Tanka.
Twenty to midnight
Plough has cleared snow off roads
Piled it man high
Chest pain, cold air and moonlight
Blue light, lacerates the night.
Tanka
Lone snowdrop fell
Landed on a wooden fence
Glinted as a gem
More snowdrops downed
Exclusivity forever lost
Zen
Icy morning
Frost on window
Back to bed
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
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.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Tanka, Zen and Senryu
Tanka
So they hung Saddam
The brutal, old dictator
But as they gloated
He faced the hangman bravely
That will be remembered.
Zen
with
a vicious
act.
2006
ended
as it
began
Senryu
Behind democracy.
Lurks pitiless high finance.
Your vote is a joke.
Happy New Year
So they hung Saddam
The brutal, old dictator
But as they gloated
He faced the hangman bravely
That will be remembered.
Zen
with
a vicious
act.
2006
ended
as it
began
Senryu
Behind democracy.
Lurks pitiless high finance.
Your vote is a joke.
Happy New Year
Friday, December 29, 2006
at the end of time
At the End of Time.
When the clock struck nine a Swiss cuckoo
came out, flew onto the roof where it laid
eggs in a sparrow’s nest, under the tiles.
It came back with all the haste of a delayed
rocket, broke the window collided brutally
with the clock that fell off the wall and into
the soup. Digits floated around in infinite
variation, but when the soup had settled it
was midnight I could see 2007, ate the two
zeroes but, it didn’t make much difference,
fireworks soared in the sky scared dogs and
shell shocked war veterans who didn’t get
sympathy from those who had never heard
the deadly whine of hot iron searing air
When the clock struck nine a Swiss cuckoo
came out, flew onto the roof where it laid
eggs in a sparrow’s nest, under the tiles.
It came back with all the haste of a delayed
rocket, broke the window collided brutally
with the clock that fell off the wall and into
the soup. Digits floated around in infinite
variation, but when the soup had settled it
was midnight I could see 2007, ate the two
zeroes but, it didn’t make much difference,
fireworks soared in the sky scared dogs and
shell shocked war veterans who didn’t get
sympathy from those who had never heard
the deadly whine of hot iron searing air
end of year
End of a Year.
Childhood didn’t last long, the years when
we’re a family, a clan, unafraid and whole,
the big bang came and I was thrown into
a world of dishonesty, cruelty and paid for
love; nothing much of interest happened
since. There are times, when my old heart
aches, I can see those years clearly, but
there is no return ticket to the past, no bus
at the terminal, walk I can’t, the distance
too far for that, legs too weak, or perhaps
it’s the will that’s fragile. I wonder if there
is in the landscape of death, a valley where
we are reunited with the years of wholeness
before trivial nonexistence sets in.
Childhood didn’t last long, the years when
we’re a family, a clan, unafraid and whole,
the big bang came and I was thrown into
a world of dishonesty, cruelty and paid for
love; nothing much of interest happened
since. There are times, when my old heart
aches, I can see those years clearly, but
there is no return ticket to the past, no bus
at the terminal, walk I can’t, the distance
too far for that, legs too weak, or perhaps
it’s the will that’s fragile. I wonder if there
is in the landscape of death, a valley where
we are reunited with the years of wholeness
before trivial nonexistence sets in.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
nonattendance
Nonattendance
There is an absence in my
rooms, it has erased memories,
voices and laughter;
the tick of the clock kills time,
here where silence is
threatening, and thoughts are
dust on bookshelves.
Unbearable, these rooms,
a converted stable, no aroma
of horses remain; as they were
an illusion, hooves on stones
late at night going home;
yes, there is an absence here
I cannot define, except that
the future has lost the past.
There is an absence in my
rooms, it has erased memories,
voices and laughter;
the tick of the clock kills time,
here where silence is
threatening, and thoughts are
dust on bookshelves.
Unbearable, these rooms,
a converted stable, no aroma
of horses remain; as they were
an illusion, hooves on stones
late at night going home;
yes, there is an absence here
I cannot define, except that
the future has lost the past.
The end of an Era
End Of an Era
In the narrow shopping street in the old town
melancholy hangs heavy amongst christmas
decorations, small shops selling blouses, shirts,
lingerie, suits and shoes are mostly empty and
dying, the relentless stride of Chinese shops
selling stuff at a price they cannot match, is
strangling them, and the public will not come
to their rescue. They used to be a dignified lot,
men and women of commerce, selling good
quality cloths, a church going bourgeoisie with
a healthy contempt for the crass working class,
those they made their money off, now left in
a backwater, missed only by the nostalgic, who
remember them wrongly.
In the narrow shopping street in the old town
melancholy hangs heavy amongst christmas
decorations, small shops selling blouses, shirts,
lingerie, suits and shoes are mostly empty and
dying, the relentless stride of Chinese shops
selling stuff at a price they cannot match, is
strangling them, and the public will not come
to their rescue. They used to be a dignified lot,
men and women of commerce, selling good
quality cloths, a church going bourgeoisie with
a healthy contempt for the crass working class,
those they made their money off, now left in
a backwater, missed only by the nostalgic, who
remember them wrongly.
Tanka
Tanka
Put seashell to ear
Listen to Nirvana’s pull
Unstoppable
Washing over humanity
Till nothing is remembered.
Put seashell to ear
Listen to Nirvana’s pull
Unstoppable
Washing over humanity
Till nothing is remembered.
a plea for clemency
A Plea for Clemency
Rebecca Lunch, the brave soldier, broke a leg in
her president’s war, the enemy brought her to
hospital where she was looked after till her army
came, with blazing guns, and picked her up; no,
she hadn’t been raped or beaten, the cant machine
and compliant press, could only hint at unspoken
cruelty had befallen her, they made her a heroine
anyway, picture in the paper, and after that they
let her go home to mum and dad. For this, I think,
Saddam Hussein should be given a pardon, he
isn’t a common criminal, but a big one like Bush
and Blair who will end up as elder statesmen,
(Blair a Lord) admired by us all, if not by the Iraqi
people whose country they destroyed
Rebecca Lunch, the brave soldier, broke a leg in
her president’s war, the enemy brought her to
hospital where she was looked after till her army
came, with blazing guns, and picked her up; no,
she hadn’t been raped or beaten, the cant machine
and compliant press, could only hint at unspoken
cruelty had befallen her, they made her a heroine
anyway, picture in the paper, and after that they
let her go home to mum and dad. For this, I think,
Saddam Hussein should be given a pardon, he
isn’t a common criminal, but a big one like Bush
and Blair who will end up as elder statesmen,
(Blair a Lord) admired by us all, if not by the Iraqi
people whose country they destroyed
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
New year
New Year Festivities.
