the lost

The Lost.

I was young home from the sea, my friends
have a working week, some were already
married, so I walked alone around the town,
looked into shop windows, which was rather
dull and ended up in a bar had an early beer,
and met people who were just drifting along;
they showed me kindness, I knew why, but
it’s hard to be home from the sea and no one
to talk to. The friends I knew had, as they,
say moved on. The glory of quest, the world
I knew was slipping away, the days when we
were single have gone and I’m the loser, me,
the sailor of the seven seas, pays for beer by
those who sit and laugh in morning bars.

A jewish family Remembered

A Jewish Family Remembered

Mother left the orphanage at fifteen to go into service,
as a maid, with the family Rabinowitch, who were in
the garment business. They had two sons, who both
went to live in the USA; a wise choice as it turned out.
Nothing much for mother to do so she spent her time
reading books from the family’s extensive library, and
the kind couple let her. Two years later, when mother
had read all the books, the lady of the house suggested
mother should find other employment as she wasn’t cut
out to be a maid. Mother she cried when learning that
both had perished in a death camp, somewhere Germany;
a senseless death of two beautiful people. Their kindness
changed mother’s life, made her horizon wider; and what
she had leaned she thought me; yes, she too was beautiful

book burning

Book Burning


I was going to throw away unsold collections
of poetry when there was a knock on my door,
it was the Mongolian ambassador, he wanted
my books, said they were splendidly brilliant,
and looked forward seeing more of my work

No, I’ll start over again. I was going to throw
away my unsold collections of poetry, when
a thought knocked, why not put them in the shed
set them alight when there is snow in the air, and
see glowing cinders shine amongst stars. .

The assassination

The Assassination

“No officer, you don’t get it, the sward wasn’t
meant to hurt anyone it was for cutting treads
that keeps my family bonds together to a false
past. The general had money, beside we had
let him see my aunt’s tits; wasn’t happy, wanted
to feel them too; she called him an old pervert
refused to let him touch her. He declined, to pay-
as agreed- I rattled the sward, to jolt him sir,
He attacked me, charging like demented hen,
ran into sward and swore I’m no hero, when real
assassins came and shot him death, I fled; as he
fell, and as if by magic, his uniform was too big,
the killers ran off too, one of them, the one with
the limp, had a wooden leg.

The Magic

The Magic.


Catch morning
sunlight
on the green sea,
mix it with pure
mountain snow
and rock salt,
see how flecks
of phosphor
turn to gold
nuggets.
Beware though,
only admire
the shiny metal
at night,
for in sunlight
it turns into
shimmering drops
of green sea
again

A Jewish Family Remembered

A Jewish Family Remembered

Mother left the orphanage at fifteen to go into service,
as a maid, with the family Rabinowitch, who were in
the garment business. They had two sons, who both
went to live in the USA; a wise choice as it turned out.
Nothing much for mother to do so she spent her time
reading books from the family’s extensive library, and
the kind couple let her. Two years later, when mother
had read all the books, the lady of the house suggested
mother should find other employment as she wasn’t cut
out to be a maid. Mother she cried when learning that
both had perished in a death camp, somewhere Germany;
a senseless death of two beautiful people. Their kindness
changed mother’s life, made her horizon wider; and what
she had leaned she thought me; yes, she too was beautiful

a deadly joke

A Deadly Joke.

In northern Norway once, just above the arctic
circle, I rented a log cabin; the locals told me that
at times, when a big storm brewed, polar bears
tried to seek shelter by knocking on doors, and if
anyone opened it had both food and shelter. No,
I didn’t believe that. An evening as a blizzard was
on its way, and it was getting very cold, there was
a knock on my door I opened it, and there in front
of me a tall polar bear, I quickly shut the door and
locked it and shuttered the windows. Big whiteout
didn’t abate till a dawn that was unbelievable cold.
Opened the door looked out the bear was curled up
in fetus position and frozen solid. I realized then it
was a native who had tried to play a prank on me.

the suicide

The Suicide.

He rose early, put his charcoal suit on, dark tie
and white shirt, a bland neat man; eat breakfast
at Daisy’s café, pancakes with strawberry jam,
served by a busy, wordless waiter He walked to
the town’s square it was full of farmers selling
their products and gypsies selling red plastic
bucket, toys and balloons. A mutiny of voices,
peoples’ commerce at its best, in the middle of
this throng he took up his 22 caliber pistol and
blew his brain out. Only a few people noticed
and those who did wasn’t quite sure what they
had seen, as the para-medics quickly came and
took the body away. The rest, at the market that
day, only read about his suicide next morning

mother and I

Mother and I

Mother’s ashes all gone, used a teaspoon,
on my corn flakes every morning it took
two years. Mother was a perfect speller,
I’m a lousy one, she was also strong and
though by eating her I would get some of
these qualities. Alas, it hasn’t worked out
well, I’ve got a dowager’s hump, read
romances about dentists, and get misty all
eyed when it ends with wedding bells.
When I wake up in the morning I have to
concentrate hard to remember who I’m,
the mirror isn’t helpful she grins back at
me; when an elderly gentleman helped me
across the street her laughter was audible.

tanka

Tanka

A virtually blank page
Waits for the poet to write
Verses and stanzas
But words race in his head
Slippery as running piglets

tanka

Tanka

A virtually blank page
Waits for the poet to write
Verses and stanzas
But words race in his head
Slippery as running piglets

Paris, Mon amour

Paris, Mon Amour

My partner’s gone up to Lisbon to see
her daughter and visit relatives,
I know this isn’t true, she is going
to a wedding in Paris, I wasn’t invited
and she didn’t like to tell me that.
I’ve painted the hall and living room,
tomorrow I’ll paint the kitchen, then
the wall around the house, the yard and
finally the wooden shutters. When she
comes home I’ll sit and read the paper,
no big deal doing a bit of painting. If she
tells me where she has been I’ll look
surprised. Still, I would have liked to see
Paris, they say she’s beautiful in May.

sea surge

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

senryu

Senryu

A virtual blank page
Waits for virtual black letters
To form a sentence

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”

senryu

Senryu

Poetical words
Strewn on the field of forever,
Yield oblivion

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?

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 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.

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.