Food for Thoughts.
Five Spanish tomatoes on a chopping board,
four were used in a salad, the fifth was put
on a saucer and placed in the fridge, behind
a red skinned, well mannered, Edam cheese,
and a cheeky Danish blue.
When found, a month later, it was wrinkled,
shrunken and had grown a grey flecked beard;
flung into the bin with potato peel and curled
up lettuce leaves; where it bitterly murmured:
longevity! What’s the point?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Haiku (late summer)
Haiku (Late Summer)
Indian summer,
Is an actor who won’t share
Limelight with autumn.
Reluctant to leave
Summer clings to soil and trees
Blowing empty heat.
Clouds on a blue sky
Soon cooling rain ill fall
Hose summer away.
Indian summer,
Is an actor who won’t share
Limelight with autumn.
Reluctant to leave
Summer clings to soil and trees
Blowing empty heat.
Clouds on a blue sky
Soon cooling rain ill fall
Hose summer away.
Jan Oskar hansen on Wikipedia
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JAN OSKAR HANSEN
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Poet, story teller and seafarer,born in Stavanger, Norway
Jan Oskar Hansen joined the merchant navy at 15 and spent most of his life at sea until settling in the early 90's in Portugal. His poetry has been widely published in hard copy and online worldwide.
Contents[hide]
1 PUBLISHED COLLECTIONS:
2 MAGAZINES:
3 ANTHOLOGIES:
4 ONLINE:
5 REVIEWS (excerpts):
//
[edit] PUBLISHED COLLECTIONS:
Include Letters from Portugal (BeWrite Books, UK 2003), Lunch in Denmark (Lightningsource, UK 2005) and La Strada (Lapwing, Belfast 2006). Both Letters from Portugal and Lunch in Denmark are available at amazon.com.
[edit] MAGAZINES:
His poems have been published in over 20 literary magazines worldwide, includingHudson Review, USASkyline, USASkald, WalesLa rue Bella, EnglandThe Bards, EnglandWar is a dangerous place, EnglandARS Poetica India, IndiaMetvere Muse, IndiaPoets International, IndiaBraquemard, EnglandFvirefly Magazine, USAPphoo, IndiaTaj Mahal Review, IndiaRemark Magazine, USA
Journal Of Anglo-Scandianvian Poetry, England
[edit] ANTHOLOGIES:
His poems appear in the following anthologies:Shaken & Stirred (Bewrite Books, UK, 2003)Routes – Twelve Poets (Bewrite Books, UK, 2004)A Road Less Traveled (Bewrite Books, UK, 2005)Poetry from the Far Corners (Bewrite Books, UK, 2005)Listening to the birth of crystal (Paulapublishing, 2004) EnglandPeoplespoet 2 (Paulapublishing, 2005) EnglandThe Black Mountain Review, IrelandThe Review of contemporary poetry (Bluechrome, 2005) England
The book of hopes and dreams (Bluechrome, 2006) England
[edit] ONLINE:
The poet’s work appears in many literary collections and journals online,such as http://home.earthlink.net/~mjoneve/6sub.html Poetry Soul to Soul,http://www.othervoicespoetry.org/vol4/hansen/index.html Other Voices,http://www.literati-magazine.com/magazine_features/winter05/poetry/jan-hansen.html Literati,http://www.art-arena.com/johansen.htm World Poems/Art Arena,http://poetryinacup.org/janoskarhansen/ Poetry in a Cup,http://www.interpoetry.com/janoskarhansen6.html Interpoetry,and many others. He is a resident poet at http://poetrychambers.blogspot.com/ AucklandPoetry.com.
A name search will bring you to more of the poet's work online and to links to his books.
[edit] REVIEWS (excerpts):
Kathryn McL. Collins for BeWrite Books http://www.bewrite.net/merchant2/4.00/merchant.mv?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=B&Product_Code=1-904492-18-5&Category_Code=PO
"Jan Oskar Hansen’s attitudes are evident in his poetry: his wish that people were kinder and gentler; his abhorrence of war, his sense of humour about the senseless things people, including himself, have done. But it’s his love of plants, animals and all of nature - such a great admiration that he often uses personification, giving nature human qualities and emotions in his poems—that is most evident. Perhaps it’s this quality - along with a tongue-in-cheek sense of humour - that makes his poems so unique and endearing. Letters from Portugal is divided into six chapters: On Love, On War, On People, On Poetry, Hansen Snapshots, and Letters from Portugal: actual letters from the poet to his editor.
"There's something for everyone here - even those who aren't frequent readers of poetry will be moved by Hansen's passion, amused by his sarcasm, and delighted by his ability to paint pictures of the simple things in ordinary life - making them extraordinary."
Tony Lewis-Jones, Bristol Evening Post (June 25, 2003)”Jan Oskar Hansen writes with an openness and simplicity which will refresh the most jaded of palates. His extraordinary achievement in Letters from Portugal ranks him as an important new voice in global poetry.”
Joneve McCormick, Writer’s Cramp (November, 2006)“A merchant seaman for many years, widely-read, open and willing to be known, the poet imparts to his work the depth and range of one who has traveled the seven seas of his inner and outer worlds. Some words and phrases used to describe his poems include: witty, entertaining, loving, bawdy, profound, erotic, very accessible, told by a born story teller and politically incorrect. He is a born poet and a well-disciplined professional, adept at integrating his mixes of reality and fantasy, metaphor and simile into creations that seem to effortlessly capture the human experience with simple and stunning originality. He removes the masks of ordinariness from his subjects and engages his readers on many levels.”
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Tuesday, January 30, 2007
old friend gone
Old Friend Gone.
My old friend died suddenly, we used to go
drinking a lot when young, lately, however
I hadn’t seen much of him, as we get older
we ought to look after our friends they slip
away so easily. At the cemetery they took
the lid of the casket so we could have a last
look, peaceful, god had given him an easy
death; I could read in the faces of other old
men, dark dread; soon it would be one of
us, forever silent in a casket. The funereal
had sharpened my senses children’s voices,
from the playground, and birdsong; spring
air clear, and I could see the hazy mountain
of my dreams and yearnings.
My old friend died suddenly, we used to go
drinking a lot when young, lately, however
I hadn’t seen much of him, as we get older
we ought to look after our friends they slip
away so easily. At the cemetery they took
the lid of the casket so we could have a last
look, peaceful, god had given him an easy
death; I could read in the faces of other old
men, dark dread; soon it would be one of
us, forever silent in a casket. The funereal
had sharpened my senses children’s voices,
from the playground, and birdsong; spring
air clear, and I could see the hazy mountain
of my dreams and yearnings.
The wide Road
The Wide Road
This olive grove has been here for generations
the old couple who now pick olive, used to
play around the tree when their parents did
what they are doing now, an endless cycle of
toil and oil. But a motorway is slowly coming
this way under an orgy of cement and asphalt
land, almond trees and farms quickly disappear
it is as it never existed; and before you know
it the grove too will be gone and forgotten, for
now, like the roman roads, this motorway will,
in time break up be a faint scar in the landscape
and used as building material by the rightful
owners of this land and time will, as it always
has done, rectify human foolishness.