Three ugly dark haired sisters at the party sang
carols… badly, the fourth one didn’t join in she,
lived in Paris, France, and spoke of Louvré,
Notre Dame, high culture and was very blond.
The three ugly sisters had unattractive husbands,
who just sat there in a corner drinking cold beer.
The fourth sister, who lived in Paris, had a spouse
who wore a three piece suit and was a director of
something important, he was insufferable French
bourgeois, sipped a glass of expensive white wine,
spoke slowly and was utterly predictable, thought
Pinochet of Chile was a good chap, said something
about omelets. I drank red wine till little of this
mattered, when morning came they had gone home
Three ugly dark haired sisters at the party sang
carols… badly, the fourth one didn’t join in she,
lived in Paris, France, and spoke of Louvré,
Notre Dame, high culture and was very blond.
The three ugly sisters had unattractive husbands,
who just sat there in a corner drinking cold beer.
The fourth sister, who lived in Paris, had a spouse
who wore a three piece suit and was a director of
something important, he was insufferable French
bourgeois, sipped a glass of expensive white wine,
spoke slowly and was utterly predictable, thought
Pinochet of Chile was a good chap, said something
about omelets. I drank red wine till little of this
mattered, when morning came they had gone home
Christmas party in Lisbon
Christmas Party In Lisbon
Plenty of food cakes and ale, big flat, two tables
sat in the living room one for us elderly and one
for the young; bright eyed, slim and beautiful.
How I envied them. On my table they spoke of
real estate, who’s died, and great poets of yore.
Drank too much, thought of my sister, ten years
ago, christmas eve, since she left us. On the way
home there had been a traffic accident, fast car
split open, white sheet over the driver, a hand
stuck out, a manicured one, not one for doing
dishes after supper; I thought the hand moved,
told a rescue worker, he said; “body’s headless.”
Coming home the house was cold and gloomy,
I remembered mirth, bright eyes and my wish.
Plenty of food cakes and ale, big flat, two tables
sat in the living room one for us elderly and one
for the young; bright eyed, slim and beautiful.
How I envied them. On my table they spoke of
real estate, who’s died, and great poets of yore.
Drank too much, thought of my sister, ten years
ago, christmas eve, since she left us. On the way
home there had been a traffic accident, fast car
split open, white sheet over the driver, a hand
stuck out, a manicured one, not one for doing
dishes after supper; I thought the hand moved,
told a rescue worker, he said; “body’s headless.”
Coming home the house was cold and gloomy,
I remembered mirth, bright eyes and my wish.
the Modern State.
The Modern State.
This modern state has two parties Right and Left
they often madly fight in the pages of newspapers,
but they are essentially the same. Married couples
are guarantied a flat, there is no homelessness here,
villas, thought, are for the elite, press proprietors,
politicians and administrators. They live in a free
zone, out of towns, away from the people, this as
to avoid direct contacts with people that can only
lead to favouritism, corruption and lewd conduct.
Once a year there is a day of protest, trade unions
with banners, march, and make theatrical demands,
fireworks, and great quantities of beer and wine is
consumed, people don’t care who wins, there is so
very little left to fight for in this great democracy.
This modern state has two parties Right and Left
they often madly fight in the pages of newspapers,
but they are essentially the same. Married couples
are guarantied a flat, there is no homelessness here,
villas, thought, are for the elite, press proprietors,
politicians and administrators. They live in a free
zone, out of towns, away from the people, this as
to avoid direct contacts with people that can only
lead to favouritism, corruption and lewd conduct.
Once a year there is a day of protest, trade unions
with banners, march, and make theatrical demands,
fireworks, and great quantities of beer and wine is
consumed, people don’t care who wins, there is so
very little left to fight for in this great democracy.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tanka
Tanka.
Christmas Eve
The homeless are being fed
And all is well
Tomorrow they’ll look for
Half eaten burgers and fries
Christmas Eve
The homeless are being fed
And all is well
Tomorrow they’ll look for
Half eaten burgers and fries
Friday, December 22, 2006
in the park the park at night
In The Park at Night.
The town’s lake a manmade island with a tiny house
built for the rare black swan, but as swans are colour
blind to be black doesn’t mean a thing so they nests
where it suits the best. In the cellar, of the café, in
the park, rats eek a living selling empty bottles of
wine, with angst sweaty finger marks on, lick foam
of empty beer kegs while the listen to the music and
subbing feet of dancers overhead, and do ratty things,
till light comes on and the cellar man cometh, knows
they are there so he whistle a song while bring more
empty bottles and kegs to lick foam off. The rodents
know well and have told their offspring, that, if he
catches them, they will his dinner, for under the fur
of every rat, the skin is mouth-wateringly pink
The town’s lake a manmade island with a tiny house
built for the rare black swan, but as swans are colour
blind to be black doesn’t mean a thing so they nests
where it suits the best. In the cellar, of the café, in
the park, rats eek a living selling empty bottles of
wine, with angst sweaty finger marks on, lick foam
of empty beer kegs while the listen to the music and
subbing feet of dancers overhead, and do ratty things,
till light comes on and the cellar man cometh, knows
they are there so he whistle a song while bring more
empty bottles and kegs to lick foam off. The rodents
know well and have told their offspring, that, if he
catches them, they will his dinner, for under the fur
of every rat, the skin is mouth-wateringly pink
lonely eden
Lonely Eden
Unwed Johanna came to live in Vale Formosa; lovely
cottage surrounded by olive trees, perfect place for an
elderly woman to live. Striking were sunsets, but long
were evenings, got a little dog and that was nice, but
so few people in the vale, she could talk to. Took to
drinking a little to ease the pain of loneliness, helped,
for a while till she lost track of time, often it was
the sunrise she saw. Looked into the mirror unwashed
hair “How Ugly I’m,” she wailed, had another glass
of wine; Morning coat from dawn to dusk, why change,
no one around to look good for. A physical ache this
loneliness, she stopped answering the phone didn’t
want to see or speak to anyone. A naked woman hung
from an olive tree…many days before anyone noticed.
