Haiku.
An April zephyr
Met the breath of winter
And hailstones fell.
Senryu
The rusty tractor
Abandoned in the field
Has gulls’ dropping on
Senryu
Tropical holiday
Breadfruit and green bananas
And utter boredom
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The quislings
The Quislings
In Florida live many Iraqis they were helpful
And gave us vital information before the war
Against Saddam started. America knows that
If they go back they might be called traitors
And killed, so USA gives them a good pension
So they can live in comfort till Iraq is totally
Subdued and Democratic; and the people that
Helped us will be Iraq’s new leaders
In Florida live many Iraqis they were helpful
And gave us vital information before the war
Against Saddam started. America knows that
If they go back they might be called traitors
And killed, so USA gives them a good pension
So they can live in comfort till Iraq is totally
Subdued and Democratic; and the people that
Helped us will be Iraq’s new leaders
The thoughtful
The Thoughtful.
I, an Afghan, looked up to the cold blue sky and
saw a gleaming US bomber plane, it dropped
its load on a village nearby. Smoke, flames and
dust, many people killed… non where Taliban.
My uncle and his two sons were killed and that
was sad, but I do understand, the war America
wedges is for us so we can be democratic and
free, have dollars in our pockets, drive big cars
and play basket balls. But lately I have been
asking myself, will I be able to avoid being hit
by bombs and rockets, to enjoy their democracy?
I, an Afghan, looked up to the cold blue sky and
saw a gleaming US bomber plane, it dropped
its load on a village nearby. Smoke, flames and
dust, many people killed… non where Taliban.
My uncle and his two sons were killed and that
was sad, but I do understand, the war America
wedges is for us so we can be democratic and
free, have dollars in our pockets, drive big cars
and play basket balls. But lately I have been
asking myself, will I be able to avoid being hit
by bombs and rockets, to enjoy their democracy?
Cannibal
I can remember, when in mother’s womb, the foul
smell of digesting meat, swore that as soon as got
out I would become a vegan. Then when six years
old I met Maria she was a year younger, love had
entered my young life. We sat under the old bridge
when I asked her to marry me, she laughed, said no
and I bit her soft arm, which left a dark blue mark,
nowadays called a love bite; and yes, it tasted lovely.
I have been eating a lot of animal meat since, but it
is human flesh I’m really lusting after.
I can remember, when in mother’s womb, the foul
smell of digesting meat, swore that as soon as got
out I would become a vegan. Then when six years
old I met Maria she was a year younger, love had
entered my young life. We sat under the old bridge
when I asked her to marry me, she laughed, said no
and I bit her soft arm, which left a dark blue mark,
nowadays called a love bite; and yes, it tasted lovely.
I have been eating a lot of animal meat since, but it
is human flesh I’m really lusting after.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
the cuddly one
The cuddly one
I sat in a café minding my own business trying not
to order a second chocolate éclair when she entered,
a cuddly woman of a race that are the children of
the wind, her I gave an éclair.
She invited me home, she lived in a house where
the forest begins and on her duvet sat 35 teddy
bears which she lovingly removed putting them in
the hall for the night
When I awoke a big teddy bear was sleeping next
to me, and as bear, so I’m told, tend to be grumpy,
I silently dressed and tip toed down to the kitchen,
but the cuddly woman wasn’t there.
I ate breakfast alone, rice pudding with honey,
but when I heard the big bear getting out of bed
I hurriedly left not wanting an argument about
the empty jar of honey on the table
I sat in a café minding my own business trying not
to order a second chocolate éclair when she entered,
a cuddly woman of a race that are the children of
the wind, her I gave an éclair.
She invited me home, she lived in a house where
the forest begins and on her duvet sat 35 teddy
bears which she lovingly removed putting them in
the hall for the night
When I awoke a big teddy bear was sleeping next
to me, and as bear, so I’m told, tend to be grumpy,
I silently dressed and tip toed down to the kitchen,
but the cuddly woman wasn’t there.