This olive grove has been here for generations
the old couple who now pick olive, used to
play around the tree when their parents did
what they are doing now, an endless cycle of
toil and oil. But a motorway is slowly coming
this way under an orgy of cement and asphalt
land, almond trees and farms quickly disappear
it is as it never existed; and before you know
it the grove too will be gone and forgotten, for
now, like the roman roads, this motorway will,
in time break up be a faint scar in the landscape
and used as building material by the rightful
owners of this land and time will, as it always
has done, rectify human foolishness.
the difference love makes
The difference love makes.
They called you a tart, I defended you
said you’re a free spirit, and the laughed
with my ox hide whip I chased liars and
thieves out of the bar…and we became
lovers. You didn’t stop this free spirited
behaviour, disappeared for days untidy
came home smelling of other men; my
sophistication crumbled I struck out and
it all ended; strange really hadn’t I loved
you, we could have become great friends.
They called you a tart, I defended you
said you’re a free spirit, and the laughed
with my ox hide whip I chased liars and
thieves out of the bar…and we became
lovers. You didn’t stop this free spirited
behaviour, disappeared for days untidy
came home smelling of other men; my
sophistication crumbled I struck out and
it all ended; strange really hadn’t I loved
you, we could have become great friends.
the striker
The Striker.
When death stalks, near the houses, it makes
us into ghosts that fearsome hide in shadows
as not to be seen, lest it should cast a viscous
eye upon us…and how wrong we are.
It is the light we should seek; celebrate spring,
chase death down the vale, throw into the sea
where it can drown in is own un-deadly- ness;
so we can, for a moment, feel immortal.
When death stalks, near the houses, it makes
us into ghosts that fearsome hide in shadows
as not to be seen, lest it should cast a viscous
eye upon us…and how wrong we are.
It is the light we should seek; celebrate spring,
chase death down the vale, throw into the sea
where it can drown in is own un-deadly- ness;
so we can, for a moment, feel immortal.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Cupid
Cupid?
On this cold February day wind blows from
the North and my almond tree sings of love,
unfulfilled and lost affection and undefined
longings; in the tree’s case not being able
to move, standing still all day with roots, not
entwined with the one you love, but to, say,
a staid olive perennial, gnarled and ugly to
look at. It hopes that its song and words of
love will be heard by the slender almond tree
in the next field, the one that wears pink
flowers, now in spring and stands too close
to a pompous oak where stygian ravens live.
Fret not my tree I’ve heard your words and
and will relay your message at twilight time.
On this cold February day wind blows from
the North and my almond tree sings of love,
unfulfilled and lost affection and undefined
longings; in the tree’s case not being able
to move, standing still all day with roots, not
entwined with the one you love, but to, say,
a staid olive perennial, gnarled and ugly to
look at. It hopes that its song and words of
love will be heard by the slender almond tree
in the next field, the one that wears pink
flowers, now in spring and stands too close
to a pompous oak where stygian ravens live.
Fret not my tree I’ve heard your words and
and will relay your message at twilight time.
big city night
Big City Night
Saw a painting once, a man in a brown suit
and hat, sat by the counter, in a café eating
a late night meal; the man looked city lonely
rented room, neon light outside his window
Steamed up café window shadowy figures
moving slowly, this misty evening when
traffic is subdued, and it’s my turn to eat
a late meal and leaf through a newspapers
a guest left behind before going to his rented
room looking out of his window seeing
a neon light that reflects itself on wet asphalt
to it’s run over by a yellow cab.
Saw a painting once, a man in a brown suit
and hat, sat by the counter, in a café eating
a late night meal; the man looked city lonely
rented room, neon light outside his window
Steamed up café window shadowy figures
moving slowly, this misty evening when
traffic is subdued, and it’s my turn to eat
a late meal and leaf through a newspapers
a guest left behind before going to his rented
room looking out of his window seeing
a neon light that reflects itself on wet asphalt
to it’s run over by a yellow cab.
Evening.
The sky is pale blue and afar, a few dank clouds
hang about, too frozen to move; twilight walks
across the land and soon the ruin across the road
will look mysterious and unsold.
Work, done, hours of dreams have only produced
a few meager words, looking tiny and trite on paper;
there is no escape only a lines between me and
the cold enormity of the winter sky.
The sky is pale blue and afar, a few dank clouds
hang about, too frozen to move; twilight walks
across the land and soon the ruin across the road
will look mysterious and unsold.
Work, done, hours of dreams have only produced
a few meager words, looking tiny and trite on paper;
there is no escape only a lines between me and
the cold enormity of the winter sky.
On the Reef.
Long, our voyages, across many oceans,
sailing in a fortune for the shipping nobility
not that we minded, both them and the state
told us how good we’re and we walked tall
and were honest. It began as a faint rumour
a whispering cloud of discontent, we’re to
demanding our income too high, seafarers
from third world countries could do our job
for less than half the price. Clouds became
a thunderstorm and when weather cleared
we were ashore were we walked close to
buildings as we met no sympathy by those
who read how good our life had been; and
many drowned in the big swells of neglect
Long, our voyages, across many oceans,
sailing in a fortune for the shipping nobility
not that we minded, both them and the state
told us how good we’re and we walked tall
and were honest. It began as a faint rumour
a whispering cloud of discontent, we’re to
demanding our income too high, seafarers
from third world countries could do our job
for less than half the price. Clouds became
a thunderstorm and when weather cleared
we were ashore were we walked close to
buildings as we met no sympathy by those
who read how good our life had been; and
many drowned in the big swells of neglect
prisoner of war
Prisoners of War.
It has been, there under the surface of awareness,
a memory that called to be clearly remembered,
I could not stop it growing from a vague outline
to a cinema screen clarity
1944, as a five years old, I used to give scraps of
food to Russian prisoner, near our farm; they in
turn gave me wooden toys.
One February day, as I walked there as usual the gate
was wide open, prisoners lay on the ground, and
I heard twigs snap.
It began to snow and it didn’t melt when landing on
white faces; unable to move, stood there till bodies
were covered by a shroud of snow… and endless was
the stillness.
A man came, walked me back to the farm, never told
anyone what I had seen, perhaps the farmer knew
he spoke of nightmares.
It has been, there under the surface of awareness,
a memory that called to be clearly remembered,
I could not stop it growing from a vague outline
to a cinema screen clarity
1944, as a five years old, I used to give scraps of
food to Russian prisoner, near our farm; they in
turn gave me wooden toys.
One February day, as I walked there as usual the gate
was wide open, prisoners lay on the ground, and
I heard twigs snap.
It began to snow and it didn’t melt when landing on
white faces; unable to move, stood there till bodies
were covered by a shroud of snow… and endless was
the stillness.
A man came, walked me back to the farm, never told
anyone what I had seen, perhaps the farmer knew
he spoke of nightmares.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
senryu
Senryu
A muscular weed
Outside a greenhouse
Is a spirit free.
Senryu
Tired flowers
Fade in a crystal vase
Binned tomorrow
Senryu
A cushy orchid
Hothouse warm and snug
Seeks no freedom.
A muscular weed
Outside a greenhouse
Is a spirit free.