Unwed Johanna came to live in Vale Formosa; lovely
cottage surrounded by olive trees, perfect place for an
elderly woman to live. Striking were sunsets, but long
were evenings, got a little dog and that was nice, but
so few people in the vale, she could talk to. Took to
drinking a little to ease the pain of loneliness, helped,
for a while till she lost track of time, often it was
the sunrise she saw. Looked into the mirror unwashed
hair “How Ugly I’m,” she wailed, had another glass
of wine; Morning coat from dawn to dusk, why change,
no one around to look good for. A physical ache this
loneliness, she stopped answering the phone didn’t
want to see or speak to anyone. A naked woman hung
from an olive tree…many days before anyone noticed.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Sonnet to a lady
Sonnet of a Lady
Brought up in an orphanage, she didn’t have any
expectations, trampled on from the word go, few
dreams and modest hopes. At fifteen, a stroke of
luck, maid for people who had many books, she
spent two years reading, not much of a maid, and
they really needed one, so they let her go; but it
was not for her to work with words in an office,
that was for the well constituted people; factory
work then putting sardines into tins, for coppers.
Pregnancies, early marriage, an unhappy one, he
was a drunk. Her children died young she had to
follow them to the grave. She continued to read,
but to modest to write, into old age; sharp mind,
dignity and laughter that’s what I remember.
Brought up in an orphanage, she didn’t have any
expectations, trampled on from the word go, few
dreams and modest hopes. At fifteen, a stroke of
luck, maid for people who had many books, she
spent two years reading, not much of a maid, and
they really needed one, so they let her go; but it
was not for her to work with words in an office,
that was for the well constituted people; factory
work then putting sardines into tins, for coppers.
Pregnancies, early marriage, an unhappy one, he
was a drunk. Her children died young she had to
follow them to the grave. She continued to read,
but to modest to write, into old age; sharp mind,
dignity and laughter that’s what I remember.
Tanka
Be very careful
Pay heeds to a stone’s silence
Tells of a morrow.
You may not like to hear of
The future is your silence.
..............................................
Tanka
Much rain upland
River bursts overflow lowland
Burial ground a lake
Man in row-boat hits headstone
He’s not a swimmer and drowns
.................................................
Tanka (old age poverty)
Touch me now old gold
Before wealth is meaningless
Midas’s feel missing
Golden years an abstraction
Undertakers will not kiss me.
Be very careful
Pay heeds to a stone’s silence
Tells of a morrow.
You may not like to hear of
The future is your silence.
..............................................
Tanka
Much rain upland
River bursts overflow lowland
Burial ground a lake
Man in row-boat hits headstone
He’s not a swimmer and drowns
.................................................
Tanka (old age poverty)
Touch me now old gold
Before wealth is meaningless
Midas’s feel missing
Golden years an abstraction
Undertakers will not kiss me.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
For You
For You
Ten years since that dreaded, early
morning call, last night and long ago.
A nightmare I assured myself when
vividly dreaming of you, wrong name,
a misunderstanding. In the day too
I heard your voice. You let go slowly,
days drift by now when I don’t think of
you, when I do it’s with a melancholic
shrug, I shan’t see you again, our time
was yesterday.
Ten years since that dreaded, early
morning call, last night and long ago.
A nightmare I assured myself when
vividly dreaming of you, wrong name,
a misunderstanding. In the day too
I heard your voice. You let go slowly,
days drift by now when I don’t think of
you, when I do it’s with a melancholic
shrug, I shan’t see you again, our time
was yesterday.
The Good Woman
In the early morning bus, smelling of diesel and
unfinished sleep, we sat, us menial task workers
cleaners of offices, halls, steps and toilets, for
little money and no respect. Beside me sat a big
black woman on her way to clean pots and pans
in some hotel she only seen the back entrance of,
she had a very generous bosom that heaved with
the moment of the bus, a perfect place to rest my
tired head. Woke me gently and motherly smiled
as she alighted.
In the early morning bus, smelling of diesel and
unfinished sleep, we sat, us menial task workers
cleaners of offices, halls, steps and toilets, for
little money and no respect. Beside me sat a big
black woman on her way to clean pots and pans
in some hotel she only seen the back entrance of,
she had a very generous bosom that heaved with
the moment of the bus, a perfect place to rest my
tired head. Woke me gently and motherly smiled
as she alighted.
Monday, December 18, 2006
The Veiled
In Athens I lined up, with others, in a church
a priest gave us a bag of cakes each, while
I wondered what I was doing there. In front
of me an old lady, she quickly ate her cakes
and lined up for more, the priest refused,
told her to go; she eyed my bag and I gave
it to her. This made her so very glad that she
followed me around the rest of the day,
when I came out of an all night bar she sat
leaning up a against a lamppost… sleeping,
the subdued light had erased her wrinkles she
looked like a little girl made homeless by her
drunken father. Coming to the docks it was
morning and I had seen hidden beauty.
In Athens I lined up, with others, in a church
a priest gave us a bag of cakes each, while
I wondered what I was doing there. In front
of me an old lady, she quickly ate her cakes
and lined up for more, the priest refused,
told her to go; she eyed my bag and I gave
it to her. This made her so very glad that she
followed me around the rest of the day,
when I came out of an all night bar she sat
leaning up a against a lamppost… sleeping,
the subdued light had erased her wrinkles she
looked like a little girl made homeless by her
drunken father. Coming to the docks it was
morning and I had seen hidden beauty.
Morning
Night lasts long in my winter vale
darkly dreamless too, trust street
lamps to find my way into town,
tiny moons emit ideal lime-light
Stop under one and ham a poem,
didn’t see the patrol car, grinning
faces, but as I stood on one leg,
at the time, they knew I was sober.
When reaching the point of my
travail the day was flowing like
a hungry river, my streetlamps
looked pale and quite irrelevant.
Night lasts long in my winter vale
darkly dreamless too, trust street
lamps to find my way into town,
tiny moons emit ideal lime-light
Stop under one and ham a poem,
didn’t see the patrol car, grinning
faces, but as I stood on one leg,
at the time, they knew I was sober.
