Sea Surge
Drove for an hour to get to the coast, climbed
sand-dunes before reaching the sea; immense,
calm and full it was, slight heaves, breathing
easily. Didn’t splash about making noises, it
could so easily turn into a monster, a tsunami,
a sudden surge and both the sandy coastline
and I would be history. I picked a few shiny,
wet stones to take home, but when they dried
looked so ordinary that I left them behind.
Sea air made me hungry thought of deep fried
sardines, sliced cucumber in sour cream and
baked potatoes; but it wasn’t the right season.
Had a bacon butty instead, read about a US
army surge, splashing about in Baghdad
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Longway from home
Long way from home
The supermarket’s café is full of shoppers
the cacophonies of voices melt into a song
old as humanity itself. Feel safe amongst
my own kind, outside this sphere of safety
streets are wide and cold.
I can’t sit here too long occupying a table
for four, must have fallen asleep, a gentle
hand on my shoulder: “You ok, sir? More
coffee? “ “No thank you, it’s time for me
to leave, I still have miles to go”
The supermarket’s café is full of shoppers
the cacophonies of voices melt into a song
old as humanity itself. Feel safe amongst
my own kind, outside this sphere of safety
streets are wide and cold.
I can’t sit here too long occupying a table
for four, must have fallen asleep, a gentle
hand on my shoulder: “You ok, sir? More
coffee? “ “No thank you, it’s time for me
to leave, I still have miles to go”
Surrender
Surrender.
Dawn, it has been raining it will soon rain more;
from my window I se the tarn it looks like spilt
milk on a kitchen table, and amongst trees mist
slowly whirls around to music unheard by any
living creature. Feathery my body and I’m part
of this scene, must be careful though, not close
my eyes, if I do I might be totally absorbed and
unable to be one again; yet, if I do let go, it is
tempting, I’ll hear mystic music not listened to
any man before. Gray and white morning soft
contours, the cockerel crews, the radio speaks
of more rain like I didn’t know. It has begun to
rain, as I stand by the window, feeling the ease
of being; and wonder if I closed my eyes?
Dawn, it has been raining it will soon rain more;
from my window I se the tarn it looks like spilt
milk on a kitchen table, and amongst trees mist
slowly whirls around to music unheard by any
living creature. Feathery my body and I’m part
of this scene, must be careful though, not close
my eyes, if I do I might be totally absorbed and
unable to be one again; yet, if I do let go, it is
tempting, I’ll hear mystic music not listened to
any man before. Gray and white morning soft
contours, the cockerel crews, the radio speaks
of more rain like I didn’t know. It has begun to
rain, as I stand by the window, feeling the ease
of being; and wonder if I closed my eyes?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
the absent moon
The Absent Moon
The moon tonight will not been seen
by lovers in my vale, a band of clouds
resentfully cover the sky in obliquity,
despite of this, lovers will hold hands
and embrace whatever the hateful do
The moon tonight will not been seen
by lovers in my vale, a band of clouds
resentfully cover the sky in obliquity,
despite of this, lovers will hold hands
and embrace whatever the hateful do
The seeker
The Seeker
This flowing idea of pure love
not our squalid affairs that end
in recrimination, mutual hatred,
damned lies and jealousy;
to be grain, water and yeast,
nourishing food, to unlimited
give unconditional love, clear
as the mountain’s stream;
if I could have a crumb of that
vision it would cleanse, what
has been a luckless love life,
and I will gladly die tomorrow.
This flowing idea of pure love
not our squalid affairs that end
in recrimination, mutual hatred,
damned lies and jealousy;
to be grain, water and yeast,
nourishing food, to unlimited
give unconditional love, clear
as the mountain’s stream;
if I could have a crumb of that
vision it would cleanse, what
has been a luckless love life,
and I will gladly die tomorrow.
may parade
May Parade.
Overcast, and it is the workers day, here in Algarve,
most places are close, except those who are self –
employed who mark their distance from wage
receivers by working a few hours, as they grumble
sourly about low production. In Britain they call it
Bank Holiday, to celebrate the workers day is
embarrassing in a country where people are made
to feel ashamed for being working class. In Norway
there is marching in main streets today, waving of
banners and flags, horn music and general noise; and
why not, here the middle classes too- those who
receive a wage- see themselves as workers, march
to ghastly music, and shout “up the workers” as fist
fights break out outside restaurants at closing time.
Overcast, and it is the workers day, here in Algarve,
most places are close, except those who are self –
employed who mark their distance from wage
receivers by working a few hours, as they grumble
sourly about low production. In Britain they call it
Bank Holiday, to celebrate the workers day is
embarrassing in a country where people are made
to feel ashamed for being working class. In Norway
there is marching in main streets today, waving of
banners and flags, horn music and general noise; and
why not, here the middle classes too- those who
receive a wage- see themselves as workers, march
to ghastly music, and shout “up the workers” as fist
fights break out outside restaurants at closing time.
Friday, April 27, 2007
pastr& future
Past & Future
My past is
as vast as
Siberia
frozen most
of the year
and mushy
when
remembering
spring.
My future
is a strip of
land,
the size of
Palestine,
where
someone
has built a wall
hindering it
to expand
My past is
as vast as
Siberia
frozen most
of the year
and mushy
when
remembering
spring.
My future
is a strip of
land,
the size of
Palestine,
where
someone
has built a wall
hindering it
to expand
meandering afternoon
Meandering Afternoon.
The table, light catches a singular drop of
blush on the carpet which doesn’t respond,
no more than a road would do to a street light,
asphalt is grey at night, not black and full of
spilt ale it felt adventurous, curled itself up
and splashed into the landscape where roads
had never before dared to thread. How happy
they were animals and tractors until they
discovered the road ended by a river, too
deep to cross in winters and too stony for
sore hooves in summers. This problem was
overcome when someone found a nugget of
gold and the landscape was full of prospectors
who survived, by eating their mules slowly.
The table, light catches a singular drop of
blush on the carpet which doesn’t respond,
no more than a road would do to a street light,
asphalt is grey at night, not black and full of
spilt ale it felt adventurous, curled itself up
and splashed into the landscape where roads
had never before dared to thread. How happy
they were animals and tractors until they
discovered the road ended by a river, too
deep to cross in winters and too stony for
sore hooves in summers. This problem was
overcome when someone found a nugget of
gold and the landscape was full of prospectors
who survived, by eating their mules slowly.
the lily and the rose
The Lily and a Rose
IBN al QUITIYYA (ca1120)
And Jan Oskar Hansen 2007
Taste the wine as you inhale
the fragrance of white lilies,
and at dawn, with a lover, see
the awakening of a rose.
As we suckle the heavens
tits of lilies milk and
rose’s blood we fill our
hearts with love
There are those who prefer
the camphor tree, the queen
of whiteness and the rose
that steals the shade
Idealized whiteness exhibited
by the lily, signify a sad
morning farewell, the paling
of lovers hands.
Or, if preferred, tubular silver
sheaves, embedded in wood,
that in the heat of nights set
fire to the wind
IBN al QUITIYYA (ca1120)
And Jan Oskar Hansen 2007
Taste the wine as you inhale
the fragrance of white lilies,
and at dawn, with a lover, see
the awakening of a rose.
As we suckle the heavens
tits of lilies milk and
rose’s blood we fill our
hearts with love
There are those who prefer
the camphor tree, the queen
of whiteness and the rose
that steals the shade
Idealized whiteness exhibited
by the lily, signify a sad
morning farewell, the paling
of lovers hands.
Or, if preferred, tubular silver
sheaves, embedded in wood,
that in the heat of nights set
fire to the wind
Thursday, April 26, 2007
an Indian kiss
An Indian Kiss.
Ravana, the Indian princess, who lives in
a palace just outside Bombay, has invited
me to her sumptuous home; alas, I can not
go, years ago, when in New Delhi, I kissed
a sweet flower lady on both cheeks and was
chased around the city by a mob who threw
sticks and stones, had to wear a false beard
for weeks and just made it across the border
to Moslem Pakistan. A court order to arrest
me, promptly, for lewd behaviour still stand,
so I guess my princess will have to come see
me at my modest cottage, if she wants a kiss
on her rosy cheeks; not at the airport though,
No! Goodness, Gracious Me!
Ravana, the Indian princess, who lives in
a palace just outside Bombay, has invited
me to her sumptuous home; alas, I can not
go, years ago, when in New Delhi, I kissed
a sweet flower lady on both cheeks and was
chased around the city by a mob who threw
sticks and stones, had to wear a false beard
for weeks and just made it across the border
to Moslem Pakistan. A court order to arrest
me, promptly, for lewd behaviour still stand,
so I guess my princess will have to come see
me at my modest cottage, if she wants a kiss
on her rosy cheeks; not at the airport though,
No! Goodness, Gracious Me!
the death of a president
The Death of a President
The first elected president after seventy years
of dictatorship, was a big man, with a flushed
whisky face and a bully too, knew who to get
to the top, but when there he was incompetent
spent much time getting drunk. So the nomen
clatura took charge, created an oligarchy who
robbed the Soviet state and her people; that
many oligarchs are Jewish is purely incidental,
if anyone keeps mentioning their origins, I will
not hesitate to call him/her a sour Anti –Semite.
They are disloyal Russians who grabbed what
they could before fleeing abroad with their
loot. Nationhood is a commodity that can be
purchased and betrayed at the drop of a shekel.
The first elected president after seventy years
of dictatorship, was a big man, with a flushed
whisky face and a bully too, knew who to get
to the top, but when there he was incompetent
spent much time getting drunk. So the nomen
clatura took charge, created an oligarchy who
robbed the Soviet state and her people; that
many oligarchs are Jewish is purely incidental,
if anyone keeps mentioning their origins, I will
not hesitate to call him/her a sour Anti –Semite.
They are disloyal Russians who grabbed what
they could before fleeing abroad with their
loot. Nationhood is a commodity that can be
purchased and betrayed at the drop of a shekel.
the long voyage
The Long Voyage.
Tropical night on the deck of a tank-ship,
Caribbean Sea, the highest point on earth,
nowhere else are stars so near. Ink waters,
white where it has been crushed by the ship;
and through my feet I sense her heartbeat.
It’s the day that is long for a seafarer, work
routine, and talks in ever decreasing circles,
punctuated by rancorous silence and bitter
thoughts. From time to time the ship shudder
as fearing nights and the unknown destiny,
a storm too many? A slight heave I can feel
it now, restless weather ahead; good, it may
break the ennui that slows a seaman’s mind
into tiny, introverted circles of loneliness.