Senryu
Tired flowers
Fade in a crystal vase
Binned tomorrow
Senryu
A cushy orchid
Hothouse warm and snug
Seeks no freedom.
fadin phantomes
Fading Phantoms
To get into the flat, from the communal hallway, I had
to go through the kitchen; empty, cooker, fridge gone,
the living room was bare too furniture and travel books
dumped on the rubbish tip by people who didn’t care to
know how other folks live. No curtains, a shaft of light,
unnerving silence, a hum that never changes beat; began
when man picked an apple from a juicy tree and learned
there is no free lunch and had to leave the enchanted, go
plough meager soil; the hum will end when last man has
gone and the light is switched off again.
On the floor black framed a leaflet, psalms suitable for
funereal: “Take my hand lord and lead me from
darkness to light” it struck me that the people I knew
as a child, are now dead and forgotten, in my memory
too, they are hazy figures; also the family ghost that
used to open doors, blow cold air when I was alone,
has left. Dropped the leaflet on the floor, which creaked
as the burden of this world’s travail rested on it planks,
so I left, didn’t close any doors, what’s the use, you see,
my past is a dream and abstract is my future.
To get into the flat, from the communal hallway, I had
to go through the kitchen; empty, cooker, fridge gone,
the living room was bare too furniture and travel books
dumped on the rubbish tip by people who didn’t care to
know how other folks live. No curtains, a shaft of light,
unnerving silence, a hum that never changes beat; began
when man picked an apple from a juicy tree and learned
there is no free lunch and had to leave the enchanted, go
plough meager soil; the hum will end when last man has
gone and the light is switched off again.
On the floor black framed a leaflet, psalms suitable for
funereal: “Take my hand lord and lead me from
darkness to light” it struck me that the people I knew
as a child, are now dead and forgotten, in my memory
too, they are hazy figures; also the family ghost that
used to open doors, blow cold air when I was alone,
has left. Dropped the leaflet on the floor, which creaked
as the burden of this world’s travail rested on it planks,
so I left, didn’t close any doors, what’s the use, you see,
my past is a dream and abstract is my future.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
innocence
Innocence
Naked I a walked down the town’s avenue
modestly held, the spring flowering twig, of
an almond tree, in front of me. Aware of my
vulnerability I scanned the eyes of passer byes,
not a flicker of surprise (was I not miffed?)
Everything went well confident again I could
smile to the world. At the fruit and vegetable
market, a throng of people, I bought a pound of
new potatoes, (try sauté them in real butter)
but since I didn’t carry a wallet gave the kind
lady my flowering twig. Turmoil, a naked man
amongst us…and cold too by the looks of it;
derisive laughter. Tied to a donkey and pelted
with rotten fruit, slapped by leeks and celery,
I was chased out of town and into thorny bushes
Naked I a walked down the town’s avenue
modestly held, the spring flowering twig, of
an almond tree, in front of me. Aware of my
vulnerability I scanned the eyes of passer byes,
not a flicker of surprise (was I not miffed?)
Everything went well confident again I could
smile to the world. At the fruit and vegetable
market, a throng of people, I bought a pound of
new potatoes, (try sauté them in real butter)
but since I didn’t carry a wallet gave the kind
lady my flowering twig. Turmoil, a naked man
amongst us…and cold too by the looks of it;
derisive laughter. Tied to a donkey and pelted
with rotten fruit, slapped by leeks and celery,
I was chased out of town and into thorny bushes
Not a Janus Mask
Not a Janus Mask.
Drank wine and was dizzy for day, the African mask
on the wall, woke to life, drumbeat, coconut oil and
rum, said it was guys like me, Nordic missionary types,
who had robbed him of dignity, land and language.
“But I have never been to Africa.” “Doesn’t matter
you are guilty by your society’s insensitivities to other
cultures, and as you are a European, also anti Semitic,
especially if you criticize Israel.
“I resent what you said, but I defend your right to say
it,” I uttered and offered the mask a glass of wine;
which it declined, but whispered, under my breath,
that it is difficult to be racial offensive to someone
who is confident and proud of his ancestors travail.
“That remark shows how little you understand,” said
the mask and spoke no more. Soundless, empty eyes,
black as night, a soul had spoken, but not in vain.
Drank wine and was dizzy for day, the African mask
on the wall, woke to life, drumbeat, coconut oil and
rum, said it was guys like me, Nordic missionary types,
who had robbed him of dignity, land and language.
“But I have never been to Africa.” “Doesn’t matter
you are guilty by your society’s insensitivities to other
cultures, and as you are a European, also anti Semitic,
especially if you criticize Israel.
“I resent what you said, but I defend your right to say
it,” I uttered and offered the mask a glass of wine;
which it declined, but whispered, under my breath,
that it is difficult to be racial offensive to someone
who is confident and proud of his ancestors travail.
“That remark shows how little you understand,” said
the mask and spoke no more. Soundless, empty eyes,
black as night, a soul had spoken, but not in vain.
Prey for the Hunter
Somewhere in Texas people with guns, they
don’t often get to use, pay good money to
hunt semi feral, free range pigs; easy target
fat and white, just wait behind a bush and
your killer instinct will soon be sated.
In case you have wondered, there are black
pigs too, but they are not hunted, one has to
be careful these days, not to upset minorities;
they are, however, rounded up and clubbed
their meat is of great gourmet quality
Somewhere in Texas people with guns, they
don’t often get to use, pay good money to
hunt semi feral, free range pigs; easy target
fat and white, just wait behind a bush and
your killer instinct will soon be sated.
In case you have wondered, there are black
pigs too, but they are not hunted, one has to
be careful these days, not to upset minorities;
they are, however, rounded up and clubbed
their meat is of great gourmet quality
a hanging offence
A Hanging Offence.
The Iraqi woman living in exile, in Jordan,
with her two handicapped daughters, said:
“Under Saddam healthcare was universal,
the Americans don’t tell you that.”
She, just doesn’t get it, “free health care”
is undemocratic in a free society, it robs
private health industry of the right to make
money out of our common frailties.
The Iraqi woman living in exile, in Jordan,
with her two handicapped daughters, said:
“Under Saddam healthcare was universal,
the Americans don’t tell you that.”
She, just doesn’t get it, “free health care”
is undemocratic in a free society, it robs
private health industry of the right to make
money out of our common frailties.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Tanka
Tanka (Self Portrait)
Tanned, aged face
Narrow, autocratic lips
Faded blue eyes
A hardening of sentiment
I am a powerless tyrant.
Tanka
Saddam Hussein
Hanged a thousand times
Hard dark eyes
Taunted by the small people
Died as he lived, no regrets.
Tanned, aged face
Narrow, autocratic lips
Faded blue eyes
A hardening of sentiment
I am a powerless tyrant.
Tanka
Saddam Hussein
Hanged a thousand times
Hard dark eyes
Taunted by the small people
Died as he lived, no regrets.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The inebriate (tanka Style)
The Inebriate (Tanka Style)
He shivered
Melancholy of soberness
Looked cold too
Gave him an army overcoat
He was grateful for that
Many weeks later
Sad look gone, he was drunk
Called me a poofter
No, I wasn’t infuriated
Philanthropy is easy.
