the ending

It is night, the day time had sun and warmed
The living room and the kitchen
I sit alone in my study and enjoy the silence
This should be the time for deep philosophical
About life and the wherefore, it is not, but I recall yesterday when we went to a small town to buy medical equipment for my wife we sat in a café where everybody spoke at the same time I asked why are they not listening before speaking, she said it is not so much about talking it is the sense of community and social cohesion, well in that case let them talk For many old people elderliness is a curse they
live in, fear of dying and know they will but they have not obtained the serenity needed to accept death as a part of a continuation of life
they shall not be a part of
at the supermarket today, my wife spoke to a woman who was upset because her mother had died last night, how old was her mother103  she had been housebound for 4o years in other words she had lived too long of course my wife commiserated for the woman’s loss, a mother is a mother and the woman’s memory was of her mother when she was young                            I ask you to stay in bed is that preferable to die
Be nice to old people but let them die in peace

The first attempt

This is the first poem I try not to think about.
It is like crossing the plateau of Alentejo
I see the tarmac road that stretches miles ahead
must follow the lines of the road
or, fall off and sink into oblivion
Poetry is not unlike arithmetic; using words instead
of numbers
The hope is that the writing has an inner logic 
That defies jumbled words  
The instrument has a hidden note that tells us
That two is not four
I try  telling you what I  hear, it is easy, our obligation
to love our fellow beings 
This request can be obtained by honest feelings

The First Commandment

we have got a message
if anyone writes from the river to the sea Palestine will be free, and will not be published because it is upsetting for Israel to hear what
is an obvious truth
Notice this will not be published it is not a ban we who believe in the “First Amendment” is there is a limit to freedom of expression when it goes against the sitting power structure Even the cherished X, knows that
As the evening progresses one notices fillers in newspapers, one such filler says that a test has shown that 87% of Israel’s Jews are not Semitic at all, they are mostly Russian Zionists, and Polish Warshaw dwellers, misfits not fitting in among the general population
The real Semites are the Palestinians going back 2000 years about the time of Jesus Christus What we see is the Zionists are wedging war against the real Jews who call themselves Palestinians possibly to avoid detection that it was those who crucified Jesus

The First Paradise

We humans are related to the dolphins 
not so smooth, that's why we stayed  near
sea was shallow
Fruit trees grew near the shoreline and 
often apples fell into the sea, which was
as a blessing, and we walked ashore
On dry land, we become aware of our nakedness
and hastily covered our bodies in palm leaves
Flirting and lifting palm leaves became a sport 
disapproved of by the adults
In the apple trees lived snakes; if a woman was
bitten, she convulsed, and if not given 
satisfaction becomes what we know as Karen 
When children asked where we came from
adults told us we came from Mars
Now, scientists tell us they have found dry
river beds on Mars. I say no more

The forgotten
We forgot to buy a loaf today, but there is an apple **** in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow   we will feast on cake and think of the daft woman in France, whose name I have forgotten
Putin was offered a 30-day break from warring, and he gracefully thanked Trump for his interest and accepted the offer, but first, the underlying cause had to be negotiated
Trump was flattered; he didn’t get the whole loaf but had to accept a lemon cake, Putin and Lavrov are both masters in chess, and the West, who do not understand what Russia has said
No NATO in Ukraine quarantine Russia has had enough from the West’s false promises, that’s, but Zelensky, the fraud has to go, a new election held and a spring will arrive in Ukraine

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

The Genetic pool

I’m my father’s son, I carry his genes
He is a part of me that is inseparable
If I hate him, I dislike myself
These days, I’m older than my father
He is my son, and I love my son
Once I saw my father on the bus
He reached out to say hello
Misinformed, I ignored his gesture
Looked out of the bus window
I saw his tears
Wish the moment would return
It is my eternal shame
My father is my son, I think of him
Gently.