When reaching the point of my
travail the day was flowing like
a hungry river, my streetlamps
looked pale and quite irrelevant.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
a road well traveled
A Road Well Traveled
I’ve been driving on this stretch of
road so often that I’m on nodding
terms with telephone poles, bushes,
houses, trees and reeking tractors.
The road has been widened a bit,
tarted up too, layers of tarmac
and white markings, but under it
is the same old potholed dirt track.
I’ve been driving on this stretch of
road so often that I’m on nodding
terms with telephone poles, bushes,
houses, trees and reeking tractors.
The road has been widened a bit,
tarted up too, layers of tarmac
and white markings, but under it
is the same old potholed dirt track.
Senryu, Haiku and Zen
Senryu
Do not blame the night,
It is not darkness that kills,
But mans cruel mind.
---------------
Sat on a cold stone
When I got up to leave
It thanked me.
....................................
Senryu
The pig in the sty
Lost a hind leg last Christmas
This year, who knows?
.........................................
Senryu
Disappointing night
Went early to bed, slept long
Didn’t remember dreaming.
Do not blame the night,
It is not darkness that kills,
But mans cruel mind.
---------------
Sat on a cold stone
When I got up to leave
It thanked me.
....................................
Senryu
The pig in the sty
Lost a hind leg last Christmas
This year, who knows?
.........................................
Senryu
Disappointing night
Went early to bed, slept long
Didn’t remember dreaming.
Jealousy
Jealousy
When I loved
you
I was envious
of the sun,
moon,
stars and
any
object that
shone on
you.
When you
betrayed
Me…
I thought
of you
buried in
damp
heartless
soil
When I loved
you
I was envious
of the sun,
moon,
stars and
any
object that
shone on
you.
When you
betrayed
Me…
I thought
of you
buried in
damp
heartless
soil
Paradise
Paradise?
In the quarry, a phosphorous lake, lifeless
empty, but corpses have been floating
here, often headless or with no hands,
the mob killing each other, something for
crime magazines to write salacious about
for those addicted to the pornography of
violence. But today is different, a man in
a yellow rowing boat, with a fishing rod,
he’s standing up on the boat angling, loses
his balance falls into the lake, that from
a distance looks like an evil eye gone blind
and senile. There is a boat in the motionless
water, no gull shrieks here, air is stale and
the stillness hums of Nirvana.
In the quarry, a phosphorous lake, lifeless
empty, but corpses have been floating
here, often headless or with no hands,
the mob killing each other, something for
crime magazines to write salacious about
for those addicted to the pornography of
violence. But today is different, a man in
a yellow rowing boat, with a fishing rod,
he’s standing up on the boat angling, loses
his balance falls into the lake, that from
a distance looks like an evil eye gone blind
and senile. There is a boat in the motionless
water, no gull shrieks here, air is stale and
the stillness hums of Nirvana.
the farewell
The Farewell
A blustery day, early June,
I was going on
the train mother
followed me to the station,
she wore a dirty old coat and
hadn’t combed
her hair or washed her face,
she looked like
a bag lady, amongst
the nicely dressed people.
A shower of hailstones,
she waved, I didn’t,
in case people thought
she was my mother.
The train was five minutes late.
A blustery day, early June,
I was going on
the train mother
followed me to the station,
she wore a dirty old coat and
hadn’t combed
her hair or washed her face,
she looked like
a bag lady, amongst
the nicely dressed people.
A shower of hailstones,
she waved, I didn’t,
in case people thought
she was my mother.
The train was five minutes late.
Science And Wine.
Here they are the bloody tribe, milling
about wanting to rescue me, but from what?
They want me to be like them, God forbid…
they don’t like the friends I keep, the drinking
of wine and what neighbours might think…
respectability is all important. Tell me I can
drink wine in the basement away from folk,
robbing me of the pleasure of intoxication
lifting my glass drinking with many friends.
The righteous people wins, they always do,
I sit in the backyard, there is an anger arising…
Samson. I could sing, not about women, but
to create my own truth, and sing with Edison,
the inventor of the wind up gramophone.
Here they are the bloody tribe, milling
about wanting to rescue me, but from what?
They want me to be like them, God forbid…
they don’t like the friends I keep, the drinking
of wine and what neighbours might think…
respectability is all important. Tell me I can
drink wine in the basement away from folk,
robbing me of the pleasure of intoxication
lifting my glass drinking with many friends.
The righteous people wins, they always do,
I sit in the backyard, there is an anger arising…
Samson. I could sing, not about women, but
to create my own truth, and sing with Edison,
the inventor of the wind up gramophone.
Lemons
They said a naked lady had ridden bareback
through the village, but since it was morning
with a light fog, no one was sure. Got my bike
out and pedaled to the meadow, where mist
hung around with little to do other than being
decorative; a grazing mare, a little fiording
pale/ yellow, sturdy, good for carrying stuff
up steep mountains. It came over to the fence
I gave it lumps of sugar, it nodded and began
grazing again as steam rose from its back -
intense smell of horse. - So it had been ridden,
but the phantom lady was nowhere, back in
the village the lemon seller and his donkey
had arrived, bought ten lovely, yellows ones.
They said a naked lady had ridden bareback
through the village, but since it was morning
with a light fog, no one was sure. Got my bike
out and pedaled to the meadow, where mist
hung around with little to do other than being
decorative; a grazing mare, a little fiording
pale/ yellow, sturdy, good for carrying stuff
up steep mountains. It came over to the fence
I gave it lumps of sugar, it nodded and began
grazing again as steam rose from its back -
intense smell of horse. - So it had been ridden,
but the phantom lady was nowhere, back in
the village the lemon seller and his donkey
had arrived, bought ten lovely, yellows ones.
Hare & Hound. (Sonnet)
The sky is grey shot to shreds, lead
pellets rain beating hare hearts under
bushes dogs bark, nearing, panic
stricken now bolt across an open field
the hunted and pursuer. A hare gets hit
open eyes sees not the sky, one runs
safely down a hole, near the heap of
stones. Dog brings hare back to man,
pat on head good boy, wagging tail,
Salivating dumbness is happy now,
forgotten its sad howling to the moon,
remembering what is forgotten, this
animal that sold its soul to sit near
human fire and be fed scraps of food.