Tropical night on the deck of a tank-ship,
Caribbean Sea, the highest point on earth,
nowhere else are stars so near. Ink waters,
white where it has been crushed by the ship;
and through my feet I sense her heartbeat.
It’s the day that is long for a seafarer, work
routine, and talks in ever decreasing circles,
punctuated by rancorous silence and bitter
thoughts. From time to time the ship shudder
as fearing nights and the unknown destiny,
a storm too many? A slight heave I can feel
it now, restless weather ahead; good, it may
break the ennui that slows a seaman’s mind
into tiny, introverted circles of loneliness.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
the guardians
The Guardians
The big supermarket with a bell tower that chimed
at regular hours but not now after midnight, looked
like space ship in a vast car park, and the dog that
lived in field not yet covered in concrete, where one
could find bicycle pumps, if you needed one and
searched long enough, had stopped barking, why it
had done so in the first place not even it knew, it was
now looking for food, as were illegal emigrants,
near the bins, wary of uniformed sentinels who took
it upon themselves to stop the hungry getting food
that was wasted anyway. They, the nocturnal guards,
is capitalism’s triumph, low paid men doing their
dirty deed, spraying bleach on dumped food to stop
the poor from eating it.
The big supermarket with a bell tower that chimed
at regular hours but not now after midnight, looked
like space ship in a vast car park, and the dog that
lived in field not yet covered in concrete, where one
could find bicycle pumps, if you needed one and
searched long enough, had stopped barking, why it
had done so in the first place not even it knew, it was
now looking for food, as were illegal emigrants,
near the bins, wary of uniformed sentinels who took
it upon themselves to stop the hungry getting food
that was wasted anyway. They, the nocturnal guards,
is capitalism’s triumph, low paid men doing their
dirty deed, spraying bleach on dumped food to stop
the poor from eating it.
timeless zone
Timeless Zones.
The valley where I used to live was timeless
it had no mirrors except for the still water in
the village pond, young milk maids used to
walk into it, waist deep, till the pond showed
them what they wanted to see; back on land
they married one of the men who lurked around
Alas, there were instances when there wasn’t
anyone around, no matter how many times
a poor milkmaid waded into, the often icy,
water, but no one called her spinster, instead
she became the shaman of the vale. Sadly to
say a road was built, they called it progress,
traders came with watches and, mirrors, and
I left searching for another impossible dream.
The valley where I used to live was timeless
it had no mirrors except for the still water in
the village pond, young milk maids used to
walk into it, waist deep, till the pond showed
them what they wanted to see; back on land
they married one of the men who lurked around
Alas, there were instances when there wasn’t
anyone around, no matter how many times
a poor milkmaid waded into, the often icy,
water, but no one called her spinster, instead
she became the shaman of the vale. Sadly to
say a road was built, they called it progress,
traders came with watches and, mirrors, and
I left searching for another impossible dream.
godlike
Godlike.
When I open the lid of my cistern I bring
Light down into an obscure world if a fish
Look up and see my face it will think I’m
God and pray, when the water level is low
They all pray a lot and don’t bicker as much
They do in time of plenty. I call the farmer
Who has got a borehole and brings a tank
Load of water…rainy season for my fishes.
Time has changed our village is modernized
Get water from the mains, thought of making
The cistern into a bomb shelter, but decided
To keep it as a backup in hot summers, being
God, is a responsible calling for anyone...
When I open the lid of my cistern I bring
Light down into an obscure world if a fish
Look up and see my face it will think I’m
God and pray, when the water level is low
They all pray a lot and don’t bicker as much
They do in time of plenty. I call the farmer
Who has got a borehole and brings a tank
Load of water…rainy season for my fishes.
Time has changed our village is modernized
Get water from the mains, thought of making
The cistern into a bomb shelter, but decided
To keep it as a backup in hot summers, being
God, is a responsible calling for anyone...
Monday, April 23, 2007
The tears
The Tears
Yes, there had been so many deaths first my
siblings, two, than my father and later mother,
I was sad but lived a busy life and had my
home in another land, but it was there a lump
not released, waiting for me to stop running
and face up to my loss. My dog died I buried
her in hard winter soil in the outer field and
deep to protect her from being eaten by foxes
or other dogs, then tears came for all my losses
over years a floodgate had opened thought it
would never stop and she held me in her arms,
till I fell into a deep slumber; in the morning,
cold and clear, I was able to remember them
with love and hear their joyous laughter.
Yes, there had been so many deaths first my
siblings, two, than my father and later mother,
I was sad but lived a busy life and had my
home in another land, but it was there a lump
not released, waiting for me to stop running
and face up to my loss. My dog died I buried
her in hard winter soil in the outer field and
deep to protect her from being eaten by foxes
or other dogs, then tears came for all my losses
over years a floodgate had opened thought it
would never stop and she held me in her arms,
till I fell into a deep slumber; in the morning,
cold and clear, I was able to remember them
with love and hear their joyous laughter.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
snow 1954
Snow 1954
Snowy night, streets were covered in a calm,
carpet of white and since it was Sunday morning,
with few cars about, the grubby town looked as
beautiful as a fairy tale; till Monday, when traffic
would churn snow into yellow, dirty slush and
people, in black or drab grey, would have mist
coming out of their mouths as they moaned about
the weather. In the park the snow would last for
days and I could make my foot prints large by
subbing my feet on the ground White contrasting
black trees and pale sky made for stark beauty; in
front of park benches where old men sat, talking
ships, tobacco spittle. Winter 1954, colours only
appeared in comic strips, a few western movies.
Snowy night, streets were covered in a calm,
carpet of white and since it was Sunday morning,
with few cars about, the grubby town looked as
beautiful as a fairy tale; till Monday, when traffic
would churn snow into yellow, dirty slush and
people, in black or drab grey, would have mist
coming out of their mouths as they moaned about
the weather. In the park the snow would last for
days and I could make my foot prints large by
subbing my feet on the ground White contrasting
black trees and pale sky made for stark beauty; in
front of park benches where old men sat, talking
ships, tobacco spittle. Winter 1954, colours only
appeared in comic strips, a few western movies.
Friday, April 20, 2007
summer berries
Summer Berries.
Picked wild strawberries by the wayside,
they were dusty, but filled me with ecstatic
sweetness; my lips were red and swollen.
The milk-maid kissed me smack on my
mouth, pressed her adult body against my
thin frame, chocking me; called me a lovely
boy. Her face was huge, sweaty and so very
near, her eyes had a crazy shine and wide as
troll’s. Strength ebbed I was quivering jelly
overcome by a tickling sensation; happily
a cow mooed, spell broken. I got out of her
embrace and ran a thousand mile, till dawn
came, and a cockerel crewed; I wowed not
to eat wild strawberries ever again
Picked wild strawberries by the wayside,
they were dusty, but filled me with ecstatic
sweetness; my lips were red and swollen.
The milk-maid kissed me smack on my
mouth, pressed her adult body against my
thin frame, chocking me; called me a lovely
boy. Her face was huge, sweaty and so very
near, her eyes had a crazy shine and wide as
troll’s. Strength ebbed I was quivering jelly
overcome by a tickling sensation; happily
a cow mooed, spell broken. I got out of her
embrace and ran a thousand mile, till dawn
came, and a cockerel crewed; I wowed not
to eat wild strawberries ever again
food parcels
Food Parcels
From sandy coloured landscape, that has
patches of green where rivers run in hidden
valleys, women in black burka appear on
the dusty road. A little later a military truck
comes into view and stops, the women chat
eagerly amongst themselves, they have lined
faces, have lived in misery so long that they
are now insult proof. The men in the truck
hand out parcels of sugar, tea, tinned milk
and rice, they dislike this work, think it’s
beneath them, take pathetic reprisal by rudely
shouting at the women, who quickly leave
the road, disappear into a mud walled villages,
unseen from the gravel road and the world
From sandy coloured landscape, that has
patches of green where rivers run in hidden
valleys, women in black burka appear on
the dusty road. A little later a military truck
comes into view and stops, the women chat
eagerly amongst themselves, they have lined
faces, have lived in misery so long that they
are now insult proof. The men in the truck
hand out parcels of sugar, tea, tinned milk
and rice, they dislike this work, think it’s
beneath them, take pathetic reprisal by rudely
shouting at the women, who quickly leave
the road, disappear into a mud walled villages,
unseen from the gravel road and the world
food parcels
Food Parcels
From sandy coloured landscape, that has
patches of green where rivers run in hidden
valleys, women in black burka appear on
the dusty road. A little later a military truck
comes into view and stops, the women chat
eagerly amongst themselves, they have lined
faces, have lived in misery so long that they
are now insult proof. The men in the truck
hand out parcels of sugar, tea, tinned milk
and rice, they dislike this work, think it’s
beneath them, take pathetic reprisal by rudely
shouting at the women, who quickly leave
the road, disappear into a mud walled villages,
unseen from the gravel road and the world
From sandy coloured landscape, that has
patches of green where rivers run in hidden
valleys, women in black burka appear on
the dusty road. A little later a military truck
comes into view and stops, the women chat
eagerly amongst themselves, they have lined
faces, have lived in misery so long that they
are now insult proof. The men in the truck
hand out parcels of sugar, tea, tinned milk
and rice, they dislike this work, think it’s
beneath them, take pathetic reprisal by rudely
shouting at the women, who quickly leave
the road, disappear into a mud walled villages,
unseen from the gravel road and the world
climate
Climate Change
The sky was ice-blue just like my father’s
after shave, the sun was pale looked as
a flashlight with dying batteries. Evening
came early, unseen clouds congregated
and snow fell, big flakes it only took ten
to make a snowball. Next day it continued,
fell so heavy we couldn’t see, but it was
great fun and cars drove with head lights on.
But the snow didn’t cease, for forty days
and forty nights it went on, till our part of
the world was a vast plain with the top of
office blocks sticking up; and silent, but
heard father say: “So this is climate change
I thought it meant palm trees and lagoons.”
The sky was ice-blue just like my father’s
after shave, the sun was pale looked as
a flashlight with dying batteries. Evening
came early, unseen clouds congregated
and snow fell, big flakes it only took ten
to make a snowball. Next day it continued,
fell so heavy we couldn’t see, but it was
great fun and cars drove with head lights on.