The last poem in my new collection

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 big Illusion

I’m too tired to find any meaning in life. We are born, and our only function is to sow our seed and then depart the scene before we become a burden to the new generation who, after jubilant years, will see that they are born into death. to entertain ourselves, we make a simple act of leaving our seed behind by using magical words into something we call love, and since the thought of being dead forever is too harsh to contemplate, we invented religion and live our lives in an illusion, a fairytale of final lies, we do see the day we die when we are swallowed up by the relentless eternity

The illusion 

In a small park ringed by gloomy trees near where the factories used to be, was the bust of a man on a splint
made of bronze, a mesen, she liked to use words like
that in a desperate world of poverty, tinned sardines
 in olive oil and mackerel in tomato sauce
The Mesen who owned the factories had created this
park for his workers, where they could sit and relax on Saturday afternoons.
The whole day on Sundays, otherwise the park shuts
during weekdays; that made sense, one could not have workers there on days of work
A  boy climbed the fence and drowned in a dam of algae
The park, among damp factory walls, was eradicated.
The foul-smelling factories disappeared as well; the time
had changed, people could buy cheaper tinned stuff from Portugal  
When pockets of oil deep under the North Sea
A country was suddenly rich, and people built modern housing where the factories stood.
No one in a town like ours talks about the good old days.

The Jewish couple

I have written about this before, but somehow
didn't  get it right 
My perceived brusqueness made them think of Cracow,
they had fled, their relatives lost in the turbulence
of a war where they, as civilians, 
but Jews had their life made into nightmares. 
There was a small sweet shop near my café, 
selling my chocolate with nuts, so 
one day, I walked in there to buy a bar of chocolate
The man behind the counter bent down and changed his hat.
His wife reached out and tried to give me a sweet. 
The man wore a Panama hat 
I spoke English to them, which eased the situation, 
this tall ****-looking person was not a ghost from the past, 
just a person with a sweet tooth. 
I bought the chocolate, and we shook hands, told them I was in business to
had a café near them,
The sweet shop had visitors,
and the chocolate I bought had been in the shop too long; it was green. 
But when I left the shop, I felt they didn't want me to come back, 
I reminded them too much of the horror of Cracow.

The joke is on me
When I read that Starmer, when visiting Trump, had with him an invitation from the king of England, offering Trump dinner
I thought it was a joke, but it was true. Trump was flattered and accepted the invitation
Of course, he is an egomaniac who thinks he is a royal American king, and why not!
The difference between the two kings is that Trump has power and the English king is reduced to a face on loose pocket change
Is President Trump a good ruler? Well, he is autocratic and gets things done, not always with aplomb, but no one is perfect
In a world of liberal democracy, we end up with
EU is a talking shop trying to force nations to see
The Brussels way and to think they are called democrats, when its leadership is making life difficult for dissenters like Victor Orban, a sane man among sycophants.
The leaders of any country are to look after their inhabitants’ well-being. If not, then new leaders   must be elected, but in our democracy, we see little movement at the top because their idea of democracy is to elect themselves, not much is done for the people
China and Russia have autocratic rulers with a high living standard, but one is not allowed to swear in church, and that is accepted by most people who favor democracy, a system they know nothing about until they move to New York and see democracy firsthand; the living conditions among the masses are atrocious

The last bus
This is a day for us losers, no this is not about the climate, from my window it looks like doing well, a dollop of sun there and a splash of rain there, it is no asking for anyone’s permission
With losers, I mean us who have managed to get old, but living wildly and not going for longevity
This makes us miserable because we have nothing to look back on and say, sure I did that
It is not that we didn’t try to make a mark, but
***** and women got in the way, conquest
a ***** in every port
Some of us tried to make a mark by scribbling
Our thoughts on paper, exposed our tiring vulnerability for all to see, only to discover that
No one wanted to know gave a ****, because
One needs a name to make it worthwhile to
Read your missives
So here we are getting ****** every night
Blaming fate for our misery when the bitter truth is we’re not talented enough to be
Recognized
For some reason, we continue to write for
We know what else to do; reflect on that we
Know God is punishing us for sins we were not aware of, as we ****** our way through life

The Lay of the Land
If my thoughts had wings
Or better still, had arrows and a bow
To pierce your heart
You will open your emerald eyes
As only seen in the sea of Greenland
Seek my embrace
We will be the sky and the earth
Filling the air with fog
Before we make love
Our Titanic love is too great for
Sluggish humanity to clasp
Kiss me slowly, caress me long
we will purify a putrefied world.