The sky is grey shot to shreds, lead
pellets rain beating hare hearts under
bushes dogs bark, nearing, panic
stricken now bolt across an open field
the hunted and pursuer. A hare gets hit
open eyes sees not the sky, one runs
safely down a hole, near the heap of
stones. Dog brings hare back to man,
pat on head good boy, wagging tail,
Salivating dumbness is happy now,
forgotten its sad howling to the moon,
remembering what is forgotten, this
animal that sold its soul to sit near
human fire and be fed scraps of food.
Winter Sonnet
Now that my rhododendron has lost its
last flower the wind has ceased and air
is winter tired, my almond tree is in hiatus,
quietly preparing for early spring when
it will overshadow every tree, throw its
abundance about, snow silk, give hope
to those who suffer gloom. But the ever
so green orange tree bears fruit, it seems,
anytime, yet dull they are and too many
of them, this army of trees receiving EU
money for just standing there in dense
silence. I’ll put orange skin on the top of
the oven, its aroma reminds me of Yule
bygone when oranges were a costly fruit.
Now that my rhododendron has lost its
last flower the wind has ceased and air
is winter tired, my almond tree is in hiatus,
quietly preparing for early spring when
it will overshadow every tree, throw its
abundance about, snow silk, give hope
to those who suffer gloom. But the ever
so green orange tree bears fruit, it seems,
anytime, yet dull they are and too many
of them, this army of trees receiving EU
money for just standing there in dense
silence. I’ll put orange skin on the top of
the oven, its aroma reminds me of Yule
bygone when oranges were a costly fruit.
Winter Sonnet
Now that my rhododendron has lost its
last flower the wind has ceased and air
is winter tired, my almond tree is in hiatus,
quietly preparing for early spring when
it will overshadow every tree, throw its
abundance about, snow silk, give hope
to those who suffer gloom. But the ever
so green orange tree bears fruit, it seems,
anytime, yet dull they are and too many
of them, this army of trees receiving EU
money for just standing there in dense
silence. I’ll put orange skin on the top of
the oven, its aroma reminds me of Yule
bygone when oranges were a costly fruit.
Now that my rhododendron has lost its
last flower the wind has ceased and air
is winter tired, my almond tree is in hiatus,
quietly preparing for early spring when
it will overshadow every tree, throw its
abundance about, snow silk, give hope
to those who suffer gloom. But the ever
so green orange tree bears fruit, it seems,
anytime, yet dull they are and too many
of them, this army of trees receiving EU
money for just standing there in dense
silence. I’ll put orange skin on the top of
the oven, its aroma reminds me of Yule
bygone when oranges were a costly fruit.
The Lost Ideal.
Like dolls, children’s faces
Pale as death;
carried by chorus of lament
to their graves.
Malevolent whispering,
brother against brother
poverty and utter
desperation
This hell hole, an open sewer,
created by people with long
experience in
cynical shrewdness.
They are in full control,
A moving wall stealing land,
uprooting biblical olive trees;
the warden is corrupt,
A Dorian Grey who will one
day look into his
soul’s mirror… fall to earth
and despair
Like dolls, children’s faces
Pale as death;
carried by chorus of lament
to their graves.
Malevolent whispering,
brother against brother
poverty and utter
desperation
This hell hole, an open sewer,
created by people with long
experience in
cynical shrewdness.
They are in full control,
A moving wall stealing land,
uprooting biblical olive trees;
the warden is corrupt,
A Dorian Grey who will one
day look into his
soul’s mirror… fall to earth
and despair
Senryu
The beast in us
Is a werewolf that
Despoils beauty
............................
Uniform make men
Collectively courageous
If not wise
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Senryu
When it rains
Seraphs, the clerical Angels,
Are Showering
Saying.
Time seeps through
Everything, and
Leaves you damp.
Senryu
If you feel a poems
Honesty, you need not understand
The words
Senryu
So why is it?
That single mothers
Are vilified
Warning.
No place
For workers pride
In modern
Industry
................................
Senryu
Without the canvas
Of live, how could
I know your face?
Zen.
Universal love
Is not for
An Individual
Zen
Every journey
Begins with
A dream
Zen.
Charity
Should not
Replace
Dignity
--------------
Zen
Sadists
Find
Suffering
Sexy
Saying
If you write your name
On a black board
It will be erased
Saying
If you wait for the future
It will deliver you
the past
Saying
The inequality
Of riches is its
Downfall
....................
Zen
Sadists
Find
Suffering
Sexy
Saying
If you write your name
On a black board
It will be erased
Saying
If you wait for the future
It will deliver you
the past
Saying
The inequality
Of riches is its
Downfall
--------------
Senryu
Darkness is permanent
Light is uncommonness
A rare illumination
Zen
First light
Brings clarity
And forgiveness
Senryu
A whispering street
Dislikes playing children
Nobel apathy
Saying
When a wish
Comes true
Sadness beckons
Senryu
The month of April
Is not the best time
To fall in love.
..................
Saying
Insecure child
Makes for
Adult monster
..........................
Senryu
If you look back
The past becomes
The future
Zen
Neglect is
The biggest
Disease
Zen
Listen to
The silence
Of stones
Senryu
Flowers are
Colourful killers
That loves a funeral
Senryu
Pride is useless
When falling off
A galloping filly
66-9
Senryu
Sex without love
Leaves behind empty silence
And dejection
Zen
Love is
A gold coin
That never rusts
Senryu
Pity the decadent
Whose only creed is hedonism
Dawn silence, a storm
Senryu
A trees’ nightmare
A hungry, noisy chainsaw
At dawn.
Senryu
Don’t mention sex
We have better things to do
Such as....?
..................................
Senryu
The peasantry,
Sleeps soundly as bears
And drink honeyed wine
Senryu
My dad, the sergeant,
Loved his army
Took it home at night
Senryu
My sibling brother
Never had a dime to spare
Only rivalry
Senryu
What’s good is
Forbidden like
A Cuban cigar
........................
Senryu
Ebony shines as
A black star on the sky
Blinding you
The beast in us
Is a werewolf that
Despoils beauty
............................
Uniform make men
Collectively courageous
If not wise
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Senryu
When it rains
Seraphs, the clerical Angels,
Are Showering
Saying.
Time seeps through
Everything, and
Leaves you damp.
Senryu
If you feel a poems
Honesty, you need not understand
The words
Senryu
So why is it?
That single mothers
Are vilified
Warning.
No place
For workers pride
In modern
Industry
................................
Senryu
Without the canvas
Of live, how could
I know your face?