But the snow didn’t cease, for forty days
and forty nights it went on, till our part of
the world was a vast plain with the top of
office blocks sticking up; and silent, but
heard father say: “So this is climate change
I thought it meant palm trees and lagoons.”
climate change
Climate Change
The sky was ice-blue just like my father’s
after shave, the sun was pale looked as
a flashlight with dying batteries. Evening
came early, unseen clouds congregated
and snow fell, big flakes it only took ten
to make a snowball. Next day it continued,
fell so heavy we couldn’t see, but it was
great fun and cars drove with head lights on.
But the snow didn’t cease, for forty days
and forty nights it went on, till our part of
the world was a vast plain with the top of
office blocks sticking up; and silent, but
heard father say: “So this is climate change
I thought it meant palm trees and lagoons.”
The sky was ice-blue just like my father’s
after shave, the sun was pale looked as
a flashlight with dying batteries. Evening
came early, unseen clouds congregated
and snow fell, big flakes it only took ten
to make a snowball. Next day it continued,
fell so heavy we couldn’t see, but it was
great fun and cars drove with head lights on.
But the snow didn’t cease, for forty days
and forty nights it went on, till our part of
the world was a vast plain with the top of
office blocks sticking up; and silent, but
heard father say: “So this is climate change
I thought it meant palm trees and lagoons.”
the forgotten home
The Forgotten Home
Odd it was to say halloo to a flat that had
been empty for so long, the word dropped
on the floor and lifted dust off carpets,
an audible sigh escaped through the open
door, ten years vigil had come to an end.
Grimy windows, dead flowers on the sill,
spiders had perished in their own webs.
Letters on the floor, yellow now, addressed
to me, too late to open them, only to find
that my hasty departure and long absence
had been misplaced; I’m not Peer Gynt
my Solveig wasn’t the type to hang around
waiting too long. This is my home, journey
is over, I have shelves full of old friends.
Odd it was to say halloo to a flat that had
been empty for so long, the word dropped
on the floor and lifted dust off carpets,
an audible sigh escaped through the open
door, ten years vigil had come to an end.
Grimy windows, dead flowers on the sill,
spiders had perished in their own webs.
Letters on the floor, yellow now, addressed
to me, too late to open them, only to find
that my hasty departure and long absence
had been misplaced; I’m not Peer Gynt
my Solveig wasn’t the type to hang around
waiting too long. This is my home, journey
is over, I have shelves full of old friends.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
El Rocio
El Rocio
It’s hot at the bus station, dust whirls about like
tiny malevolent tornados stinging my eyes, shirt
clings to my back as a tiresome child; my bag is
heavy too, daren’t put it down, contains nothing
much, but its all I have got and a passport giving
me an identity. Have to ask when the bus to
Spain leaves, got to go to El Rocio where I have
a cottage and my dog, waits for me. They say, it
isn’t so, that I’m deluded confusing an old dream
with reality. I know they are mistaken, if I can
get on the right bus, one that doesn’t make u-turns
with a stern voiced driver telling me to get off, I’ll
be alright. I was happy in El Rocio, a woman sang
me lullabies, perhaps she was my mother.
It’s hot at the bus station, dust whirls about like
tiny malevolent tornados stinging my eyes, shirt
clings to my back as a tiresome child; my bag is
heavy too, daren’t put it down, contains nothing
much, but its all I have got and a passport giving
me an identity. Have to ask when the bus to
Spain leaves, got to go to El Rocio where I have
a cottage and my dog, waits for me. They say, it
isn’t so, that I’m deluded confusing an old dream
with reality. I know they are mistaken, if I can
get on the right bus, one that doesn’t make u-turns
with a stern voiced driver telling me to get off, I’ll
be alright. I was happy in El Rocio, a woman sang
me lullabies, perhaps she was my mother.
haiku
Haiku
Dark clouds
On August sky
Relief
Haiku
The westerly cloud
Crossing the blue summer sky
Brings cooling shade
Dark clouds
On August sky
Relief
Haiku
The westerly cloud
Crossing the blue summer sky
Brings cooling shade
the young and the dead
The Young and the Dead.
Blustery day in Virginia snowflakes flew
about, still not enough to make a snowman,
when a deluded student began a killing spree.
Great confusion over-weight and over-armed
police officers took up position behind open
car doors and bushes, till the shooting stopped
and the gunboy had killed himself, famous in
his own mind, and taken 30 youth with him to
the land of sorrowful memories. 31 graves dug
in soil unwilling and unprepared to give space
for young adults filled with longings of love not
yet experienced. Now I wait for the movie with
brave and slim police officers dodging a madman’s
bullets as they storm the citadel.
Blustery day in Virginia snowflakes flew
about, still not enough to make a snowman,
when a deluded student began a killing spree.
Great confusion over-weight and over-armed
police officers took up position behind open
car doors and bushes, till the shooting stopped
and the gunboy had killed himself, famous in
his own mind, and taken 30 youth with him to
the land of sorrowful memories. 31 graves dug
in soil unwilling and unprepared to give space
for young adults filled with longings of love not
yet experienced. Now I wait for the movie with
brave and slim police officers dodging a madman’s
bullets as they storm the citadel.
tanka
Tanka
Deluded boy kills
Thirty two students and staff
In US… Shocking
Car bomb kills hundreds… Iraq.
Yeah, so what is new pussycat?
Deluded boy kills
Thirty two students and staff
In US… Shocking
Car bomb kills hundreds… Iraq.
Yeah, so what is new pussycat?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
summer leaves. 2
Summer leaves
The strong June leaves that floated on
the water in the ornamental pond, like
newly launched long ship, have now
submerged to the bottom, the water is
cold and murky. A deep shadow block
the sun from entering and the garden
is silent since a two year old boy tried
to catch a sunray that danced on clear
water on a perfect summer’s day.
The strong June leaves that floated on
the water in the ornamental pond, like
newly launched long ship, have now
submerged to the bottom, the water is
cold and murky. A deep shadow block
the sun from entering and the garden
is silent since a two year old boy tried
to catch a sunray that danced on clear
water on a perfect summer’s day.
gun slinger
The Gun Slinger
“Whose are the eyes, on the table?” “Mine, took
them off to repair the TV, have feel my way inside
it. To steal some ones eyes is a crime and I’ll have
to shoot you with my gun; six bullets- knife sharp-
in its chamber; I have the god given right to wear
arms even have cannon on my lawn to shoot birds
and other minor things that fly in above my house.
Guns don’t kill, man does. John Wayne never killed
anyone, only pretended to, those good old western
movies, the baddies fell like bumbles bees, never
a drop of blood to be seen. I have stopped walking
like a cowboy now since a movie about gay ones
ruined the fun; doesn’t bear thinking of what they
get up to in the bunkhouse or around the camp fire.”
“Whose are the eyes, on the table?” “Mine, took
them off to repair the TV, have feel my way inside
it. To steal some ones eyes is a crime and I’ll have
to shoot you with my gun; six bullets- knife sharp-
in its chamber; I have the god given right to wear
arms even have cannon on my lawn to shoot birds
and other minor things that fly in above my house.
Guns don’t kill, man does. John Wayne never killed
anyone, only pretended to, those good old western
movies, the baddies fell like bumbles bees, never
a drop of blood to be seen. I have stopped walking
like a cowboy now since a movie about gay ones
ruined the fun; doesn’t bear thinking of what they
get up to in the bunkhouse or around the camp fire.”
wild beasts
Wild Beasts
Tiger and lions are not pets they look cuddly and
friendly till the day they lash out and kill their
owners and feel no remorse. You cannot tame
a wild animal they are as unpredictable as a man
who looks pleasant and quiet, but has a rage deep
in his soul that can’t be stilled, although it doesn’t
reach his eyes till he get a gun in his hands and
begin to kill friends and foe alike; and when sated
turns the gun on himself. Asking why, is of little
merit, but we can have a strict arms control, cause
humans are the most vicious beast of all, the only
one that’s ready to kill in the name of a loving God.
Tiger and lions are not pets they look cuddly and
friendly till the day they lash out and kill their
owners and feel no remorse. You cannot tame
a wild animal they are as unpredictable as a man
who looks pleasant and quiet, but has a rage deep
in his soul that can’t be stilled, although it doesn’t
reach his eyes till he get a gun in his hands and
begin to kill friends and foe alike; and when sated
turns the gun on himself. Asking why, is of little
merit, but we can have a strict arms control, cause
humans are the most vicious beast of all, the only
one that’s ready to kill in the name of a loving God.
poppies
Poppies
The scarlet poppies, on the verge,
where the lane bends,
were painted by Van Gogh,
who had carelessly left the canvas
behind and gone with Gauguin to madam,
Houseman’s bordello;
were picked by a lady, she though them,
pretty; meant well, but, broke
the special bond between light and soil.
She looked sad, but stopped off at a country fair,
bought poppies made of silk in China.
When Van Gogh came back to catch
the afternoon light on the canvas, it wasn’t there,
and deeply distressed cut his ear off
The scarlet poppies, on the verge,
where the lane bends,
were painted by Van Gogh,
who had carelessly left the canvas
behind and gone with Gauguin to madam,
Houseman’s bordello;
were picked by a lady, she though them,
pretty; meant well, but, broke
the special bond between light and soil.
She looked sad, but stopped off at a country fair,
bought poppies made of silk in China.
When Van Gogh came back to catch
the afternoon light on the canvas, it wasn’t there,
and deeply distressed cut his ear off
wonder
Wonder.
Last night
I heard the echo
of birth pain
that had its origin
in the faraway
region of
the milky-way.
When dust had
settled,
out of
Rosette Nebula
came
a new star,
adding beauty,
giving
light to our
universe
Last night
I heard the echo
of birth pain
that had its origin
in the faraway
region of
the milky-way.
When dust had
settled,
out of
Rosette Nebula
came
a new star,
adding beauty,
giving
light to our
universe
summer leaves one
Summer Leaves.
The strong June leaves that floated on
the water in the ornamental pond, like
newly launched long ship, have now
submerged to the bottom, the water is
cold and murky. A deep shadow block
the sun from entering and the garden
is silent since a two year old boy tried
to catch a sunray that danced on clear
water on a perfect summer’s day; On
ladder a man, in winter coat, stands his
eyes are dark as the pond, unforgivable
he should have been there to save his
son…if only…. He tightens the noose
and hear the child calling his name.