He shivered
Melancholy of soberness
Looked cold too
Gave him an army overcoat
He was grateful for that
Many weeks later
Sad look gone, he was drunk
Called me a poofter
No, I wasn’t infuriated
Philanthropy is easy.
Tanka
Tanka.
Talk to the net
Listen to the faint echo,
Of virtual droning,
The unspoken loneliness,
Of dreamers caught in a void.
Tanka.
I have traveled long
Blessed by Gobi’s new moon
Bit by scorpions Voyagers of the Oceans
Seen tall ships sail up said down
But, found my way back to you
Tanka.
I have voyaged long
Sailed across seven seas
Canoed great rivers
Humiliated by the infamous
This I did and you married Fred!
Talk to the net
Listen to the faint echo,
Of virtual droning,
The unspoken loneliness,
Of dreamers caught in a void.
Tanka.
I have traveled long
Blessed by Gobi’s new moon
Bit by scorpions Voyagers of the Oceans
Seen tall ships sail up said down
But, found my way back to you
Tanka.
I have voyaged long
Sailed across seven seas
Canoed great rivers
Humiliated by the infamous
This I did and you married Fred!
Tom, the navigator
Tom, the Navigator
My friend, the first officer, Tom was an heroic looking
navigator, wide legged he stood, as on a heaving deck,
and a rolling gate that attracted the girls; soon he would
be captain on his own ship. But Tom had a dream he
wanted to be a lawyer, a spokesman for the deprived,
so back to university he went studying law.
Years later when I saw Tom again he was defending
a drunk who had fallen asleep in a car not his, magisterial
he was, only his client, now sober, looked embarrassed,
the judge bored, both wished he would come to the point.
No cases had come his way to catch the eye of the press,
aged and ponderous, yet still he waits for his big break.
Tom, the blessed, man lives a dream protected by grand
illusions, so what if he is a lousy lawyer?
My friend, the first officer, Tom was an heroic looking
navigator, wide legged he stood, as on a heaving deck,
and a rolling gate that attracted the girls; soon he would
be captain on his own ship. But Tom had a dream he
wanted to be a lawyer, a spokesman for the deprived,
so back to university he went studying law.
Years later when I saw Tom again he was defending
a drunk who had fallen asleep in a car not his, magisterial
he was, only his client, now sober, looked embarrassed,
the judge bored, both wished he would come to the point.
No cases had come his way to catch the eye of the press,
aged and ponderous, yet still he waits for his big break.
Tom, the blessed, man lives a dream protected by grand
illusions, so what if he is a lousy lawyer?
Sunday, January 21, 2007
romance on the high seas
Romance on the high Seas.
Met her in an ice cream parlour at the beginning
of Saint Laurent’s street, Montreal, where houses
were modest and people spoke French, yes, it was
a fine day in May. Her name was Lisa and she had
a mystic smile; we went for a walk, soon our hands
were entwined. Saint Laurent is a long street, and we
strolled to where houses are big, have shards of glass
on top of walls, “Beware of the dog” on iron gates;
farmland, trees, grazing cattle and cute horses; then we
ambled back to the part where they spoke French.
In a gift shop I bought her a humble ring, it was small,
but she put it on her little finger, we agreed to meet
again when my ship returned, in a month or so, alas,
the ship sailed for Europe and it was summer time.
Twenty years is a long time, many people had died
the world was renewing itself, I was now master of
my own ship and finally docked in Montreal. Walked
the long street again, so much had changed, modest
houses gone, office blocks instead, the great houses
further up were now boardinghouses, full of people
trying to learn English, and the farm land, exclusive
suburbia, two cars in each driveway. Asked a lady,
out walking her dog, if she was Lisa, surprised, she
said yes and I told her my story, she wore a ring on
her little finger, perhaps it was mine. “Lovely tale”
she said,” but I’m not the Lisa you knew.” Wished
me luck, walked her way. Four golden rings on a blue
uniform, futile now that I shan’t see Lisa again.
Met her in an ice cream parlour at the beginning
of Saint Laurent’s street, Montreal, where houses
were modest and people spoke French, yes, it was
a fine day in May. Her name was Lisa and she had
a mystic smile; we went for a walk, soon our hands
were entwined. Saint Laurent is a long street, and we
strolled to where houses are big, have shards of glass
on top of walls, “Beware of the dog” on iron gates;
farmland, trees, grazing cattle and cute horses; then we
ambled back to the part where they spoke French.
In a gift shop I bought her a humble ring, it was small,
but she put it on her little finger, we agreed to meet
again when my ship returned, in a month or so, alas,
the ship sailed for Europe and it was summer time.
Twenty years is a long time, many people had died
the world was renewing itself, I was now master of
my own ship and finally docked in Montreal. Walked
the long street again, so much had changed, modest
houses gone, office blocks instead, the great houses
further up were now boardinghouses, full of people
trying to learn English, and the farm land, exclusive
suburbia, two cars in each driveway. Asked a lady,
out walking her dog, if she was Lisa, surprised, she
said yes and I told her my story, she wore a ring on
her little finger, perhaps it was mine. “Lovely tale”
she said,” but I’m not the Lisa you knew.” Wished
me luck, walked her way. Four golden rings on a blue
uniform, futile now that I shan’t see Lisa again.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
senryu
Senryu
Old married couple
For forty years she spoke
Now both are silent
Senryu
Autumnal leaf fell
But thanks to the violinist
I didn’t hear it.
Senryu
I single blade of grass.
Can keep a brown ant happy
For several days.
Senryu
Darksome afternoon sky
Left umbrella in the hall
Bravely walked out
Old married couple
For forty years she spoke
Now both are silent
Senryu
Autumnal leaf fell
But thanks to the violinist
I didn’t hear it.
Senryu
I single blade of grass.
Can keep a brown ant happy
For several days.
Senryu
Darksome afternoon sky
Left umbrella in the hall
Bravely walked out
peace in our lifetime
Peace in our Lifetime
Hot day, glad to see the sun sink into
the westerly sea, I couldn’t care less
that it made the heavens into a giant
nursery, with pink teddies…smiling,
to no one in particular.
She pointed her tiny fingers upward
and was in awe, I saw only the sea,
red as blood; yes, she will live to see
any more wars before she got old as
me; I sang her a lullaby.
Hot day, glad to see the sun sink into
the westerly sea, I couldn’t care less
that it made the heavens into a giant
nursery, with pink teddies…smiling,
to no one in particular.
She pointed her tiny fingers upward
and was in awe, I saw only the sea,
red as blood; yes, she will live to see
any more wars before she got old as
me; I sang her a lullaby.
old peoples' paradise
Old Peoples Paradise
The weather in and around the square was tepid,
in the public toilet a group of old men masturbated
as they showed each other pornographic pictures
of young people copulating. In the square fat, old
women naked and with a dildo around their necks,
sat on benches with their legs splayed apart, their
clitorises hang outside the vagina looking like erect
cocks of manikins. Permanently dissolute, they
stuck their tongues out beckoned to me to come lick
their leaking, garage sized Fannies.