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

The lonely heart

This loneliness is eating me up
we are miserable in different rooms 
words have been spoken over and over again
what more is there to say
other than platitudes 
When *** died, our love died too
The only thing we have in common
is the fear of being alone 
At night, I sneak into her bedroom
to see if she is still breathing
when I'm half awake
I know she is checking up on me
We need each other as never before
can one say this is a kind of love

The Lost Tribe

Holocaust, this tragic word, millions of lives lost in its
name, and it has not ended. This time,
it is the
Palestinians who are victims of a people
who have learned only one lesson to survive
one has to be
**** and able to tell lies and
cynically play on Europe’s common guilt.
****** wasn’t able to remove the Jews; we Christians
wouldn’t let him.
The people of Israel have taken it upon themselves to
emulate their former tormentors,
will not be able to eradicate the Palestinians
we, the despised and cowardly Christians,
will not let them.
The raw disregard the Israelites show against their Semitic Brothers borders to self-hate; it will corrupt them, and they will sink into nihilism.
Dust upon dust, the story could have been so different hadn’t
they decided that kindness
was a hindrance when creating their tribal paradise.

The magic hour

The day is ending, and time is one hour back, but
the day still serves early twilight
From the window of a tourist resort, I see the mountain range
I lived beyond, in a village with no name.
So many years ago, when thinking about that time
it appears as movies rolled fast forward the seasons
turns into one was it summer or fall?
I had a dog we walked in the woods every day she chased rabbits
I chased dreams like catching the breeze
The dog, tired of chasing bunnies, retired to the verandah
walking alone in the forest was tiresome
I knew of Serengeti in another dale tall yellow grass were
lions spied, crocodiles in the muddy stream, but when
I blinked; the sight had gone, substituted by grazing mules
and wine orchards, beautiful red grapes going nowhere.
The dog resting its head on my thigh, so tired and weary
in the morning, she had gone.
A dream was over; we had both been defeated by old age.
I sold the cottage, but before leaving, I walked up to the hill
to see the ocean I shall not sail on.
But what I have lost will forever be mine to keep.

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

The Mistake

He had been invited for dinner in Peking by a group of business leaders who had invested much money for his venture and success they thought
his fee was too much. I wanted to discuss the matter
He took the plane to Peking
when he landed, it was mid-morning, but there was no one to greet him, which annoyed him
He called his secretary, who apologized that there had been a mistake. What she had meant was a Peking
The Peking Duck in Oslo
He didn’t like to meet those stuffy wealthy people
with their stilted language, instead, he bought a
China’s electric car business gave him pleasure. those idiotic Europeans who bought buying a car
that was made in China
He had intended to sack his secretary, but
pleased with his business acumen, he asked her if she was of a good mother material.

The most important

Fine drizzle over the bay, falling slowly and hesitantly
as preparing for a proper deluge  
Who knows, perhaps it will not happen, and the sun
will shine even if it is a day older
Dry slippery cobblestone pavements for the aged
Since it is Saturday, the ships' tugs are at their anchorage.
as they want to be nearer the shore
One vessel has run out of meat and potatoes, a stable
Diet,  the chief steward, had bought a lot of cakes 
because he was depressed at the time and needed
cheering up
To mollify the crew, he told of a famous woman who
said when the people were hungry, "let them eat cakes."
The crew didn't think that was funny and threatened
to throw him overboard
From the shore came a motorboat  loaded with pears
oranges and cabbage, but no potatoes and no meat
The chief steward was trying to swim ashore

The mule in  Gaza

Slowly, on delicate legs, the last mule
in Gaza, pulling a cart carrying old 
mattresses, broken chairs, and small
shrouds of children to a resting place
Pulling a kart is as easy as there is no 
elevations in Gaza, nor is there 
a succulent green field where to feed
Who feeds the mule? It can't live on 
spent shells alone, who gives it water
to drink, can it be Hamas, who see in
the mule: the long dream of freedom
We all have dreams, the mule's easy
a green field of luscious green grass.