The strong June leaves that floated on
the water in the ornamental pond, like
newly launched long ship, have now
submerged to the bottom, the water is
cold and murky. A deep shadow block
the sun from entering and the garden
is silent since a two year old boy tried
to catch a sunray that danced on clear
water on a perfect summer’s day; On
ladder a man, in winter coat, stands his
eyes are dark as the pond, unforgivable
he should have been there to save his
son…if only…. He tightens the noose
and hear the child calling his name.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
master mariner
Master Mariner.
I’m leaving next week going back to sea;
my last voyage before handing in my oars.
“But aren’t you a bit…?” Too old, you
mean. Not at all, had a facelift in Rome,
Italy and a new hair transplant in Argentine
The ship too has been painted, no one will
notice that she’s a bit aged; was her master
back in 42, when the Atlantic crawled with
u-boats. I’ll do all the navigation at night
and wear sunglasses during the day, don’t
worry about me I’ll be fine, look forward to
feel her moving under my feet once again.
“So what are you doing here in the park?
Feeding ducks out of date Danish pastry.”
I’m leaving next week going back to sea;
my last voyage before handing in my oars.
“But aren’t you a bit…?” Too old, you
mean. Not at all, had a facelift in Rome,
Italy and a new hair transplant in Argentine
The ship too has been painted, no one will
notice that she’s a bit aged; was her master
back in 42, when the Atlantic crawled with
u-boats. I’ll do all the navigation at night
and wear sunglasses during the day, don’t
worry about me I’ll be fine, look forward to
feel her moving under my feet once again.
“So what are you doing here in the park?
Feeding ducks out of date Danish pastry.”
spring light
Spring Light
The evening sun shines on grey asphalt road, like
a snake in green, spring grass, as three young men
are coming out of a tavern, they drink from a bottle
of sweet, cheap rosé wine, wrapped inside a famous
brand name. Alcohol melts a frozen soul till it’s
a drying spot on the road; I’ve lost my soul, here is
a knife, scrap it off yourself . One of them vomits
pieces of undigested meat, in pink, as a car bomb
explodes in Iraq, human flesh hangs from lampposts,
and blood runs down a drain. Fear not, democracy
is near- any day now- the people are allowed to march
and protest against the illegal occupation. If you have
lost the soles of your shoes, go buy a new pair, made
in China, the cobbler is a trade long since gone.
The evening sun shines on grey asphalt road, like
a snake in green, spring grass, as three young men
are coming out of a tavern, they drink from a bottle
of sweet, cheap rosé wine, wrapped inside a famous
brand name. Alcohol melts a frozen soul till it’s
a drying spot on the road; I’ve lost my soul, here is
a knife, scrap it off yourself . One of them vomits
pieces of undigested meat, in pink, as a car bomb
explodes in Iraq, human flesh hangs from lampposts,
and blood runs down a drain. Fear not, democracy
is near- any day now- the people are allowed to march
and protest against the illegal occupation. If you have
lost the soles of your shoes, go buy a new pair, made
in China, the cobbler is a trade long since gone.
haiku/tanka
Haiku
Unnerving
Writing down a dream
Like catching mist
......................
Try catch, a moon ray
When it carves a name on bark
It might be yours
.............
Tanka
Melancholic moon
Sun’s modest little sister
Only shines at night
Because she’s beautiful
And her brother is envious
.............
Tanka
The red plastic rose
In my bleak winter garden
Looked dramatic
Until spring came muscling in
And cruel sun melted it
,,,,,,,,
Tanka
Sun argued with moon
He wanted to shine at night
Singed her cute nose
She, so much wiser, gave in
And night was made into day
,,,,,,,,,,,,
Tanka
Wellspring, Kosovo
Bodies and poisoned water
Ancient hatred
Inhales dust of history
A cancer on peoples’ soul
................
Unnerving
Writing down a dream
Like catching mist
......................
Try catch, a moon ray
When it carves a name on bark
It might be yours
.............
Tanka
Melancholic moon
Sun’s modest little sister
Only shines at night
Because she’s beautiful
And her brother is envious
.............
Tanka
The red plastic rose
In my bleak winter garden
Looked dramatic
Until spring came muscling in
And cruel sun melted it
,,,,,,,,
Tanka
Sun argued with moon
He wanted to shine at night
Singed her cute nose
She, so much wiser, gave in
And night was made into day
,,,,,,,,,,,,
Tanka
Wellspring, Kosovo
Bodies and poisoned water
Ancient hatred
Inhales dust of history
A cancer on peoples’ soul
................
flower power
Tanka.
Had I only known
Old age is a tranquil bay
I would’ve hurried
Not suffered needless worry
Trying to be eternally young
,,,,,,,,,,
Flower Power
When I ride to town on my donkey
to buy wine for my elderly mother;
I’m met at the city’s gate by flower
loving housewives;
they follow me to the inn, wait for
my transport to shed fragrant dung;
they coo to my jenny and speculate
about my mother’s drinking.
Had I only known
Old age is a tranquil bay
I would’ve hurried
Not suffered needless worry
Trying to be eternally young
,,,,,,,,,,
Flower Power
When I ride to town on my donkey
to buy wine for my elderly mother;
I’m met at the city’s gate by flower
loving housewives;
they follow me to the inn, wait for
my transport to shed fragrant dung;
they coo to my jenny and speculate
about my mother’s drinking.
the beggar of bath
The Beggar of Bath
The fountain, outside the bar- in the plaza,
where high spirited people throw pennies
late at night- has none at dawn, but soggy
leaves, ditto cigarette butts and coke cans.
At daytime a well dressed beggar sits near,
the fountain, clean hands he has, looks so
middleclass that people warm to him, smile
and throw big coins into his expensive hat.
The fountain, outside the bar- in the plaza,
where high spirited people throw pennies
late at night- has none at dawn, but soggy
leaves, ditto cigarette butts and coke cans.
At daytime a well dressed beggar sits near,
the fountain, clean hands he has, looks so
middleclass that people warm to him, smile
and throw big coins into his expensive hat.
wonderfully old
Wonderfully Old.
Woke up a day in May felt serene and old,
admired my deep facial lines and tanned
baldness; yes, I’m a survivor of mudslingers
and character assassins. Infinite, my charity
is, even toward those who criticize my style.
My experience is vast, knowledge profound,
there is no hell and the heaven is a fairytale;
thus I fear not walking into the good night.
I keep my fingernails clean, dress well, now
that I’m old; bought a blue blazer with gold
buttons on and a captain’s cap; when I walk,
with measured dignity, through my town,
women will stop and say: “What a charming
man, this ancient tar with a song in his heart.”
Woke up a day in May felt serene and old,
admired my deep facial lines and tanned
baldness; yes, I’m a survivor of mudslingers
and character assassins. Infinite, my charity
is, even toward those who criticize my style.
My experience is vast, knowledge profound,
there is no hell and the heaven is a fairytale;
thus I fear not walking into the good night.
I keep my fingernails clean, dress well, now
that I’m old; bought a blue blazer with gold
buttons on and a captain’s cap; when I walk,
with measured dignity, through my town,
women will stop and say: “What a charming
man, this ancient tar with a song in his heart.”
love's lifetime
Love’s Lifetime
Of the hundreds of photos I keep
in a lacquered box made in China,
there is none of you.
Once had one, but it hurt too much
seeing you, I tore it into small pieces
and threw them to the wind, the same
day as my almond tree shed its enchanting flowers.
Yet, when I look up to the morning sky,
if it’s blue with wooly, playful clouds,
that makes the heaven less stern;
I see your reflection it has a shadow of a smile.
Since I shan’t go up north,
where we first met, so many dreams ago,
you will forever look young.
Of the hundreds of photos I keep
in a lacquered box made in China,
there is none of you.
Once had one, but it hurt too much
seeing you, I tore it into small pieces
and threw them to the wind, the same
day as my almond tree shed its enchanting flowers.
Yet, when I look up to the morning sky,
if it’s blue with wooly, playful clouds,
that makes the heaven less stern;
I see your reflection it has a shadow of a smile.
Since I shan’t go up north,
where we first met, so many dreams ago,
you will forever look young.
fishing
Fishing
In the river that flows past my window
I see a posh salmon swim,
shines like an assassin’s dagger before
it finds its victim and spray
the air in a mist of pink blood.
Pale fingers too swim, in this esoteric
stream, I catch them with my net
made of spiders’ web,
fry them golden brown, eat them by
the window.
Expensive fish doesn’t empress me
anymore, they are often
bony and hand-reared in some
Scottish fiord, unsavoury as titles
bought by ego bloated men.
In the river that flows past my window
I see a posh salmon swim,
shines like an assassin’s dagger before
it finds its victim and spray
the air in a mist of pink blood.
Pale fingers too swim, in this esoteric
stream, I catch them with my net
made of spiders’ web,
fry them golden brown, eat them by
the window.
Expensive fish doesn’t empress me
anymore, they are often
bony and hand-reared in some
Scottish fiord, unsavoury as titles
bought by ego bloated men.
the storm
A Storm
Behind murky clouds giants fight,
glint of steel,
echoing thunder as the defeated
fall into a chasm of churning stones.
Rain makes roads into fast flowing rivers
and humanity is silent,
till the drips from roofs are music and
a dog’s tentative bark calls for a smile.
Alas, then the poet sleeps,
head in folded arms, on the kitchen table, and
the moment goes unrecorded.
Behind murky clouds giants fight,
glint of steel,
echoing thunder as the defeated
fall into a chasm of churning stones.
Rain makes roads into fast flowing rivers
and humanity is silent,
till the drips from roofs are music and
a dog’s tentative bark calls for a smile.
Alas, then the poet sleeps,
head in folded arms, on the kitchen table, and
the moment goes unrecorded.
the storm
A Storm
Behind murky clouds giants fight,
glint of steel,
echoing thunder as the defeated
fall into a chasm of churning stones.
Rain makes roads into fast flowing rivers
and humanity is silent,
till the drips from roofs are music and
a dog’s tentative bark calls for a smile.
Alas, then the poet sleeps,
head in folded arms, on the kitchen table, and
the moment goes unrecorded.
Behind murky clouds giants fight,
glint of steel,
echoing thunder as the defeated
fall into a chasm of churning stones.
Rain makes roads into fast flowing rivers
and humanity is silent,
till the drips from roofs are music and
a dog’s tentative bark calls for a smile.
Alas, then the poet sleeps,
head in folded arms, on the kitchen table, and
the moment goes unrecorded.
april leaving
April Leaving
The morning bus isn’t full, mostly housewives
going shopping and the elderly who never had
a car, I’m leaving the valley for good, a bag,
and laptop need no more, always rented, best
this way, property is just another mulish burden.