Zen.
Universal love
Is not for
An Individual
Zen
Every journey
Begins with
A dream
Zen.
Charity
Should not
Replace
Dignity
--------------
Zen
Sadists
Find
Suffering
Sexy
Saying
If you write your name
On a black board
It will be erased
Saying
If you wait for the future
It will deliver you
the past
Saying
The inequality
Of riches is its
Downfall
....................
Zen
Sadists
Find
Suffering
Sexy
Saying
If you write your name
On a black board
It will be erased
Saying
If you wait for the future
It will deliver you
the past
Saying
The inequality
Of riches is its
Downfall
--------------
Senryu
Darkness is permanent
Light is uncommonness
A rare illumination
Zen
First light
Brings clarity
And forgiveness
Senryu
A whispering street
Dislikes playing children
Nobel apathy
Saying
When a wish
Comes true
Sadness beckons
Senryu
The month of April
Is not the best time
To fall in love.
..................
Saying
Insecure child
Makes for
Adult monster
..........................
Senryu
If you look back
The past becomes
The future
Zen
Neglect is
The biggest
Disease
Zen
Listen to
The silence
Of stones
Senryu
Flowers are
Colourful killers
That loves a funeral
Senryu
Pride is useless
When falling off
A galloping filly
66-9
Senryu
Sex without love
Leaves behind empty silence
And dejection
Zen
Love is
A gold coin
That never rusts
Senryu
Pity the decadent
Whose only creed is hedonism
Dawn silence, a storm
Senryu
A trees’ nightmare
A hungry, noisy chainsaw
At dawn.
Senryu
Don’t mention sex
We have better things to do
Such as....?
..................................
Senryu
The peasantry,
Sleeps soundly as bears
And drink honeyed wine
Senryu
My dad, the sergeant,
Loved his army
Took it home at night
Senryu
My sibling brother
Never had a dime to spare
Only rivalry
Senryu
What’s good is
Forbidden like
A Cuban cigar
........................
Senryu
Ebony shines as
A black star on the sky
Blinding you
The Killing
Five small, green speckled eggs, in a nest on
the ground, looked like costly gems; nearby
a bird dragged a wing along as it was broken.
The moment I killed it I knew it was faking.
Silent meadow, no bustle and natures hum,
heart pounded in my ears, looked up the sky
was darkening, shadows danced malicious
tango, across the land mocking my sorrow.
With a heel of guilt I crushed the eggs and
knew that god, in his remoteness is forever
unmoving, a galactic icon of no corollary,
but to whom endless wars are fought.
Five small, green speckled eggs, in a nest on
the ground, looked like costly gems; nearby
a bird dragged a wing along as it was broken.
The moment I killed it I knew it was faking.
Silent meadow, no bustle and natures hum,
heart pounded in my ears, looked up the sky
was darkening, shadows danced malicious
tango, across the land mocking my sorrow.
With a heel of guilt I crushed the eggs and
knew that god, in his remoteness is forever
unmoving, a galactic icon of no corollary,
but to whom endless wars are fought.
Film-clips
The past is like a grainy old movie
I see faces unclear and subdued by
neglect and age.
Used to know them, but don’t visit
as often as before.
Years go by but they are never totally
forgotten.
The past is not a place I like to dwell
on, old wounds and battles
Lost ... let it be, but sometimes I do
look back when trying to understand
my time.
The past is like a grainy old movie
I see faces unclear and subdued by
neglect and age.
Used to know them, but don’t visit
as often as before.
Years go by but they are never totally
forgotten.
The past is not a place I like to dwell
on, old wounds and battles
Lost ... let it be, but sometimes I do
look back when trying to understand
my time.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
oceanic stillness
Oceanic Stillness
The old cargo ship was slowly finding
her way across the ocean,
cigarette smoke
and talk of New Orleans when
her engine stopped.
Gentle heaves of the calm sea and stillness
as unwelcome thoughts entered,
a deck, rust the puss of irons,
between us and a maritime world
we only ploughed the surface of.
So vast the ocean and so small we are,
hushed voices. After a few attempts
the engine started, sigh of relief, forward motion,
the constant drone, blocking out
Our vulnerability.
The old cargo ship was slowly finding
her way across the ocean,
cigarette smoke
and talk of New Orleans when
her engine stopped.
Gentle heaves of the calm sea and stillness
as unwelcome thoughts entered,
a deck, rust the puss of irons,
between us and a maritime world
we only ploughed the surface of.
So vast the ocean and so small we are,
hushed voices. After a few attempts
the engine started, sigh of relief, forward motion,
the constant drone, blocking out
Our vulnerability.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
as beauty goes
As Beauty Goes.
The giraffe
that looked
into my
second floor
flat
whished
it could
be human
in next life
I saw
the beast
and whish
to be
a moonbeam
so I can
shine
through
the open
window
of an attic
room
where
a beautiful
princess sleeps
one who
has got
the same
eyelashes
as the giraffe
The giraffe
that looked
into my
second floor
flat
whished
it could
be human
in next life
I saw
the beast
and whish
to be
a moonbeam
so I can
shine
through
the open
window
of an attic
room
where
a beautiful
princess sleeps
one who
has got
the same
eyelashes
as the giraffe
the purge
The Purge.
From Bath to
Calcutta
beggars have
disappeared;
a least
from our mind
and newspaper
columns.
India has
the biggest
bourgeoisie
in the world,
I read,
isn’t that nice
to know.
New IKEA
stores in
Liverpool
and
Bombay;
we are all
middle-class,
those who
sleep
on pavements
do so because
of the heat.
Poverty has been
eradicated.
From Bath to
Calcutta
beggars have
disappeared;
a least
from our mind
and newspaper
columns.
India has
the biggest
bourgeoisie
in the world,
I read,
isn’t that nice
to know.
New IKEA
stores in
Liverpool
and
Bombay;
we are all
middle-class,
those who
sleep
on pavements
do so because
of the heat.
Poverty has been
eradicated.
desire
Desire.
The sea that
washes
over the rock face
do so with
the unseemly
passion
of envy;
thinks
to be made
of sturdy stuff
is better than
being
briny liquid.
The rock,
however,
wishes it were
a wave,
so it could escape
the sea’s
unbecoming
attention
The sea that
washes
over the rock face
do so with
the unseemly
passion
of envy;
thinks
to be made
of sturdy stuff
is better than
being
briny liquid.