The  Necktie

He woke up fully dressed, minus his tie, in the lumpy bed
of a third-rate hotel, which had a fridge beside the TV
The last semi-civilized place, one up from sleeping rough 
The room reeked of depravity, and a dusty curtain 
protecting the inhabitants from the cruel world outside
The news was about a woman who struggled with a tie
He sat up, and he had lost his tie
The tie was green with black dots on it, should he ring
the TV station and ask what color the tie is? 
Or should he remorsefully and fearfully sober confess 
to a ****** he could not remember having committed
The fridge rumbled, he got up, opened it, in the hope of 
finding a cold beer; there, wrapped around a bottle 
whisky, a red necktie

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

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 past and the future

A war was coming our way as a patriot, I enlisted
Although I was a bit elderly, I was accepted
sent to a camp, with the rank of sergeant in
charge of the kitchen
When the war ended, I took the bus back to my
village that looked the same as before, and my dog
sat on the steps waiting for me, she wanted to
go for our usual walks in the woods
After half an hour, I called the dog; it was time to
go home, but the dog had disappeared, think she
had run home waiting to let her in, but she and
The village was not there,
Instead of a man with a golf club in his hand, I thought
looked like Trump telling me I was trespassing
But there was a village here, yes, but we got rid of
it when constructing the golf course
He looked at me and said, Are you from the past?
Yes, I am, but this is the future you are in the wrong
place, you'd better go back before your time is over
I walk to where the road and horizon merge







The past and the future

A war was coming our way as a patriot, I enlisted
Although I was a bit elderly, I was accepted
sent to a camp, with the rank of sergeant in
charge of the kitchen
When the war ended, I took the bus back to my
village that looked the same as before, and my dog
sat on the steps waiting for me, she wanted to
go for our usual walks in the woods
After half an hour, I called the dog; it was time to
go home, but the dog had disappeared, think she
had run home waiting to let her in, but she and
The village was not there,
Instead of a man with a golf club in his hand, I thought
looked like Trump telling me I was trespassing
But there was a village here, yes, but we got rid of
it when constructing the golf course
He looked at me and said, Are you from the past?
Yes, I am, but this is the future you are in the wrong
place, you'd better go back before your time is over
I walk to where the road and horizon merge

The pay back

The Adelsons, a rich Jewish family in the USA
Gave millions of dollars to Trump with the understanding of let Israelis move into the West Bank as we see the IDF are moving in there
Killing many, trying to dislodge the Palestinians
It appears what the failed to do in Gaza
The military are now brutalizing the local people, which is against the law, that as we know Israel does not respect

The piano tuner

there used to be a greengrocer on the ground floor
except for potatoes, there was not much call for 
another vegetable, the shop closed a piano tuner rented
the space and partly white-washed the windows
he didn't like to be seen by passers-by 
I sat on the gate into our yard pretending to be a cowboy 
when he asked me to help him in the shop, yes, I was glad 
to help got boring being a cowboy
He sat me on a piano stool, opened up my fly, began
playing with my innocent *****, with his right hand he
wanked himself, I was too petrified in fear I didn't
run away; when he *******, he dried himself with a hanky
in his pocket and, in a brusque manner, told me to leave
Outside, it took me a while to realize this man was a pig
but I was too ashamed to tell anyone and instead went
up to our flat opened a book by Robert Louis Stevenson
and began reading about islands and bright light

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.

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

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

The Room

Many hospitals have a room away from the daily hustle and bustle of accidents and ill health
A room that has comfortable deep chairs, where the light is not bright, nor is too hot or too cold, staffed by top professional nurses
Here they can come, those with chronic pain
And those who cannot be cured, can sit pain-free for some hours, and sink into a mild euphoria
This room has no place for religion or fear
of Darkness, a blessed room for those modern medicine can do no more

The scent of the sonnet

I was watching a TV program about Hercules Poirot
the heroine in
the plot had no **** and wore an evening dress with aplomb….
Clearly, she had not sat on a carpet
in the forest of spring, where the animal of love roams it is
green as spring grass has a pink underbelly that looks like a purring
cat or a puppy that softly barks. It droplets of scents
that makes lovers enamored for a day or s
there is always a tomorrow of regrets for some.