Warm spring rain, mist rises from asphalt, afar
I see the sea, in half an hour we will be there,
the ocean looks like a shiny steel band keeping
the land intact. Five years, I’ve been living in
the valley, know every stick and stone, stayed
too long, though, I will miss the dried up river,
crippled olive trees, the meager, rusty soil and
the almond tree that deliriously strews beautiful
flowers on cold February ground.
The morning bus isn’t full, mostly housewives
going shopping and the elderly who never had
a car, I’m leaving the valley for good, a bag,
and laptop need no more, always rented, best
this way, property is just another mulish burden.
Warm spring rain, mist rises from asphalt, afar
I see the sea, in half an hour we will be there,
the ocean looks like a shiny steel band keeping
the land intact. Five years, I’ve been living in
the valley, know every stick and stone, stayed
too long, though, I will miss the dried up river,
crippled olive trees, the meager, rusty soil and
the almond tree that deliriously strews beautiful
flowers on cold February ground.
tomorrow
Tomorrow
Cream coloured cab, a lady is taking
me for a drive…to the airport:
suitcase packed, am going up North,
to the place where I was born;
watch planes land and take off,
busy place, drink a cup of coffee;
the lady drives me home, she’s got
grey hair and have seen it all;
forgotten my winter overcoat, will
wait till May I won’t need it then;
Cream coloured cab, a lady is taking
me for a drive…to the airport:
suitcase packed, am going up North,
to the place where I was born;
watch planes land and take off,
busy place, drink a cup of coffee;
the lady drives me home, she’s got
grey hair and have seen it all;
forgotten my winter overcoat, will
wait till May I won’t need it then;
the heroes
The Heroes.
Fourteen men and a woman sit under a roman
bridge that spans a river that dries up in summers,
they used to be navy personnel, captured in Iran,
spent days there before being released, now they
are civilian, ex heroes, who got paid for exalting
tales spiced up by reporters. Now new freedom
beckons, the open road, they have done their stint
for the fatherland. Alas nothing is a useless as an
ex navy man, who needs one who’s good at firing
cannons, ashore? No hamburger joints I know of.
Too much booze no proper food all money gone,
pension too small; it is as one sorry for their lot if
you see them at night when they are awake staring
into the abyss. Three pieces of silver and lost years
Fourteen men and a woman sit under a roman
bridge that spans a river that dries up in summers,
they used to be navy personnel, captured in Iran,
spent days there before being released, now they
are civilian, ex heroes, who got paid for exalting
tales spiced up by reporters. Now new freedom
beckons, the open road, they have done their stint
for the fatherland. Alas nothing is a useless as an
ex navy man, who needs one who’s good at firing
cannons, ashore? No hamburger joints I know of.
Too much booze no proper food all money gone,
pension too small; it is as one sorry for their lot if
you see them at night when they are awake staring
into the abyss. Three pieces of silver and lost years
the piano
The Piano
The piano tuner is in the big room, the one with
tall windows covered by see-through curtains.
On walls hang ancestors, serious looking men
fully bearded, in black and white, died, they did,
long before colours were invented. Women too,
on pictures, look gravely at the camera, but they
hang on less vital walls. Polished parquet floor,
a few armless chairs, placed along a wall, don’t
look inviting. The tuner has dramatic, wavy hair
wears sunglasses and doesn’t see. The upright is
black and varnished, I only keep it so the lady in
chiffon with a rose in her hair, should come one
night, when the wind blows leaves off tree, and
play me a melody of love.
The piano tuner is in the big room, the one with
tall windows covered by see-through curtains.
On walls hang ancestors, serious looking men
fully bearded, in black and white, died, they did,
long before colours were invented. Women too,
on pictures, look gravely at the camera, but they
hang on less vital walls. Polished parquet floor,
a few armless chairs, placed along a wall, don’t
look inviting. The tuner has dramatic, wavy hair
wears sunglasses and doesn’t see. The upright is
black and varnished, I only keep it so the lady in
chiffon with a rose in her hair, should come one
night, when the wind blows leaves off tree, and
play me a melody of love.
writer's block
Writer’s Block
On virtual blank page
A blinking cursor stops words
From being born
Wordless.
Cosmic night, infinite and still
no one here
“You are alone.”
a whisper echoed...
Clung to a fairytale,
but lost the grip.
A cock grew, aurora saved
me from falling into emptiness
.............
On virtual blank page
A blinking cursor stops words
From being born
Wordless.
Cosmic night, infinite and still
no one here
“You are alone.”
a whisper echoed...
Clung to a fairytale,
but lost the grip.
A cock grew, aurora saved
me from falling into emptiness
.............
the big secret
The Big Secret.
Strange to think how this big elephant come
to live in Antarctica, perhaps it’s is the last
of herd when clime was mild. It’s attracted to
the pole and had over years made a track that
made it easy for adventurers to get there and
plant flags and take pictures of themselves.
Roald Amundsen, the explorer, first man to
reach the pole, had a roman nose, looked
greatly heroic, ladies swooned, but he liked
the company of men. So different from Scott,
another lover of adventure on snow, cheated
by his wife, never found his way back home.
Why doesn’t anyone mention the elephant?
could it be because it’s white?
Strange to think how this big elephant come
to live in Antarctica, perhaps it’s is the last
of herd when clime was mild. It’s attracted to
the pole and had over years made a track that
made it easy for adventurers to get there and
plant flags and take pictures of themselves.
Roald Amundsen, the explorer, first man to
reach the pole, had a roman nose, looked
greatly heroic, ladies swooned, but he liked
the company of men. So different from Scott,
another lover of adventure on snow, cheated
by his wife, never found his way back home.
Why doesn’t anyone mention the elephant?
could it be because it’s white?
Don juan
Don Juan
The bar’s closed we now sit in an all-night café
drinking coffee, telling jokes that are as stale as
the doughnut we buy and eat as a surrogate for
the sex we haven’t had. The woman who serves
us is old, but willingly smiles it’s up to us to
make a move. Booze brave I grab her hand, and
only slowly let go; tell her she looks nice to night;
unusual compliment, my feeling is intense I will
sleep with her before my mates can. She mistakes
my lust for genuine desire, “Will you be mine to
night?” Sounds like a song. Friends leave, knowing
laughter. The café is emptying, she locks up; I kiss
her, think of sweet words to say, they come easily,
she’s a woman of no consequence.
The bar’s closed we now sit in an all-night café
drinking coffee, telling jokes that are as stale as
the doughnut we buy and eat as a surrogate for
the sex we haven’t had. The woman who serves
us is old, but willingly smiles it’s up to us to
make a move. Booze brave I grab her hand, and
only slowly let go; tell her she looks nice to night;
unusual compliment, my feeling is intense I will
sleep with her before my mates can. She mistakes
my lust for genuine desire, “Will you be mine to
night?” Sounds like a song. Friends leave, knowing
laughter. The café is emptying, she locks up; I kiss
her, think of sweet words to say, they come easily,
she’s a woman of no consequence.
August feelings
August… Feeling
Intense summer light
The road is impassable
Sun plough is broken.
White landscape
There will be no tomorrow
No one cares
August Feeling
A lone petrol pump
Café selling burgers and coke
Yesterday is today.
Intense summer light
The road is impassable
Sun plough is broken.
White landscape
There will be no tomorrow
No one cares
August Feeling
A lone petrol pump
Café selling burgers and coke
Yesterday is today.
Necropolis
Necropolis
Intense sunlight on marble, a white necropolis;
and a sea of flowers as decorated for a party
that will not happen. A deep hole, in dry earth,
awaits… The living too are silent here, speaks
with hushed voices, children are absent, dogs
not allowed, which makes sense, a paradise of
bones. Bird song. I can see the bay, it is azure
as the sky. Her fathers name in gold, on marble,
João, died at sixty, she remembers him as old,
he always wore a dark suit, hat and tie. We are
both older than her father now, dressed in jeans
and lemon yellow shirts, we don’t feel aged; had
her old man seen us now he would have frowned,
scolded and treated us as wayward teenagers.
Intense sunlight on marble, a white necropolis;
and a sea of flowers as decorated for a party
that will not happen. A deep hole, in dry earth,
awaits… The living too are silent here, speaks
with hushed voices, children are absent, dogs
not allowed, which makes sense, a paradise of
bones. Bird song. I can see the bay, it is azure
as the sky. Her fathers name in gold, on marble,
João, died at sixty, she remembers him as old,
he always wore a dark suit, hat and tie. We are
both older than her father now, dressed in jeans
and lemon yellow shirts, we don’t feel aged; had
her old man seen us now he would have frowned,
scolded and treated us as wayward teenagers.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
the fire
The Fire
They have all gone out dancing, locked the door
and left me here alone; there is a fire in the kitchen
smoke is seeping out. I can’t fine the key to get out
and the door is so very tall… “Under the carpet,”
I hear a distant voice. I find a key there, but can’t
reach the hole. I hear a song:” Forward Christian
soldiers…” So much smoke, firework outside, they
are celebrating first of May and peace by shooting
in the air. A window breaks, a big shadow picks me
up, I’m sure it was a friendly troll. Sunrise casts
rays of life on a smoldering cabin, red Indians have
burnt down our homestead, mother read about them
in a book; they have taken my father prisoner and
that’s ok, he’s always absent anyway.
They have all gone out dancing, locked the door
and left me here alone; there is a fire in the kitchen
smoke is seeping out. I can’t fine the key to get out
and the door is so very tall… “Under the carpet,”
I hear a distant voice. I find a key there, but can’t
reach the hole. I hear a song:” Forward Christian
soldiers…” So much smoke, firework outside, they
are celebrating first of May and peace by shooting
in the air. A window breaks, a big shadow picks me
up, I’m sure it was a friendly troll. Sunrise casts
rays of life on a smoldering cabin, red Indians have
burnt down our homestead, mother read about them
in a book; they have taken my father prisoner and
that’s ok, he’s always absent anyway.
to walk the walk
To Walk the Walk
On iron decks I have walked across
the Atlantic, and forever the drone
of the ship’s heart, beats in my ears
reminding me of our mortality.
Sleepless nights when the engine
ceased in port of calls
It used to be so very different
walked on solid planks to Mandalay
where fly-fish waked, flapping sails,
roaring silence and worried mariners
when rounding Cape Horn.
Memories go untold.