The place reeked of musty bodies and clouds were
sheets, dripping urine. The grotesque ensemble got
up, obscenely wriggled obese behinds and bellies,
roomy enough to hide an elephant, and dangling,
empty breasts, danced, and wished me welcome to
the old folks Eden. I tried to run, but my years was
catching up with me; nearer they came, made a dash
for it to the public toilet, were I joined the old men
who were dreaming of fucking nubile girls of forty.
The weather in and around the square was tepid,
in the public toilet a group of old men masturbated
as they showed each other pornographic pictures
of young people copulating. In the square fat, old
women naked and with a dildo around their necks,
sat on benches with their legs splayed apart, their
clitorises hang outside the vagina looking like erect
cocks of manikins. Permanently dissolute, they
stuck their tongues out beckoned to me to come lick
their leaking, garage sized Fannies.
The place reeked of musty bodies and clouds were
sheets, dripping urine. The grotesque ensemble got
up, obscenely wriggled obese behinds and bellies,
roomy enough to hide an elephant, and dangling,
empty breasts, danced, and wished me welcome to
the old folks Eden. I tried to run, but my years was
catching up with me; nearer they came, made a dash
for it to the public toilet, were I joined the old men
who were dreaming of fucking nubile girls of forty.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
A Sliver of Life
A Sliver of Life.
Cold sun shines on calm sea in the bay,
looks like a silk scarf flung carelessly
aside by an intemperate woman.
A ship has anchored, waits for pilot to
take her into port, but not before
tomorrow, the harbour authority says.
The crew objects, the voyage has been
long and rough, a ferry boat is arrange,
clean shirt and jeans.
The master and some his officers play
low -stake poker, he always wins and
is a contented man
Cold sun shines on calm sea in the bay,
looks like a silk scarf flung carelessly
aside by an intemperate woman.
A ship has anchored, waits for pilot to
take her into port, but not before
tomorrow, the harbour authority says.
The crew objects, the voyage has been
long and rough, a ferry boat is arrange,
clean shirt and jeans.
The master and some his officers play
low -stake poker, he always wins and
is a contented man
3 senryu
Senryu
frozen orange
fell off tree,
instant squash.
Senryu
Rimed lawn
Shivers and waits
For dawn
Senryu
Lips, cold iron
Torn skin, but his warm blood
Didn’t thaw her heart.
frozen orange
fell off tree,
instant squash.
Senryu
Rimed lawn
Shivers and waits
For dawn
Senryu
Lips, cold iron
Torn skin, but his warm blood
Didn’t thaw her heart.
Cold Scenery
Cold Scenery.
The fat duck stands on ice, the pond
has frozen over, shifting its appetizing
weight from leg to leg, must be cold.
Little snow around, too cold for that;
so why doesn’t it stand on some dead
grass? An arctic fox sneaks up wears
expensive fur, but as it lunges the bird
jumps up in the air, the fox loses its
balance and slides to the other side of
the pond; gets up runs, head down to its
hole in the ground, by the cold boulder.
The duck stands as lost in thoughts,
the Nordic landscape is perfectly still
and the sun is a frozen Florida orange
The fat duck stands on ice, the pond
has frozen over, shifting its appetizing
weight from leg to leg, must be cold.
Little snow around, too cold for that;
so why doesn’t it stand on some dead
grass? An arctic fox sneaks up wears
expensive fur, but as it lunges the bird
jumps up in the air, the fox loses its
balance and slides to the other side of
the pond; gets up runs, head down to its
hole in the ground, by the cold boulder.
The duck stands as lost in thoughts,
the Nordic landscape is perfectly still
and the sun is a frozen Florida orange
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Genesis
Genesis.
History began ten years ago, a confused past
mumbles behind closed steel doors, slowly
turning into dust; of no further use now that
the new birth is free of rancour, poverty and
greed. To see daylight again after my travail
in the coal mine of drudgery, and abhorrence,
filling wheelbarrows with dark despair where
dreams are nightmares, where the inferiority
of guilt drips from the mines roof, futile tears
of weepy sentimentality… so let it go.
This winter day is so clear it hurts my eyes
I can see far, there are no gloomy shadows
lurking under olive trees and the mountain,
yonder, is married to the sky.
History began ten years ago, a confused past
mumbles behind closed steel doors, slowly
turning into dust; of no further use now that
the new birth is free of rancour, poverty and
greed. To see daylight again after my travail
in the coal mine of drudgery, and abhorrence,
filling wheelbarrows with dark despair where
dreams are nightmares, where the inferiority
of guilt drips from the mines roof, futile tears
of weepy sentimentality… so let it go.
This winter day is so clear it hurts my eyes
I can see far, there are no gloomy shadows
lurking under olive trees and the mountain,
yonder, is married to the sky.
once a sea tramp
Once a Sea Tramp
I shall not be there when the sun sets on the calm
sea, or when it white flecked blew, blinding me.
Waves, tall as mountains and strong as rocks, is
trying to bury the ship, endless death in a greenish
hell. I shall not be there when the ship docks in
Valparaiso; walking tall, hard as nail, we were
fearless had unblinkingly looked the monster in
the eye. But in the end we lost, tired legs dimming
eyes, ports were only bright lights, no substance,
painted lips, ruby hearts. The quest turned into hard
work, long hours, scant rewards, yet we carried on
till rejected and called: old salt. thrown ashore to
a bewildering world. From my hilltop home I see
the sea; calm today, but isn’t fooling me.
I shall not be there when the sun sets on the calm
sea, or when it white flecked blew, blinding me.
Waves, tall as mountains and strong as rocks, is
trying to bury the ship, endless death in a greenish
hell. I shall not be there when the ship docks in
Valparaiso; walking tall, hard as nail, we were
fearless had unblinkingly looked the monster in
the eye. But in the end we lost, tired legs dimming
eyes, ports were only bright lights, no substance,
painted lips, ruby hearts. The quest turned into hard
work, long hours, scant rewards, yet we carried on
till rejected and called: old salt. thrown ashore to
a bewildering world. From my hilltop home I see
the sea; calm today, but isn’t fooling me.
Self-worth
Self-worth.
My shadow which usually walks behind me
was suddenly in front of me walking very
fast, then running, disappearing down a hill.
I was left in the open alone and fearing for
my life. Asked an olive tree if I could borrow
its shadow; the old tree had been around for
hundred of years, seen grown men succumb,
going insane having lost their true shadows.
As the olive’s silhouette followed me home
my confidence grew to the point that I told
a few jokes that it didn’t get, when I had to
explain the hilarity it wasn’t funny anymore.
My own shadow came home late, reeking of
wine, was sorry… but I can’t live without it.
My shadow which usually walks behind me
was suddenly in front of me walking very
fast, then running, disappearing down a hill.
I was left in the open alone and fearing for
my life. Asked an olive tree if I could borrow
its shadow; the old tree had been around for
hundred of years, seen grown men succumb,
going insane having lost their true shadows.
As the olive’s silhouette followed me home
my confidence grew to the point that I told
a few jokes that it didn’t get, when I had to
explain the hilarity it wasn’t funny anymore.
My own shadow came home late, reeking of
wine, was sorry… but I can’t live without it.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Bizarre Climate.