The rock,
however,
wishes it were
a wave,
so it could escape
the sea’s
unbecoming
attention
the office manager
The Office Manager.
Is popular
amongst
his co workers
and in
the locality,
speaks to
everyone;
big, blond and
blue eyed,
flirts with women
young and old
in a pleasant way,
they think
it’s a pity
he is be married
to such a grey,
woman who
wears
sunglasses
even when it rains;
when home
he takes
his jacket off
expect the food
to be hot
on the dot,
if isn’t he
punches his wife
in the face.
Is popular
amongst
his co workers
and in
the locality,
speaks to
everyone;
big, blond and
blue eyed,
flirts with women
young and old
in a pleasant way,
they think
it’s a pity
he is be married
to such a grey,
woman who
wears
sunglasses
even when it rains;
when home
he takes
his jacket off
expect the food
to be hot
on the dot,
if isn’t he
punches his wife
in the face.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Desire
Desire.
The sea that
washes
over the rock face
do so with
the unseemly
passion
of envy;
thinks
to be made
of sturdy stuff
is better than
being
briny liquid.
The rock,
however,
wishes it were
a wave,
so it could escape
the sea’s
unbecoming
attention
The sea that
washes
over the rock face
do so with
the unseemly
passion
of envy;
thinks
to be made
of sturdy stuff
is better than
being
briny liquid.
The rock,
however,
wishes it were
a wave,
so it could escape
the sea’s
unbecoming
attention
The office Manager
The Office Manager.
Is popular
amongst
his co workers
and in
the locality,
speaks to
everyone;
big, blond and
blue eyed,
flirts with women
young and old
in a pleasant way,
they think
it’s a pity
he is be married
to such a grey,
woman who
wears
sunglasses
even when it rains;
when home
he takes
his jacket off
expect the food
to be hot
on the dot,
if isn’t he
punches his wife
in the face.
Is popular
amongst
his co workers
and in
the locality,
speaks to
everyone;
big, blond and
blue eyed,
flirts with women
young and old
in a pleasant way,
they think
it’s a pity
he is be married
to such a grey,
woman who
wears
sunglasses
even when it rains;
when home
he takes
his jacket off
expect the food
to be hot
on the dot,
if isn’t he
punches his wife
in the face.
a rainy afternoon in Cuba
A Rainy Afternoon
In a corner in the kitchen, which I share with
a rubber plant, I sit in my comfy chair and
survey my possession of pots and copper pans,
think of Cuban cigar and hardening of arteries,
“Only two glasses of wine a day” the doc said,
he didn’t mention sex, perhaps he would like to
know that our Saturday love, is a frugal affair,
bath, clean finger nails and, cute, little towels
under pillows; says she used to be in real estate.
Last time I was in Cuba cigars cost more than
abused whores thronging Havana’s streets, till
Fidel Castro came and put an end this disgrace,
mongers fled to Florida where they ghoulishly
sit and wait for the old man to die.
In a corner in the kitchen, which I share with
a rubber plant, I sit in my comfy chair and
survey my possession of pots and copper pans,
think of Cuban cigar and hardening of arteries,
“Only two glasses of wine a day” the doc said,
he didn’t mention sex, perhaps he would like to
know that our Saturday love, is a frugal affair,
bath, clean finger nails and, cute, little towels
under pillows; says she used to be in real estate.
Last time I was in Cuba cigars cost more than
abused whores thronging Havana’s streets, till
Fidel Castro came and put an end this disgrace,
mongers fled to Florida where they ghoulishly
sit and wait for the old man to die.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Art gallery
Art Gallery.
From the left, of the big canvas depicting
still life, an apple, a tennis ball, a bottle of
wine and a Greek vase, lava ran, forever
erasing the artist’s work;
when lava cooled I painted on its surface
a landscape of night pale flowers…and
of you, nude and extremely white, striking
pose on black velvet...
From the left, of the big canvas depicting
still life, an apple, a tennis ball, a bottle of
wine and a Greek vase, lava ran, forever
erasing the artist’s work;
when lava cooled I painted on its surface
a landscape of night pale flowers…and
of you, nude and extremely white, striking
pose on black velvet...
Iron cross
Iron Cross.
Under her white lace the baker’s wife wore
an iron cross, tight-lip secrecy, the baker was
in prison for selling cakes and information to
the enemy in exchange for nazi paraphernalia.
Alas the iron was contaminated by an unknown
substance, made her skin olive oil tanned, her
blond hair black, blue eyes brown, it was clear
for everyone to see she was a Levantine Jewess.
So they set the baker free, these people have
suffered enough, applause, tears and waving
of flag; the baker and his wife, emigrated to
Israel to help shape things to come.
Under her white lace the baker’s wife wore
an iron cross, tight-lip secrecy, the baker was
in prison for selling cakes and information to
the enemy in exchange for nazi paraphernalia.
Alas the iron was contaminated by an unknown
substance, made her skin olive oil tanned, her
blond hair black, blue eyes brown, it was clear
for everyone to see she was a Levantine Jewess.
So they set the baker free, these people have
suffered enough, applause, tears and waving
of flag; the baker and his wife, emigrated to
Israel to help shape things to come.
Sonnet to an Oak
I’m am oak with a bald crown, from my
nether branches they used hang criminals,
I still wear a scar, not that I had any say in
the matter, but I enjoyed the spectacle, lots
of people looking up, passive compliance?
Sheriff and judge are thighbones rubbing up
against the bony hips of whores, and grave
robbers grinning skulls… serves them right.
White landscape, descendant of the hanged
are coming down the road…revenge time?
I have no leaves to hide behind, but they are
not looking my way, busy cutting smaller
trees, mere saplings, and that’s ok, they are
only fir tree pretending to be a forest.
I’m am oak with a bald crown, from my
nether branches they used hang criminals,
I still wear a scar, not that I had any say in
the matter, but I enjoyed the spectacle, lots
of people looking up, passive compliance?
Sheriff and judge are thighbones rubbing up
against the bony hips of whores, and grave
robbers grinning skulls… serves them right.
White landscape, descendant of the hanged
are coming down the road…revenge time?