Fake pearls and crows’ silver I collected,
behind me a wake of loneliness
On iron decks I have walked across
the Atlantic, and forever the drone
of the ship’s heart, beats in my ears
reminding me of our mortality.
Sleepless nights when the engine
ceased in port of calls
It used to be so very different
walked on solid planks to Mandalay
where fly-fish waked, flapping sails,
roaring silence and worried mariners
when rounding Cape Horn.
Memories go untold.
Fake pearls and crows’ silver I collected,
behind me a wake of loneliness
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
wide horizon
Wide horizon
Dawn, I forgot to draw the curtains, last
night, pale light shyly enters, I feel your
warm body beside me, but I keep my eyes
shut, nor do I lift my arm to touch you.
I know you’re not there, but the intensity
of my longings makes you real, turn my
back to you, try to dream of youth, spring
and a wide horizons
Dawn, I forgot to draw the curtains, last
night, pale light shyly enters, I feel your
warm body beside me, but I keep my eyes
shut, nor do I lift my arm to touch you.
I know you’re not there, but the intensity
of my longings makes you real, turn my
back to you, try to dream of youth, spring
and a wide horizons
Strange birds
Strange Birds
The ladies of the night, in Puerto Limon,
when out in the glare of the day, look
like colourful bird lost and blinded by
the light; spat on by drab housewives
who call them “Putas.”
Ignored by men who looks another way;
just in case they are recognized, yet pay
for a visit when night is deep; frightened
birds, flapping wings, not welcome here,
wait for darkness and frolicsome fun.
The ladies of the night, in Puerto Limon,
when out in the glare of the day, look
like colourful bird lost and blinded by
the light; spat on by drab housewives
who call them “Putas.”
Ignored by men who looks another way;
just in case they are recognized, yet pay
for a visit when night is deep; frightened
birds, flapping wings, not welcome here,
wait for darkness and frolicsome fun.
lips
Lips.
Flowers on my window sill
are made of impregnated paper,
deep red they brighten up dull
winter days.
In summers they tend to look
pale, as lips of a woman after
a night of love; hence I paint
them red again
Flowers on my window sill
are made of impregnated paper,
deep red they brighten up dull
winter days.
In summers they tend to look
pale, as lips of a woman after
a night of love; hence I paint
them red again
forenoon
Forenoon Moment
Got a ladder climbed up to the roof,
had to fix a leak, this upset sparrows
that nest under the old tiles, greatly.
Flew in circles around me and didn’t
know that their warning quaver was
a beautiful overture to spring.
Got a ladder climbed up to the roof,
had to fix a leak, this upset sparrows
that nest under the old tiles, greatly.
Flew in circles around me and didn’t
know that their warning quaver was
a beautiful overture to spring.
late morning
Late Morning (Grumpy Man)
Nine o’clock heavy clouds obscure the light,
kitchen and living room cold think I’ll relax
here under my cozy duvet till ten. Only, if
someone knocks on my door and I’m still in
my pajamas, they will think I’m a lazy old
man who spends all his days in bed, mind I
worked late last night and deserve my rest,
my own boss, have nothing to be ashamed of.
So, who do the think they are, my neighours,
I don’t pry into their life to see how long they
sleep or when they go to work; and when their
bloody kids shouts outside my door kicking
a football about, do I say anything? I’m angry
now, so much for sleeping in for once…People!
Nine o’clock heavy clouds obscure the light,
kitchen and living room cold think I’ll relax
here under my cozy duvet till ten. Only, if
someone knocks on my door and I’m still in
my pajamas, they will think I’m a lazy old
man who spends all his days in bed, mind I
worked late last night and deserve my rest,
my own boss, have nothing to be ashamed of.
So, who do the think they are, my neighours,
I don’t pry into their life to see how long they
sleep or when they go to work; and when their
bloody kids shouts outside my door kicking
a football about, do I say anything? I’m angry
now, so much for sleeping in for once…People!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
the fading
The Fading
I sit here in the corner, facing the door- like
a fat little spider- watching the coming and
going, and wait for someone to open the door,
enter, and tell a tale I can make a meal of,
cause I have not a life of my own. My view
is a dusty back yard with a pale almond tree
I’ve wrung every drop of corniness off; lost
all leaves, not that I care, it has done its duty,
chop it down, it’s full of ants, bees will not
touch it; a tit will rather die, in the claws of
a hawk, then been seen sitting on one of its
skeletal twigs. Invisible ink, between lines,
tell a story of waiting, lust for love and fear
when someone really knocks on that door.
I sit here in the corner, facing the door- like
a fat little spider- watching the coming and
going, and wait for someone to open the door,
enter, and tell a tale I can make a meal of,
cause I have not a life of my own. My view
is a dusty back yard with a pale almond tree
I’ve wrung every drop of corniness off; lost
all leaves, not that I care, it has done its duty,
chop it down, it’s full of ants, bees will not
touch it; a tit will rather die, in the claws of
a hawk, then been seen sitting on one of its
skeletal twigs. Invisible ink, between lines,
tell a story of waiting, lust for love and fear
when someone really knocks on that door.
2 haiku
Haiku
As winter returned
Butterflies fell like confetti
On rim frosted earth
Haiku.
When the enemy came
Swans, in the sky, surrendered
Flapped their white wings.
As winter returned
Butterflies fell like confetti
On rim frosted earth
Haiku.
When the enemy came
Swans, in the sky, surrendered
Flapped their white wings.
guilt mongers
Guilt Mongers
Why are middleclass people so daft, believing in
all sorts of this and that diets, when we all know
to slim, one has to eat less and walk a bit more.
But no, that’s not good enough, the diet has to have
a name, consists of yogurt, pineapple, and pushed
by someone famous and so unhappily starved that
they beat up their maid. Muesli, this dreadful
concoction of dried fruit and oats, it’s food for horses
not for man, yet it appears on every breakfast table
in the land to make no one goes to work with a smile.
A glass of wine a day is sliming, it’s said, what rot!
I drink a bottle a day, haven’t lost a gram. It isn’t your
fault that you are middleclass boring, stop worrying
about it, go fry an egg, or two for breakfast.
Why are middleclass people so daft, believing in
all sorts of this and that diets, when we all know
to slim, one has to eat less and walk a bit more.
But no, that’s not good enough, the diet has to have
a name, consists of yogurt, pineapple, and pushed
by someone famous and so unhappily starved that
they beat up their maid. Muesli, this dreadful
concoction of dried fruit and oats, it’s food for horses
not for man, yet it appears on every breakfast table
in the land to make no one goes to work with a smile.
A glass of wine a day is sliming, it’s said, what rot!
I drink a bottle a day, haven’t lost a gram. It isn’t your
fault that you are middleclass boring, stop worrying
about it, go fry an egg, or two for breakfast.
white man's burden
White Man’s Burden
It has stopped raining; the barrel in the yard is full
of soft liquid, but I’m not thirsty. Look into the barrel
and as I vainly smile at my own image, a delayed
raindrop falls; my face breaks into bits; scoop them
up put them back in place, minus my clichéd grin,
which sinks to the bottom, as residue of banality and
false pride. Panzer clouds, torpedoed by sharp light,
disperse; there is sun, glorious and nude, expecting
applause, too late in the afternoon for that, my friend.
But I’m cold will stay here for awhile warm my face,
and say sorry for all my misdeeds, I’m white and has
a lot to answer for, even when I sit in the sun, to get
a deep tan I end up looking like a lobster thrown into
boiling water; so let me atone for past future sins.
It has stopped raining; the barrel in the yard is full
of soft liquid, but I’m not thirsty. Look into the barrel
and as I vainly smile at my own image, a delayed
raindrop falls; my face breaks into bits; scoop them
up put them back in place, minus my clichéd grin,
which sinks to the bottom, as residue of banality and
false pride. Panzer clouds, torpedoed by sharp light,
disperse; there is sun, glorious and nude, expecting
applause, too late in the afternoon for that, my friend.
But I’m cold will stay here for awhile warm my face,
and say sorry for all my misdeeds, I’m white and has
a lot to answer for, even when I sit in the sun, to get
a deep tan I end up looking like a lobster thrown into
boiling water; so let me atone for past future sins.
Ms. god
Ms God
I saw god this morning she was naked, had
lose skin on her belly after giving birth to
the world… soldiers laughed prodded her
with sticks and called her a whore, I noticed
that her breast where firm, still lots of life
left in the old lady. Gave god a burnoose
to cover her naturality and a hood to protect
her hair from dust. “Dirty Arab!” a soldier
shouted, god smiled, she had nice even teeth,
the grin made the soldier into a statue, his
friends came and carried him away on a fork
lift truck. “Why don’t you bend every gun so?
they can shoot themselves in the ass, god. “
she shook her and said: “No, that’s suicide.”
I saw god this morning she was naked, had
lose skin on her belly after giving birth to
the world… soldiers laughed prodded her
with sticks and called her a whore, I noticed
that her breast where firm, still lots of life
left in the old lady. Gave god a burnoose
to cover her naturality and a hood to protect
her hair from dust. “Dirty Arab!” a soldier
shouted, god smiled, she had nice even teeth,
the grin made the soldier into a statue, his
friends came and carried him away on a fork
lift truck. “Why don’t you bend every gun so?
they can shoot themselves in the ass, god. “
she shook her and said: “No, that’s suicide.”
haiku tanka
Haiku
Acendia is
Blind spots in sunlight
Lost hopes in springs.
Tanka
The mist that arises
In Indonesian jungles
When day is newborn
Is that of clouded leopards.
If logging takes its habitat
The heavens will surely cry?
Acendia is
Blind spots in sunlight
Lost hopes in springs.
Tanka
The mist that arises
In Indonesian jungles
When day is newborn
Is that of clouded leopards.
