say
to make it so burning hot?

I'm up early and drive around, stopping and take
pictures of growing plants before the rampant
sun makes them lose all colors.

Then, before I knew it was ten o’clock time to
sit indoors watching the miserable news
and trivial entrainment programs.

The bushfires of terror are something we have to
live with until we learn to clear the undergrowth
and when needed...brutally ****.

I’m thinking of a man who has a small field of
the greenest vines, every day he tends lovingly
his bushes, you see, we should not be too kind.

On the other hand, we cannot poison the land
with pesticides to save a plant we like and
forgetting that all life has its place.

Reflection

It is autumnal, and the wind blows
Light from lampposts sways
The day smells of oncoming winter
Sadness and a longing for the past
It will always be like this
The hankering for years gone by
Like the wake from a ship
The birds in the sky will leave to
The curtain billows, ready to set sail
Across the seas, towards infinity
And beyond

A Yellow silk scarf
He bought a yellow silk scarf at a second-hand shop
In Cheshire, the type actors were, when meeting for
A drinks party; the mirror told me he wore the scarf
With seedy elegance, which normally comes to those
Who has no self-awareness, better still, ignores what
Other people think.
In Ashdod, someone broke into his cabin, the thief
Stole his Ronson lighter, he could overlook that
But his yellow silk scarf went unforgiven forever

Riches

Dark clouds hang over the valley this morning
will rain,  I hope there will be a rainbow too
I have a silver ***** ready, a plastic bucket
leather boots as well.

Last time, I found a nugget of gold where a multi
colored arch got stuck in the ground, my brother
took it, lives in the Bahamas now, and pays
no taxes and have seven servants

He wasn’t happy, so they sent him to Betty Ford’s
clinic, where they teach him to accept his guilt and
stop beating himself up because of a trifling
culpability, attack of remorse can happen to us all;

Forget your sins. Sober is bliss, and God forgives
and speaks English. If I am rich today, I will not tell
anyone, keep my money under the mattress, live
like a pauper, and enjoy my solitary treasure.

Man and his dog

He awoke under the bed, and it had been his birthday
drinking champagne, eating Danish pastry, and smoking Havana cigars
He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out
a beer, which he thirstily drank while wondering why
Everything was so quiet
The maid had been in when he slept, and everything was in order
When did the guests leave, or had he partied with his teddy bear
Being lonely since his dog died
Looking out of the window, he saw many cars, and they had
No drivers and some had open doors as if abandoned in haste,
But what had happened?
In a bakery/café, he had a sandwich of cheese and tomatoes,
He made it himself since the lady who owned it
The café was not there.
It dawned on him that he was alone in the world, everything
He didn't need to share his good fortune with anyone,
Except for the cur outside that ran away and barked when seeing him
He tried the Rolls-Royce that belonged to the mayor
Yes, the ride was smooth, distracted by thoughts, he hit a lamp-post,
But never mind, there were other cars around
At an expensive restaurant where he once had dined,
He made and made himself a hamburger with hot fries
drunk on the most expensive red wine possible.
The dog that had growled at him looked at him through the window,
wagging tail, it knew he was the only one left to feed it
Months went by, and the window, his life, was getting a bit onerous,
just him and the dog following him around, getting fat from his overfeeding.
He stopped shaving, showering, and wearing the same pants
Since the day was endless anyway, why bother with personal hygiene
When there was no pressure to conform
Deeply depressed, he jumped from the top floor of
a tall building to end it all.
No such luck! He descended, slowly broke down, and cried freely
as the dog was the only witness to his sadness
Doomed to live forever, he lay down under the bed
But before falling into Nirvana's arms, he got up again
Someone had to feed the dog.

Human versus pre-human
Are humans born with a soul? I don’t know but I think a newborn child has yet to acquire a soul   A newborn absorbs everything it sees, including colors and voices, the way it is lifted up given a bath hugged, and song too, absorbed into the new memory bank and stored The child is not aware of this, but it is the building block to acquire a soul that can rudimentarily think, hence a soul that learns right from wrong now, if an AI figure is fed information like this does it, acquire a soul that has moral knowledge? If this is true, the ramifications are disappointing because we are only equal to an AI, who in time will master how to recreate itself