If the woman with small **** happens to sit on a carpet in
the glade she will fall in love and pad her bra
and that is so why should she not enhance her lack of this
bagatelle when there are tringles of love in the air
and if this does not help, there is always divorce
a more lonely man is satisfied with a triangle

the shock 

72%  of the inhabitants of Israel
Approve of Netanyahu's treatment of 
the people of Gaza
One supposes their TV shoves the same
horror as we see  
It is as the people of Israel are beset by
an inner truth that destroys their soul
and lead them into self-destruction 
For, we need a long spoon when 
dealing with Israel

The Tariffs
here we go again, in a strong country where most workers are not unionized, but the rich are and the working class has to pay for the wealthy’s expenses, this time in the form of tariffs those who have the business of production can reduce the local market’s cost, but they will not instead, they will jack up their prices because we live in a free society where the lower order has little influence to demand better pay
There will be demonstrations against hard times, the strikers will be vilified as enemies of freedom, thrown into jail on fake charges, and called renegades, and the press will tell us they  are betrayers of the American way  
Yes, we have seen this before in other countries in another time, but the outcome is always more poverty, when the people are subdued and real freedom fighters are shot on the streets or, on the tabernacle of progress, peace bitter peace will ensue until the state collapses into a civil war

The tree of ages
There had been a storm, not a squall, making it difficult
to walk from the supermarket to your car, leaving you
with tussled hair and breathless, no this was
the real thing, the holm oak, crashed to the ground
roots and all blocking the road.
It was an old tree that had lost weight and bark slung around
it was like a poorly fitted mechanic's overall, so it had to happen
it was what ensued after the fall, and it had to move
still alive, they cut it in half and pushed it aside with
a forklift truck, no ceremony here, no kind words, the tree
was blocking the traffic; not a word of regret, you see,
hadn't it been for the storm, the tree was well enough to
stand by the entrance to the lane for 100 years to come.

The Valley of the Forbidden

Sat under an oak in the valley of the naked woman
admiring her rounded *******, a malevolent oak
took offence, not that I minded, after all, it had been
at the same spot for a hundred years, long before the valley had a name.
Suddenly, the tree slapped me
a leathery branch
Oh, pain makes me strong
I forgave the oak and
thought of the pope who, every Thursday evening 
flagellated himself, in remembrance
of the day
When he was training for the priesthood, he nearly lost 
His manhood to the cleaning lady
The Valley of the Naked Woman has a hidden fountain
is guarded by thorny thistles and impotent apple trees 
Those who have drunk her loveliness will never be
sane again, loll in the sunlight of lost ambition
The wicked eye of the oak kept glaring when I hugged 
An olive tree, the oak knew I was a lover of the ethical.

The Wardrobe

I opened the wardrobe door
There they hang, suits and trousers
worn so long, looking pale
copies of my figure
This can't go on, in a fit of self-anger
I gave my old clothes to the Salvation Army
Too much textile is a burden  
In a suitable shop, I bought a pair of jeans
and a matching jacket
Feeling adventurous, I walked out looking
For a mule, horses are too tall, began
Exploring the landscape of dreams

The weight
He had written two short books
needed to show her his work,
Not now, she said, I’m watching TV
Around the beam that keeps the heaven’s roof from falling,
He slung a rope fastened to a scrap iron drum using
Himself as a counterweight.
He hoisted the drum up, but he was too heavy
He carried too much weight of pride.
He cried in the night, struggled to get rid of unwanted feelings
The drum becomes lighter and descends until
He was lifted to the top of the beam, feeling free
Of false pride and ambition.
Why did you cry so much in the night? they asked
He smiled and was at ease with himself and didn’t answer.