Hailstones fell a June fifty years ago, the beginning
of a new ice age the local paper solemnly declared,
the coal depot was quickly emptied and a forest was
chopped down. My brother was hit by an egg sized
hail-stone took to wearing a German army helmet,
but when he came to New York he was arrested,
they thought he was an East German communist spy.
America needs her external enemies without it she
will fragment; give, reluctant, births to a free Alaska,
perhaps Nebraska, Main and California too will
demand independence, Warmest January for since
1957 the local paper says, sparrows under the roof
slates are nesting; pity their chicks if February turns
freezing; I have not bought winter wood this year.
Hailstones fell a June fifty years ago, the beginning
of a new ice age the local paper solemnly declared,
the coal depot was quickly emptied and a forest was
chopped down. My brother was hit by an egg sized
hail-stone took to wearing a German army helmet,
but when he came to New York he was arrested,
they thought he was an East German communist spy.
America needs her external enemies without it she
will fragment; give, reluctant, births to a free Alaska,
perhaps Nebraska, Main and California too will
demand independence, Warmest January for since
1957 the local paper says, sparrows under the roof
slates are nesting; pity their chicks if February turns
freezing; I have not bought winter wood this year.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
the hunted
The Hunted.
The little red fox he had shot
and now carried by its hind legs
to the village to show his mates,
dripped blood from its mouth.
On to the sea- sand lane drops,
of ruby glinted in the sun, but
quickly paled as domestic dogs
went wild ready to tear a tiny
body apart. The hunter and his
mates laughed.
The little red fox he had shot
and now carried by its hind legs
to the village to show his mates,
dripped blood from its mouth.
On to the sea- sand lane drops,
of ruby glinted in the sun, but
quickly paled as domestic dogs
went wild ready to tear a tiny
body apart. The hunter and his
mates laughed.
the writer
The Writer.
Dreamed of Hemingway,
out hunting gazelles;
he shot one and bragged
shamelessly about it when
sitting by the fireside
drinking gin.
But I heard him late at night
in his tent …crying, he had
created monster image of
himself, the tough guy, he
couldn’t escape.
Mind, he did in the end,
his brain splattered
on wallpaper, an abstract
pattern of dead thoughts.
and the unsaid.
Dreamed of Hemingway,
out hunting gazelles;
he shot one and bragged
shamelessly about it when
sitting by the fireside
drinking gin.
But I heard him late at night
in his tent …crying, he had
created monster image of
himself, the tough guy, he
couldn’t escape.
Mind, he did in the end,
his brain splattered
on wallpaper, an abstract
pattern of dead thoughts.
and the unsaid.
The Hunting Party
When hunters have been, in my valley on
Sundays, they lay out birds and rabbits in
a row and talk excitedly about the day’s
kill before dividing the booty...
NATO troops kill 55 five Taliban
The TV, news says,
Corpses are trucked in from near and afar,
laid in a row for the press to count the dead;
fleshy, white skinned Danish officers give
orders to scrawny Afghans in new uniforms,
A wall of smiles and elastic loyalty between
them that makes sense; armies come and go,
but the Afghans will always remain here in
this mystic, untamed and sand-coloured land
When hunters have been, in my valley on
Sundays, they lay out birds and rabbits in
a row and talk excitedly about the day’s
kill before dividing the booty...
NATO troops kill 55 five Taliban
The TV, news says,
Corpses are trucked in from near and afar,
laid in a row for the press to count the dead;
fleshy, white skinned Danish officers give
orders to scrawny Afghans in new uniforms,
A wall of smiles and elastic loyalty between
them that makes sense; armies come and go,
but the Afghans will always remain here in
this mystic, untamed and sand-coloured land
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Tanka
Tanka (self portrait)
Ancient picture
found behind a tall bookshelf,
me as Dorian Grey,
the mirror has been lying
I’m old with matchstick arms
Ancient picture
found behind a tall bookshelf,
me as Dorian Grey,
the mirror has been lying
I’m old with matchstick arms
sharing a flat
Sharing a flat.
An alien
has
moved into
my rooms,
filled them
with
furniture,
I hide in
a corner
wait for
summer,
to sleep
outdoors,
with stars,
and
be homeless
no more
An alien
has
moved into
my rooms,
filled them
with
furniture,
I hide in
a corner
wait for
summer,
to sleep
outdoors,
with stars,
and
be homeless
no more
Private suburbia
This beautiful alley flanked by orange trees
and old people going home after drinking
tea at Molly’s café. Citrus fruit on the ground,
picked up one peeled and tried to eat it,
more acidy than lemons, but since I had started
I finished. Ecological lawns are painted green,
white villas with stately doors, blank windows
are spying on me, and children can only play
in padded basements. Picked up the orange peel,
just in time a patrol car came gliding, glints
of spyglasses, unformed lackeys of the rich
out to prove their worth, I walk steady till they
disappear; helicopter clatter, white legged and
flaccid children are coming home from school.
This beautiful alley flanked by orange trees
and old people going home after drinking
tea at Molly’s café. Citrus fruit on the ground,
picked up one peeled and tried to eat it,
more acidy than lemons, but since I had started
I finished. Ecological lawns are painted green,
white villas with stately doors, blank windows
are spying on me, and children can only play
in padded basements. Picked up the orange peel,
just in time a patrol car came gliding, glints
of spyglasses, unformed lackeys of the rich
out to prove their worth, I walk steady till they
disappear; helicopter clatter, white legged and
flaccid children are coming home from school.
Monday, January 08, 2007
altarnative healing
Alternative Healing
I kissed the healing crystal stone,
cold and blue with an ethereal
shimmer, icy as the South Pole.
Lofty thoughts entered my mind
azure sky, white clouds and last
year’s summer breeze.
I paid, the lady smiled, healing
doesn’t come as cheap as a pair
of boots bought in a Chinese shop.
Sore lips, ulcer, ate an orange
threw the peel into the fire, its
aroma warmed the winter air.
I kissed the healing crystal stone,
cold and blue with an ethereal
shimmer, icy as the South Pole.
Lofty thoughts entered my mind
azure sky, white clouds and last
year’s summer breeze.
I paid, the lady smiled, healing
doesn’t come as cheap as a pair
of boots bought in a Chinese shop.
Sore lips, ulcer, ate an orange
threw the peel into the fire, its
aroma warmed the winter air.
soft drinks
Soft Drinks
Outside the safe zone I can hear
The clamour of war
While playing tennis in a club
That only serves cola light.
There is talk of democracy and
Making a fortune fast
Soon an election and it’s for
The rich the poor knows nothing
Better leave now, it’s the little guy
they hang on the day of reckoning
Cling to the master race, there will
be other safe zones and cola light.
Outside the safe zone I can hear
The clamour of war
While playing tennis in a club
That only serves cola light.
There is talk of democracy and
Making a fortune fast
Soon an election and it’s for
The rich the poor knows nothing
Better leave now, it’s the little guy
they hang on the day of reckoning
Cling to the master race, there will
be other safe zones and cola light.
no return
No Return.
Sea-shell tells of hard life’s ocean
calming when reaching Nirvana’s
pristine strand.
Nuns in a rowing boat smile, terns
float on silent air, no tempest can
reach this shore.