I have no leaves to hide behind, but they are
not looking my way, busy cutting smaller
trees, mere saplings, and that’s ok, they are
only fir tree pretending to be a forest.
truth
Truth
The whaling boat hunts an empty sea,
dots of clouds try to look albatrosses
but they can’t shriek and are myopic.
the trigger finger is cold, iron arrow
attached to a coiled snake try to catch
a breaker before it’s a foamy surge;
there is no horizon, land has gone,
a surviving sardine shines, truths are
hand reared to fit any old occasion;
The whaling boat hunts an empty sea,
dots of clouds try to look albatrosses
but they can’t shriek and are myopic.
the trigger finger is cold, iron arrow
attached to a coiled snake try to catch
a breaker before it’s a foamy surge;
there is no horizon, land has gone,
a surviving sardine shines, truths are
hand reared to fit any old occasion;
illusions
Illusions
You were so warm and tender,
so giving in bed that I thought
you felt as I.
Mind, you have busy life, often
didn’t see you for a long time,
never ask why, for when you came
back all was ok.
Winter gone, spring, I loved you
more than ever, tried not to think
why you stayed away, till I got
this dreaded call; another man.
The pink bubble burst, for a moment
engulfed by hate and dark thoughts
of revenge, but it was my own fault,
knew all along, but refused to open
my eyes and see reality.
You were so warm and tender,
so giving in bed that I thought
you felt as I.
Mind, you have busy life, often
didn’t see you for a long time,
never ask why, for when you came
back all was ok.
Winter gone, spring, I loved you
more than ever, tried not to think
why you stayed away, till I got
this dreaded call; another man.
The pink bubble burst, for a moment
engulfed by hate and dark thoughts
of revenge, but it was my own fault,
knew all along, but refused to open
my eyes and see reality.
The vast expand
The Vast Expand
Expand , my teacher said, but I was
confined by paper and pen, I had
an out of body experience, reaching
the whole world, can see car bombs
as they go off in Baghdad.
The Sidney opera house, bathers at
the beach; see president Bush walk
on the lawn outside the Whitehouse
as Russia’s president Putin combs
his hair, all this at the same time
Internet, the miracle of lies told and
truths exposed, full of triviality, but
also beauty and poetry. Something
for everyone to see; when are they
going to regulated it?
Expand , my teacher said, but I was
confined by paper and pen, I had
an out of body experience, reaching
the whole world, can see car bombs
as they go off in Baghdad.
The Sidney opera house, bathers at
the beach; see president Bush walk
on the lawn outside the Whitehouse
as Russia’s president Putin combs
his hair, all this at the same time
Internet, the miracle of lies told and
truths exposed, full of triviality, but
also beauty and poetry. Something
for everyone to see; when are they
going to regulated it?
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Friday
Friday.
Drive around been alone for a week now,
don’t want a woman, I see pathetic figures
lurking in dark ally ways and under trees,
prostitution is boring, money, cruelty and
graceless sex; not a sensible word spoken;
drive off disgusted by the netherworld of
mankind. Bright light of a big supermarket
beckons, it’s Friday family shopping day.
Christmas décor, children eating ice cream;
lonely people, mostly middle aged women,
closed faces, stern lips, acting as in a hurry
if I speak to one she will move away, but
she needs someone to talk to as much as me.
I say nothing, but listen to spoken silence
that mingles with the warm voice of a child
and the cold air from the exit.
Friday, December 01, 2006
sonnet to a film star
Sonnet to a Film-Star
It wasn’t her creamy body that caught
my attention, nothing unusual about it,
curvaceous, yes, but going soft. It was
her eyes, in a blink, they were blue,
green or brown depending on her mood
that changed faster than traffic lights
on Sunset Boulevard, between laughter,
pain and suspicion. I could see her soul
wide open eyes; they killed her slowly,
those famous men who wouldn’t let her
grow, a dumb blond forever. If I met her
I could have made her happy, but when
I found the courage to ring her doorbell,
Marilyn wasn’t around anymore
It wasn’t her creamy body that caught
my attention, nothing unusual about it,
curvaceous, yes, but going soft. It was
her eyes, in a blink, they were blue,
green or brown depending on her mood
that changed faster than traffic lights
on Sunset Boulevard, between laughter,
pain and suspicion. I could see her soul
wide open eyes; they killed her slowly,
those famous men who wouldn’t let her
grow, a dumb blond forever. If I met her
I could have made her happy, but when
I found the courage to ring her doorbell,
Marilyn wasn’t around anymore
ordinary life
Ordinary Life.
A grazing mule and a sociable donkey make
for an ordinary day, walk to the café gossip
about the lady who runs the pharmacy, her
new lover is the doctor, which makes sense,
and the baker is rumoured to be gay, where
else can you find such an ordinary day.
If I lived a busy life, saw all the worlds
wonders, lakes, oceans and big mountains,
flitted between Taj Mahal and Louvre, in
one day, just to see how great mankind can
be, I wouldn’t had time to see how strange
and fascinating ordinary life can be.
A grazing mule and a sociable donkey make
for an ordinary day, walk to the café gossip
about the lady who runs the pharmacy, her
new lover is the doctor, which makes sense,
and the baker is rumoured to be gay, where
else can you find such an ordinary day.
If I lived a busy life, saw all the worlds
wonders, lakes, oceans and big mountains,
flitted between Taj Mahal and Louvre, in
one day, just to see how great mankind can
be, I wouldn’t had time to see how strange
and fascinating ordinary life can be.
my father
My Father.
Shrunk he has, my father his suit
too big now could fit me, only
they are so old fashion and it would
be too spooky to wear one after
his death.
Ninety, feet polish pavement,
his best friend is a cobbler.
Will I be old as him?
Do I have the courage?
There is a choice, but life is the only
thing I know, every spring is
more beautiful as the previous one,
does he think the same and keep on
living out of terror of the night?
His eyes are clear, a smile plays on
his cherry lips; the old man
has read my thoughts and nods.
Shrunk he has, my father his suit
too big now could fit me, only
they are so old fashion and it would
be too spooky to wear one after
his death.
Ninety, feet polish pavement,
his best friend is a cobbler.
Will I be old as him?
Do I have the courage?
There is a choice, but life is the only
thing I know, every spring is
more beautiful as the previous one,
does he think the same and keep on
living out of terror of the night?
His eyes are clear, a smile plays on
his cherry lips; the old man
has read my thoughts and nods.
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