The wish

The face on the mirror scoffs at me
I’m an illusion and cannot die
Yet, I see him late at night, watching
“a house on the prairie.” crying
Sentimental fool
Wishes he was me on a bright day
When the mirror is in the shade
as I leave the mirror whisper, why
can't you be like Elon Musk he is
only scared of his father

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

Morning poem
From a prince’s shining light will it be possible to see the beginning of the day as it was before dawn the moment before it was unkissed by anyone but you before life began as the story go And no one knew what to say about the day
Before anything was born leaving the darkness behind like an unwanted dream of what was before the light was born
Is it not possible to see what life was before the mountain kissed the shore unseen by anyone but you not yet awake to understand the wonder of a new day so never mind the light if you have seen the beginning of the day the last kiss before I die
I shall say no more.

This and that and the Guardian

I read on -x and -----I read on Facebook of people writing stating their opinions about his and that no come thinks we are at the brink of war because
of wrongly accepted hinder a monologue
That can bring an understanding of opponents' dream of peace, they are ready to go to nuclear war to preserve because they know whatever comes next is the oblivion of the human race
A leading newspaper knows if the man who writes an ad kisses the woman who is a consultant are kissing or not, and we know those people have not noticed their world is lost
It is not about office furniture or about food cooked by overpromoted cooks who tell us what we should eat and admire them at the same time for the simple art of boiling potatoes is made is art
We have lost the reality that it is not about grades but a ticket to connections by who gets in to are made in the fairy land

thoughts in the night



The wind is terrible, races around like a drunken

dervish hollering in the night, but when tired of

This needless validating of masculinity it became

quiet; to let my thoughts and worries take over

Simple things at first, should I put the chicken soup

in the fridge, although the soup was still tepid

Of course, the soup was a ruse to stop me thinking

of my declining health, nerve pains, and so on

My doctor, a lovely woman of 48, asks me about

drinking, I tell her I drink red wine between ten at

night to eleven, then I go to bed

She looks out of the window, tries not to smile

Clearly, she doesn't believe me, but it happens to

be true but I see she thinks I'm eccentric

all this is a prelude, to my thoughts about death

will it be painful struggling for air, or will it be

mild like going to sleep and not waking up again

Whatever happens, I will not be able to write or

Make a drama of my death

I throw this to you
Can it be that Israel
Have been used as
attack Dog
To further the US
interest
in the Middle East

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

The Titan

They say he is a callous narcissist, all great men in our civilizations were self-focused it is what made them hated by some and loved by others We are confronted with a person who only appears when history demands a change, who thinks the impossible can come through
People ask, is he evil or a demi-god? No, he is a man whose vision stretches into the future and beyond, while we think of what’s for lunch
The problem is he burns the candle at both ends should he burn out and disappear, he will leave us the power to think practically, but also to dream, which is the tool for the development of mankind, to the point, that we too can become masters of our destiny
His enemies are many they will try to thwart his moves, even try the law, to imprison him, send him to an island to silence him, or perhaps have
him silenced by a paid assassin's marksman ship They say he is rich like that was a sin his wealth is abstract as he uses his money for the good of us, money is a tool to reach his goals, that’s we the people who see his foresight must be vigilant and let him work his magic

to a vegan be

We humans can be good for wild animals
Their life of surviving hides hearts of love
by showing empathy and understanding
They can change and show utter devotion
to a human who loves them back
and lessen the struggle for survival,
to be on their guard where there is aggression
is the only emotion allowed
When an animal feels that way, its love
is timeless, you are a liberator
A question remains: how can a man eat
burgers when knowing a cow was killed
to sate our appetite for meat.

To Know Without Knowing

Red moss, crimson as the blood of a slaughtered calf,
I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
where or when. To see a landscape painting, knowing
I had been there before
In the Valley of Cobblers, children ran barefoot on
summer grass and scented wildflowers
unpasteurized milk, and healthy, innocent laughter.
I know this to be true, but I don’t know why.
I think of reindeer; will they eat red moss used
as they are to the grey variety? The sun keeps shining
like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
The good earth is dry and waits for rain
The Red Moss is a forgotten love story. Perhaps
if I sit still long enough and wait
I will remember it.

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