Sun is bland, leave passion behind
when wading ashore, here where
no one whispers of hidden delight
Scintillating sun upon sea, music
reaches my ears…too late now,
god sits on a stone… motionless.
Sea-shell tells of hard life’s ocean
calming when reaching Nirvana’s
pristine strand.
Nuns in a rowing boat smile, terns
float on silent air, no tempest can
reach this shore.
Sun is bland, leave passion behind
when wading ashore, here where
no one whispers of hidden delight
Scintillating sun upon sea, music
reaches my ears…too late now,
god sits on a stone… motionless.
dry drunk
Dry Drunk.
Big party, plenty of food, wine,
music and dance. “Another drink?”
“No thanks,” “wine?” “I’m alright.”
Face hurt all this smiling and laughing.
“You alright?” The mask had slipped,
“sure, yes, grand party.” Twelve, time
to go home, “Stay a little longer.”
Dry throat, headaches, this is going to
last forever, two o’clock!
My god, can’t stand this any longer,
I’m going home, where is my coat?
Sobriety brings little rewards
Big party, plenty of food, wine,
music and dance. “Another drink?”
“No thanks,” “wine?” “I’m alright.”
Face hurt all this smiling and laughing.
“You alright?” The mask had slipped,
“sure, yes, grand party.” Twelve, time
to go home, “Stay a little longer.”
Dry throat, headaches, this is going to
last forever, two o’clock!
My god, can’t stand this any longer,
I’m going home, where is my coat?
Sobriety brings little rewards
Saturday, January 06, 2007
The end of shanty
Death of Shanty
The bubbles
you see
in the calm sea
are unsung
shanties
waiting in vain
for a brig,
bark or
schooner
with sailors
singing
about dames
in mystic ports,
wine and
tropical nights,
but the bubbles
will
burst unvoiced,
crewless
containership
hasting across
the ocean
have no time
to waste on
trivialities.
The bubbles
you see
in the calm sea
are unsung
shanties
waiting in vain
for a brig,
bark or
schooner
with sailors
singing
about dames
in mystic ports,
wine and
tropical nights,
but the bubbles
will
burst unvoiced,
crewless
containership
hasting across
the ocean
have no time
to waste on
trivialities.
Serenity in Europe
Serenity
Europe is
full of peace
nation states
are Vying
with each
other
to be
the most
peaceful.
Overflowing
peace, fills
lakes and
rivers with
butter,
cheap wine
and trivia;
now NATO
is in
Afghanistan
to give
peace to
the locals.
Europe is
full of peace
nation states
are Vying
with each
other
to be
the most
peaceful.
Overflowing
peace, fills
lakes and
rivers with
butter,
cheap wine
and trivia;
now NATO
is in
Afghanistan
to give
peace to
the locals.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Skin Care.
Thick dull curtain, guarding against sunlight,
the room is forever in twilight and furniture
look as they did fifty years ago, nothing has
changed the silence is just as before now that
the wall clock has stopped. But wait, ants are
coming out of a crack in the wall marching
down and across the floor, up a sofa and into
an old lady’s nose, it looks as she has a black
mustache. Fifty years of solitary confinement
the outdoor, bad for the skin, but now is time
for her to leave, a rat is gnawing on her toe as
someone is trying to open the door. “Nice old
lady she used to look out of the window when
it rained and hailstones fell,” they will recall.
Thick dull curtain, guarding against sunlight,
the room is forever in twilight and furniture
look as they did fifty years ago, nothing has
changed the silence is just as before now that
the wall clock has stopped. But wait, ants are
coming out of a crack in the wall marching
down and across the floor, up a sofa and into
an old lady’s nose, it looks as she has a black
mustache. Fifty years of solitary confinement
the outdoor, bad for the skin, but now is time
for her to leave, a rat is gnawing on her toe as
someone is trying to open the door. “Nice old
lady she used to look out of the window when
it rained and hailstones fell,” they will recall.
Please release her---
Please Release Her…
Poor child, forever three month old,
can’t retain a memory, sweetly smile
when fed and hugged. So they stunted
her growth made her into a living doll,
easy to pick up and carried to the patio.
Her parents will not let go, prolonging
life when natural demise would have
been a saviour. It is hard, mislaid love,
what will occur if they die before their
forty year old baby?
Poor child, forever three month old,
can’t retain a memory, sweetly smile
when fed and hugged. So they stunted
her growth made her into a living doll,
easy to pick up and carried to the patio.
Her parents will not let go, prolonging
life when natural demise would have
been a saviour. It is hard, mislaid love,
what will occur if they die before their
forty year old baby?
June 1964
June 1964
I was trying to
grow a beard;
hot day
open window.
Mother and
siblings looked
ephemeral,
transparent,
almost
drowning
in sunlight,
my love
so intense
that it
saddened me,
knew
it wasn’t
going to last.
the moment
past, but
settled as
an muse
in my heart.
I was trying to
grow a beard;
hot day
open window.
Mother and
siblings looked
ephemeral,
transparent,
almost
drowning
in sunlight,
my love
so intense
that it
saddened me,
knew
it wasn’t
going to last.
the moment
past, but
settled as
an muse
in my heart.
The multinationals
The Multinationals.
High up the Andes, a town, not big, or rich,
rather small, dusty and poor, not much to do
but sorting Llama wool, and shipping it on
a narrow track rail to the coast. Rain never
fell here and when it freakily did, hundred
years of muck was washed away, town
dwellers walked on gold, but before they
had a chance to buy vulgar trinkets and cars,
a multinational mining company, bought up
the vale and the town. The dimwitted were
grateful to be employed as miners, pay not
too bad and a pension at sixty five; those who
protested and claimed the gold as their were
regarded as bad left-wingers and sent to jail
High up the Andes, a town, not big, or rich,
rather small, dusty and poor, not much to do
but sorting Llama wool, and shipping it on
a narrow track rail to the coast. Rain never
fell here and when it freakily did, hundred
years of muck was washed away, town
dwellers walked on gold, but before they
had a chance to buy vulgar trinkets and cars,
a multinational mining company, bought up
the vale and the town. The dimwitted were
grateful to be employed as miners, pay not
too bad and a pension at sixty five; those who
protested and claimed the gold as their were
regarded as bad left-wingers and sent to jail
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The Proposal
The Ring.
We sat in a yellow cab when I gave her
an engagement ring and asked her to
marry me; she said no, and I threw
the ring out of window. The cab howled
to a halt, driver got out found the ring,
which he accepted as payment when we
reached our destination. Met him years
later now a happily married man thanks
to my ring. The woman who refused my
offer is married too, but not to me.
I spend most of my time driving around
New York looking for something I once
dreamed about, but lost in 42nd street, or
was it in 43rd street?
We sat in a yellow cab when I gave her
an engagement ring and asked her to
marry me; she said no, and I threw
the ring out of window. The cab howled
to a halt, driver got out found the ring,
which he accepted as payment when we
reached our destination. Met him years
later now a happily married man thanks
to my ring. The woman who refused my
offer is married too, but not to me.
I spend most of my time driving around
New York looking for something I once
dreamed about, but lost in 42nd street, or
was it in 43rd street?
As We Wait
Winter wrestled summer deep into the ground
a malevolent mist of misery hovered above
the landscape, producing a resentful silence.