If logging takes its habitat
The heavens will surely cry?
old carpets and lightbulbs
Old Carpets and Light Bulbs
I thought the diminutive secondhand carpet,
the dwarf like man was selling at the market,
a bit expensive; mind, it was nice, its colour
bright, just right for the hallway. I asked him
to reduce the price he got angry, swore, not
only at me, but at the rest of the world as well
so I didn’t get offended; he had a high pitched,
squeaking voice. To mollify him I purchased
the carpet, and as he neatly wrapped it in grey
paper, I tried to be friendly, but his face was
a Janus mask of dislike, he didn’t want to be
my friend. The light-bulb in the hall had gone
and I had no spares; when my wife came home
she slipped on the carpet and broke a leg
I thought the diminutive secondhand carpet,
the dwarf like man was selling at the market,
a bit expensive; mind, it was nice, its colour
bright, just right for the hallway. I asked him
to reduce the price he got angry, swore, not
only at me, but at the rest of the world as well
so I didn’t get offended; he had a high pitched,
squeaking voice. To mollify him I purchased
the carpet, and as he neatly wrapped it in grey
paper, I tried to be friendly, but his face was
a Janus mask of dislike, he didn’t want to be
my friend. The light-bulb in the hall had gone
and I had no spares; when my wife came home
she slipped on the carpet and broke a leg
rivalry
Rivalry
He slapped my face because I was late
coming home, this man and he’s not
my father, I’m eleven and can do what
I want. I’ve been shamed I was the man
in the house before he came along, I’ll
have my revenge; when they are asleep.
Mother needs to be freed from this man,
I’ll get up and slash his suit, with his
own shaving blade; and when they get up
I’ll be outside plying football. This man
will accuse me, but can’t prove nothing,
my mother will know, get the message
and get rid of this intruder, and we can go
back being a family again.
He slapped my face because I was late
coming home, this man and he’s not
my father, I’m eleven and can do what
I want. I’ve been shamed I was the man
in the house before he came along, I’ll
have my revenge; when they are asleep.
Mother needs to be freed from this man,
I’ll get up and slash his suit, with his
own shaving blade; and when they get up
I’ll be outside plying football. This man
will accuse me, but can’t prove nothing,
my mother will know, get the message
and get rid of this intruder, and we can go
back being a family again.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Arabic poem Cordoba 1031
Arabic Poem
Translated from Old Portuguese
With her I pass nights as a thirsty,
Little camel that fears being refused
The teat;
as in an orchard when someone inhales
sweet aroma, has a vision and wishes
For more;
what I’m not, however, is an abandoned
animal taken to grazing in other peoples
garden.
Ps I feel that “baby camel isn’t quite right”
Pegueno: small, little, short and so on
See original poem
IBN FARACH
Year 1031
Cordoba
E assim passei a noite com ela,
Como o pequeno camel sedento
A que o néscio impede de mamar
Tal como pomar
Onde alguém como eu
Apenas aproveita da visão e olfacto
Que eu não sou
Como os animais abandonados
Que tomam os jardins como pastos
Translated from Old Portuguese
With her I pass nights as a thirsty,
Little camel that fears being refused
The teat;
as in an orchard when someone inhales
sweet aroma, has a vision and wishes
For more;
what I’m not, however, is an abandoned
animal taken to grazing in other peoples
garden.
Ps I feel that “baby camel isn’t quite right”
Pegueno: small, little, short and so on
See original poem
IBN FARACH
Year 1031
Cordoba
E assim passei a noite com ela,
Como o pequeno camel sedento
A que o néscio impede de mamar
Tal como pomar
Onde alguém como eu
Apenas aproveita da visão e olfacto
Que eu não sou
Como os animais abandonados
Que tomam os jardins como pastos
Friday, March 30, 2007
tanka (accident)
Tanka (accident)
Miserable morning
Ominous was the forenoon
Motorway pile up
She wasn’t coming home for tea
A scream echoed through the night
Miserable morning
Ominous was the forenoon
Motorway pile up
She wasn’t coming home for tea
A scream echoed through the night
tanka (accident)
Tanka (accident)
Miserable morning
Ominous was the forenoon
Motorway pile up
She wasn’t coming home for tea
A scream echoed through the night
Miserable morning
Ominous was the forenoon
Motorway pile up
She wasn’t coming home for tea
A scream echoed through the night
arabic poems
Arabic poem from the collection
Ladrôes De Prazer. Arabic/ analuzes
Inconceivable weeps
The poetry of an Arab
Lost amongst infidels
IBN Baqi
Ca 1034
Choram as rimas de poesia
Por um árabe perdido
Entre os bárbaros
The is the first poem of the collection
I find it quite apt really, nothing much
has changed since then
Ladrôes De Prazer. Arabic/ analuzes
Inconceivable weeps
The poetry of an Arab
Lost amongst infidels
IBN Baqi
Ca 1034
Choram as rimas de poesia
Por um árabe perdido
Entre os bárbaros
The is the first poem of the collection
I find it quite apt really, nothing much
has changed since then
tanka dogs
Tanka (dogs)
Paul’s dog’s a vegan
Barks like his master’s voice
And never bites.
My dog doesn’t like carrots
Bites, if she can, the postman
Paul’s dog’s a vegan
Barks like his master’s voice
And never bites.
My dog doesn’t like carrots
Bites, if she can, the postman
from the newspaper
From the newspaper
The tallest man in the world lives in China,
once he stuck his long arm down a dolphin’s
throat and fished out a plastic bag and saved
the sea mammal’s life, made him famous too.
At the deep end of the pool swimming-pool
the tall man’s shoulders is above the water,
his girlfriend can only do that at the shallow
end. She doesn’t mind, at home- when he sits
on the floor watching TV- she sits on a chair,
and they are almost of the same height. No,
don’t ask me that, I don’t want to know, one
shouldn’t even speculate; but his girlfriend is
from Tibet, she used to climb steep mountains
and ride yaks as a child.
The tallest man in the world lives in China,
once he stuck his long arm down a dolphin’s
throat and fished out a plastic bag and saved
the sea mammal’s life, made him famous too.
At the deep end of the pool swimming-pool
the tall man’s shoulders is above the water,
his girlfriend can only do that at the shallow
end. She doesn’t mind, at home- when he sits
on the floor watching TV- she sits on a chair,
and they are almost of the same height. No,
don’t ask me that, I don’t want to know, one
shouldn’t even speculate; but his girlfriend is
from Tibet, she used to climb steep mountains
and ride yaks as a child.
riches
Riches.
The riches man in the world, originally from
Kirby, Liverpool is thin, getting skeletal,
when the cook makes him a bacon sandwich
and the rich man touches it, the sliced bread
and bacon turns to gold, the cook has a kitchen
full of that metal, plans to open an ice cream
parlour on the Wirral.. The loaded man drank
cola, liquid gold in his belly solidified a shiny
tumor big as a football. The doc who removed
it tried to run away with the tumor, but he was
tackled by the nurse and the anesthetist, who
too wanted a share. The state took the ball and
sacked the medical team. Great wealth belongs
to nations, to you and me it brings unhappiness.
The riches man in the world, originally from
Kirby, Liverpool is thin, getting skeletal,
when the cook makes him a bacon sandwich
and the rich man touches it, the sliced bread
and bacon turns to gold, the cook has a kitchen
full of that metal, plans to open an ice cream
parlour on the Wirral.. The loaded man drank
cola, liquid gold in his belly solidified a shiny
tumor big as a football. The doc who removed
it tried to run away with the tumor, but he was
tackled by the nurse and the anesthetist, who
too wanted a share. The state took the ball and
sacked the medical team. Great wealth belongs
to nations, to you and me it brings unhappiness.
As Seen When Not Seeing
On the night sky tiny particles explodes
in silent cacophony, the universe opens,
retracts behind a shower of colours, stars
are bright and near, then disappear when
blue dust crosses the esoteric firmament,
made of dreams that have yet to traverse
the human mind, and when lights come
on it’s all gone hidden, waiting for you
On the night sky tiny particles explodes
in silent cacophony, the universe opens,
retracts behind a shower of colours, stars
are bright and near, then disappear when
blue dust crosses the esoteric firmament,
made of dreams that have yet to traverse
the human mind, and when lights come
on it’s all gone hidden, waiting for you
Thursday, March 29, 2007
homecoming
Homecoming
The plane circled the local airport, foggy,
it hadn’t got clearing yet, I hoped it would
be forced to turn back again, find another
landing strip, preferable somewhere far
from my old home-town. Hadn’t been here
for years, in a fit of sentimental nostalgia
I had bought a ticket but regretted it now.
There is no way back, the place I knew is
in the dreamy land of memories, friends
are names on gravestone, and the drabness
of late Nordic autumn is bound to make
me utterly wretched. “Due to persistent fog
we are unable to land,” the pilot lamented.
His words filled me with tender melancholy
The plane circled the local airport, foggy,
it hadn’t got clearing yet, I hoped it would
be forced to turn back again, find another
landing strip, preferable somewhere far
from my old home-town. Hadn’t been here
for years, in a fit of sentimental nostalgia
I had bought a ticket but regretted it now.
There is no way back, the place I knew is
in the dreamy land of memories, friends
are names on gravestone, and the drabness
of late Nordic autumn is bound to make
me utterly wretched. “Due to persistent fog
we are unable to land,” the pilot lamented.
His words filled me with tender melancholy
the waiting
The Waiting
On the south-side of the, abandoned, house
leans an overgrown and untrimmed orange
tree; fruit fall to ground and feeds no one.
the elderly house has many wretched rooms,
that give shelter to no one; on floors where
sunrays, through old shutters, limply dance
with miserable dust. Profound is the silence,
except on windy days when the old house
groans, as in distress, when the orange tree
slams against its flank: They both wait for
someone to come along and give them zest
for life again, like last year when a family
came and children shook the tree, but no,
the adult thought it was too far from town.
On the south-side of the, abandoned, house
leans an overgrown and untrimmed orange
tree; fruit fall to ground and feeds no one.
the elderly house has many wretched rooms,
that give shelter to no one; on floors where
sunrays, through old shutters, limply dance
with miserable dust. Profound is the silence,
except on windy days when the old house
groans, as in distress, when the orange tree
slams against its flank: They both wait for
someone to come along and give them zest
for life again, like last year when a family
came and children shook the tree, but no,
the adult thought it was too far from town.
tanka
Tanka
Indolent at ease
In my unkempt back garden
The feral feline
Surveys its private kingdom
Leaves dead mice on my doorsteps
Indolent at ease
In my unkempt back garden
The feral feline
Surveys its private kingdom
Leaves dead mice on my doorsteps
my bride
My Bride.
She had such a pretty smile, green,
clear eyes… honesty personified;
she was to be my bride. I had been
down to the divine stream picking
costly stones to make a necklace,
just for her, when returning, she sat
in the park, near the spring of youth,
whispering words of adoration into
the ears of another man, her clear,
green eyes were full of truth and love.
I gave the rivulet back its precious
gift; walked for years, through many
lands, and never once returned to see
what had become of my bride.