The village pond, a giant ice-cube and frozen
ducks, jumping hares had iced up into a ready
meal in midair, delighting the poor who, got
a free lunch, if they had a micro wave, and no
sermon. New Year came, boxed winter off
the ring and we basket in odd summer heat,
ignored scar mongers telling us the end is nigh.
We knew it wasn’t going to last all we wanted
to do was to warm our miserable souls and cold
fingers till the wind turned and brusque Nordic
morality enveloped us once again.
Winter wrestled summer deep into the ground
a malevolent mist of misery hovered above
the landscape, producing a resentful silence.
The village pond, a giant ice-cube and frozen
ducks, jumping hares had iced up into a ready
meal in midair, delighting the poor who, got
a free lunch, if they had a micro wave, and no
sermon. New Year came, boxed winter off
the ring and we basket in odd summer heat,
ignored scar mongers telling us the end is nigh.
We knew it wasn’t going to last all we wanted
to do was to warm our miserable souls and cold
fingers till the wind turned and brusque Nordic
morality enveloped us once again.
a liverpool comedian
A Liverpool Comedian
The man who came into the bar had
a bandaged hand and wore a smug smile
as he ordered a pint of mild.
The news told of a suitcase found
at the bus stop, it was empty safe for a thumb,
the police was looking for the body it belonged to.
The man with the bandaged hand,
laughed loudly, but stopped when people starred,
had to keep this joke to himself, last
time a he shared a joke with friends
was when he cut his big toe off and put it in
the hand-wash at the ladies loo,
when he had finished telling the story his mates
had disappeared.
The man who came into the bar had
a bandaged hand and wore a smug smile
as he ordered a pint of mild.
The news told of a suitcase found
at the bus stop, it was empty safe for a thumb,
the police was looking for the body it belonged to.
The man with the bandaged hand,
laughed loudly, but stopped when people starred,
had to keep this joke to himself, last
time a he shared a joke with friends
was when he cut his big toe off and put it in
the hand-wash at the ladies loo,
when he had finished telling the story his mates
had disappeared.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Love on My Mind
It’s a love story gone on for about sixteen years,
she works in a post office, is small neat and sexy.
Divorced now she moved into her mother’s small
hotel and I walked past there on my constitutional
in the hope she would come out and invite me for
what is called a “Tryst.”
She did come out I looked at my watch and said:
“Must dash, got a doctor’s appointment.” Scurry
I did and was shouted at by drivers in big cars;
it’s not easy to be elderly and in love.
Last week I saw her sat near the window, in my
café, eating spaghetti bolognaise and reading
a magazine, I had had my lunch, no point eating
twice, and rushed by. She didn’t look up, perhaps
she is tired of waiting or doesn’t give a damn.
It’s a love story gone on for about sixteen years,
she works in a post office, is small neat and sexy.
Divorced now she moved into her mother’s small
hotel and I walked past there on my constitutional
in the hope she would come out and invite me for
what is called a “Tryst.”
She did come out I looked at my watch and said:
“Must dash, got a doctor’s appointment.” Scurry
I did and was shouted at by drivers in big cars;
it’s not easy to be elderly and in love.
Last week I saw her sat near the window, in my
café, eating spaghetti bolognaise and reading
a magazine, I had had my lunch, no point eating
twice, and rushed by. She didn’t look up, perhaps
she is tired of waiting or doesn’t give a damn.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Other People.
An Indonesian plane fell into the Java Sea
no Portuguese onboard; it’s ok then, next
item. Soon Bangladesh will be a turf sticking
up from the sea, a few trees where monkeys
sit trying to figure out how to catch fish.
The warming of the planet, don’t you blame
me for that I have been talking about it for
years, but can’t take any action; what is it
you want me to do? March in the street and
shout: “Down with the capitalists!”
Israel is in trouble they have burnt bridges
to peace a siege mentality rules, end of dreams
and fiddlers on the roof. The president of
Palestine drives an expensive black Mercedes,
and his prime minister waves a green flag.
An Indonesian plane fell into the Java Sea
no Portuguese onboard; it’s ok then, next
item. Soon Bangladesh will be a turf sticking
up from the sea, a few trees where monkeys
sit trying to figure out how to catch fish.
The warming of the planet, don’t you blame
me for that I have been talking about it for
years, but can’t take any action; what is it
you want me to do? March in the street and
shout: “Down with the capitalists!”
Israel is in trouble they have burnt bridges
to peace a siege mentality rules, end of dreams
and fiddlers on the roof. The president of
Palestine drives an expensive black Mercedes,
and his prime minister waves a green flag.
Rex, The Memory.
When Captain John Henderson, of US army,
was twelve he had a wolfhound called Rex,
his father said the dog was too old and shot
it in front of the boy, who cradled the dog,
cried and got blood on his shirt; his mother
scolded him for that.
Later his father fell out of a helicopter, (talk
of suicide) and his mother remarried.
Captain John Henderson sat in his humvee
patrolling streets of dust and hate when it
exploded and he flew up in the air where he
met Rex, his only friend, in a field near home,
together they walked away from the vista of
endless deaths.
When Captain John Henderson, of US army,
was twelve he had a wolfhound called Rex,
his father said the dog was too old and shot
it in front of the boy, who cradled the dog,
cried and got blood on his shirt; his mother
scolded him for that.
Later his father fell out of a helicopter, (talk
of suicide) and his mother remarried.
Captain John Henderson sat in his humvee
patrolling streets of dust and hate when it
exploded and he flew up in the air where he
met Rex, his only friend, in a field near home,
together they walked away from the vista of
endless deaths.
Too Big.
In the busy street, by the drains,
near a café, a big cockroach on its back
…dead.
It is said that this type of insect has got
its brain in the stomach, it that’s so
this one was an Einstein, taught others
how to survive nuclear wars behind
the kitchen sink.
Turned the roach back on its feet,
more dignified that way, glad it was
dead, had it been alive I would have
had to kill it, can’t have monsters
like that walking in our street, not
near an eatery.
In the busy street, by the drains,
near a café, a big cockroach on its back
…dead.
It is said that this type of insect has got
its brain in the stomach, it that’s so
this one was an Einstein, taught others
how to survive nuclear wars behind
the kitchen sink.
Turned the roach back on its feet,
more dignified that way, glad it was
dead, had it been alive I would have
had to kill it, can’t have monsters
like that walking in our street, not
near an eatery.
dignity
Dignity
So they hanged him then…
Saddam Hussein,
“Defiant to the end,” they said;
I call it dignity.
Taunted him they did had
expected him to fall on his
knees, beg for his life, so
they could laugh a bit more.
Miserable Tableaux.
Now he’s a martyr and his
name lives, so they made
him a favour.
And it took a brutal dictator
to teach the world about true
…courage.
So they hanged him then…
Saddam Hussein,
“Defiant to the end,” they said;
I call it dignity.
Taunted him they did had
expected him to fall on his
knees, beg for his life, so
they could laugh a bit more.
Miserable Tableaux.
Now he’s a martyr and his
name lives, so they made
him a favour.
And it took a brutal dictator
to teach the world about true
…courage.
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