She had such a pretty smile, green,
clear eyes… honesty personified;
she was to be my bride. I had been
down to the divine stream picking
costly stones to make a necklace,
just for her, when returning, she sat
in the park, near the spring of youth,
whispering words of adoration into
the ears of another man, her clear,
green eyes were full of truth and love.
I gave the rivulet back its precious
gift; walked for years, through many
lands, and never once returned to see
what had become of my bride.
Spring Cold
Spring’s here but winter is reluctant to go
resentfully blows helpless dust and chip
papers around, people are dressed for April
and freeze, huddled in naked streets.
Women are the coldest, short skirts and
see through blouses and ruffled hair,
like migrating birds returning too early
finding the nest occupied by squatters.
A new set of lungs, heart or liver will not
help winter much now, it can choose to
scream angry words to an uncaring god
or walk off stage with dignity
Spring’s here but winter is reluctant to go
resentfully blows helpless dust and chip
papers around, people are dressed for April
and freeze, huddled in naked streets.
Women are the coldest, short skirts and
see through blouses and ruffled hair,
like migrating birds returning too early
finding the nest occupied by squatters.
A new set of lungs, heart or liver will not
help winter much now, it can choose to
scream angry words to an uncaring god
or walk off stage with dignity
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
a walk in the park
A Walk in the park.
At the poets reading, at a local hall that
reeked of tobacco, sweaty hands and AA
meetings, they served sausage rolls and
tiny pies, when no one looked and no one
paid my for my stuff, I filled my pockets
full food, lunch next day.
It was there I met the widow, she liked poets
and with her I spent the night with wine, roses
and the rest of the pies.
She gave me her dead husbands blue suit,
shoes and tie, alone I walked to the park to feed
the ducks yesterdays pastry crumbs.
The shoes sourly chafed and the tie tried to
strangle me, undressed, the weather was nice,
swam with the birds till the law showed up,
they had brought a wooly blanket and two
frogmen along
At the poets reading, at a local hall that
reeked of tobacco, sweaty hands and AA
meetings, they served sausage rolls and
tiny pies, when no one looked and no one
paid my for my stuff, I filled my pockets
full food, lunch next day.
It was there I met the widow, she liked poets
and with her I spent the night with wine, roses
and the rest of the pies.
She gave me her dead husbands blue suit,
shoes and tie, alone I walked to the park to feed
the ducks yesterdays pastry crumbs.
The shoes sourly chafed and the tie tried to
strangle me, undressed, the weather was nice,
swam with the birds till the law showed up,
they had brought a wooly blanket and two
frogmen along
Park Music
Yesterday, in the municipal park, I saw an escaped
elephant, shyly hiding behind an oak, not blowing
It own trumpet; I gave it peanuts and it was glad.
I wasn’t really very interested in the animal, got
a ladder climbed up the tree to contemplate my lack
of future and drink a bottle of beer unseen; to no
avail, a guard came told me to get down.
My silence contemptible silence was telling, after
some time blue uniforms came they brought guns
and musical instruments, saxophone, guitar and
clarinet, their New Orleans jazz brought many
people to the scene, I got down from the tree, not
because I had too, but worried; in case the fugitive
proboscidean mammal joined in and blew its cover
Yesterday, in the municipal park, I saw an escaped
elephant, shyly hiding behind an oak, not blowing
It own trumpet; I gave it peanuts and it was glad.
I wasn’t really very interested in the animal, got
a ladder climbed up the tree to contemplate my lack
of future and drink a bottle of beer unseen; to no
avail, a guard came told me to get down.
My silence contemptible silence was telling, after
some time blue uniforms came they brought guns
and musical instruments, saxophone, guitar and
clarinet, their New Orleans jazz brought many
people to the scene, I got down from the tree, not
because I had too, but worried; in case the fugitive
proboscidean mammal joined in and blew its cover
a terrorist confesses
A Terrorist Confesses.
A Guantanamo prisoner confesses. What was?
he thinking off letting them wearing him down
after four years of isolation and interrogation;
now he will be a resentful loser…unforgiven.
Had he confessed at once, played along told
them what they wanted to know, he would be
the winner, sit in the prison yard getting sun in
his face. Truth! I hear you mutter, this has
nothing to do with that, it’s about a court case
that needs to be concluded, documented, eagle
stamped, and signed; a copy for everyone,
the convict too. It’s a game, play it right and
you’ll survive, sleep in a clean bed, watch TV,
and play ping pong with the other inmates.
A Guantanamo prisoner confesses. What was?
he thinking off letting them wearing him down
after four years of isolation and interrogation;
now he will be a resentful loser…unforgiven.
Had he confessed at once, played along told
them what they wanted to know, he would be
the winner, sit in the prison yard getting sun in
his face. Truth! I hear you mutter, this has
nothing to do with that, it’s about a court case
that needs to be concluded, documented, eagle
stamped, and signed; a copy for everyone,
the convict too. It’s a game, play it right and
you’ll survive, sleep in a clean bed, watch TV,
and play ping pong with the other inmates.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tanka (morning)
Tanka
Aurora’s glow
Drips through the curtain’s tear
Keeping me awake
When I really want to sleep
Till the dawn grows into noon.
Aurora’s glow
Drips through the curtain’s tear
Keeping me awake
When I really want to sleep
Till the dawn grows into noon.
Tanka (volcanic island )
Tanka. (Volcanic Island)
Emerald hilltops
White coves and sky forever blue
Transient Eden
But when sea and lava meet
Clouds of steam and nothing more
Emerald hilltops
White coves and sky forever blue
Transient Eden
But when sea and lava meet
Clouds of steam and nothing more
Haiku/Zen
Haiku
Unconceivable
That rain will fall, sun shine
With you not around
Zen
Spun wishes
Make
The new day
A cock that crews
Too early
Loses its head
Unconceivable
That rain will fall, sun shine
With you not around
Zen
Spun wishes
Make
The new day
A cock that crews
Too early
Loses its head
haiku
Haiku
When Yesterday goes
A galactic star gives birth
To the morrow
Lost hopes
Recuperate in moonlight
Sparkling at daybreak
Melancholy too
When in aurora’s bosom
Smiles at destiny
When rain falls at night
Parched soil is grateful
The sun is a thief
The hushed moonlight
That shines on a forest tarn
Is a false dawn
When Yesterday goes
A galactic star gives birth
To the morrow
Lost hopes
Recuperate in moonlight
Sparkling at daybreak
Melancholy too
When in aurora’s bosom
Smiles at destiny
When rain falls at night
Parched soil is grateful
The sun is a thief
The hushed moonlight
That shines on a forest tarn
Is a false dawn
Friday, March 23, 2007
the film star
The Film Star.
Archie Leech was an usher at the Odeon cinema,
had a flashlight and showed latecomers to their
seats. He saw every movie and knew the lines
of both female and male actors, his dream was
to be up there, on screen, himself one day; had
the looks, the feature of a matinee idol, women
liked him…men too, then the Odeon caught fire,
burnt down to the last black& white reel, Archie
cried as whispering ashes flew in winter air.
“This is your chance get out now your destiny is
to be a film star” voices seemed to say. He gave
gave the flashlight to a friend and left for USA;
the name Archie Leech was never heard of again,
but a star was born and it shone for many years
Archie Leech was an usher at the Odeon cinema,
had a flashlight and showed latecomers to their
seats. He saw every movie and knew the lines
of both female and male actors, his dream was
to be up there, on screen, himself one day; had
the looks, the feature of a matinee idol, women
liked him…men too, then the Odeon caught fire,
burnt down to the last black& white reel, Archie
cried as whispering ashes flew in winter air.
“This is your chance get out now your destiny is
to be a film star” voices seemed to say. He gave
gave the flashlight to a friend and left for USA;
the name Archie Leech was never heard of again,
but a star was born and it shone for many years
Benjamin, the rat
Benjamin, the Rat
New Year’s Eve jolly rockets in the air
champagne and cigar for the rich and
meths for the man lurking in the park
A rat, with prize boxer ears, came out
of the water drain by the kerb, such
devilish racket and it was its feeding
time; usually the town is dead at twelve
except for the man in the park trying to
find something to eat in the cafés bins,
like an outsized rodent. The rat looked
up and saw me seeing it, shrugged as to
say: “Humanity!”
New Year’s Eve jolly rockets in the air
champagne and cigar for the rich and
meths for the man lurking in the park
A rat, with prize boxer ears, came out
of the water drain by the kerb, such
devilish racket and it was its feeding
time; usually the town is dead at twelve
except for the man in the park trying to
find something to eat in the cafés bins,
like an outsized rodent. The rat looked
up and saw me seeing it, shrugged as to
say: “Humanity!”
Thursday, March 22, 2007
the educated
The Educated.
Salient and Iconic are academic brothers,
appear often in a
“Literary Supplement Magazine,”
lately they have been investigating
whether the wife of a famous writer
had syphilis or not.
Drew no firm conclusion,
only innuendos, which is a pity
if not very scholarly.
Wouldn’t it be erudite, when at
a dinner party, to say:”
Did you know that Henrietta died of VD?”
Salient and Iconic are academic brothers,
appear often in a
“Literary Supplement Magazine,”
lately they have been investigating
whether the wife of a famous writer
had syphilis or not.
Drew no firm conclusion,
only innuendos, which is a pity
if not very scholarly.
Wouldn’t it be erudite, when at
a dinner party, to say:”
Did you know that Henrietta died of VD?”
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
bikini
Bikini.
Nice to know Britain’s upgrading
Trident, to be nuclear armed will
protect us against those who hasn’t
built the bomb yet, that’s ok then?
The world is a different from yore
the Chinese drive Ferraris, I have
scooter made outside Beijing (turn
left, on the main road to India.)
Used to take girls granted before;
critical, couldn’t make up my mind,
now, are oblivious of my charms,
they are beautiful and I’m alone.
As time knocks on my window,
dreams are meek, nothing about
climbing mountains, but still hope
to inherit brother’s Armani suit
Nice to know Britain’s upgrading
Trident, to be nuclear armed will
protect us against those who hasn’t
built the bomb yet, that’s ok then?
The world is a different from yore
the Chinese drive Ferraris, I have
scooter made outside Beijing (turn
left, on the main road to India.)
Used to take girls granted before;
critical, couldn’t make up my mind,
now, are oblivious of my charms,
they are beautiful and I’m alone.
As time knocks on my window,
dreams are meek, nothing about
climbing mountains, but still hope
to inherit brother’s Armani suit
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