I ate breakfast alone, rice pudding with honey,
but when I heard the big bear getting out of bed
I hurriedly left not wanting an argument about
the empty jar of honey on the table
Greek holiday
Greek Holiday
At church in Piraeus, where priests have generous
bodies hidden under long, black dresses, wear long,
black beards around meaty lips and look like they
have sensually eaten a cow each, washed down with
alter wine, I queued in a line and was given a paper
bag of yesterday’s cakes, outside I gave my bag to
an old woman too poor to buy bread.
When she had eaten all she blew up the bags and
slammed them against a tree, it sounded as rifle shot
and the traffic stopped. Said I was reincarnation of
Mozart, me, who used to attack jukes boxes with an
axe and am forever trying to find the perfect bar
where silence reign, and clinking ice in a glass, sounds
as musical as tinkling silver bells in Lhasa.
At church in Piraeus, where priests have generous
bodies hidden under long, black dresses, wear long,
black beards around meaty lips and look like they
have sensually eaten a cow each, washed down with
alter wine, I queued in a line and was given a paper
bag of yesterday’s cakes, outside I gave my bag to
an old woman too poor to buy bread.
When she had eaten all she blew up the bags and
slammed them against a tree, it sounded as rifle shot
and the traffic stopped. Said I was reincarnation of
Mozart, me, who used to attack jukes boxes with an
axe and am forever trying to find the perfect bar
where silence reign, and clinking ice in a glass, sounds
as musical as tinkling silver bells in Lhasa.
the long tumble
The Long Tumble
Can you imagine
what it must
be like,
fifty story up
a burning building
the only escape
from the fire is
the window
and as you fall
you hope
it will not take
too long,
but it takes
forever
so long in fact
that a hope begins
to form,
you know you’re
going to land
on a bed of feathers
or on a pile of
empty boxes,
it’s a huge joke
to tell a friend
one day
Can you imagine
what it must
be like,
fifty story up
a burning building
the only escape
from the fire is
the window
and as you fall
you hope
it will not take
too long,
but it takes
forever
so long in fact
that a hope begins
to form,
you know you’re
going to land
on a bed of feathers
or on a pile of
empty boxes,
it’s a huge joke
to tell a friend
one day
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Cracks in The Mirror
Cracks In The mirror
The ship’s gone, sailed without me,
alone in a hotel room I sweat and try
to stop my hands from trembling;
they threw me ashore, the bastards,
I looked nonchalant walking down
the gangway, two fingers in the air;
now I have to leave, must walk tall,
I’m a real tough guy- get that right-
but first I need a little drink or two.
The ship’s gone, sailed without me,
alone in a hotel room I sweat and try
to stop my hands from trembling;
they threw me ashore, the bastards,
I looked nonchalant walking down
the gangway, two fingers in the air;
now I have to leave, must walk tall,
I’m a real tough guy- get that right-
but first I need a little drink or two.
Walking home
Walking Home
Going home from the tavern, it’s gone non smoking
and for once I don’t smell like a walking ashtray, it’s
very late it has been snowing and I’m an unsteady
the wine was strong and I’m old, only a few stars out,
the rest have gone to a late A. A. meeting.
I listen to strange sounds, night is the day dreaming
muffled echoes of past’s voices and deep sighs, and
deep within me a sense of guilt I ought not go out so
much the tavern is not your place, I firmly tell myself
better than watching telly, my meek defense.
No streetlights, a temporary power failure; I thank
the sober stars reflecting light on snow. Near the house
my dog barks, but only once, greets me by the door
runs back to her mat on the floor, know she has slept
on the sofa, but I smile grateful for her fidelity.
Going home from the tavern, it’s gone non smoking
and for once I don’t smell like a walking ashtray, it’s
very late it has been snowing and I’m an unsteady
the wine was strong and I’m old, only a few stars out,
the rest have gone to a late A. A. meeting.
I listen to strange sounds, night is the day dreaming
muffled echoes of past’s voices and deep sighs, and
deep within me a sense of guilt I ought not go out so
much the tavern is not your place, I firmly tell myself
better than watching telly, my meek defense.
No streetlights, a temporary power failure; I thank
the sober stars reflecting light on snow. Near the house
my dog barks, but only once, greets me by the door
runs back to her mat on the floor, know she has slept
on the sofa, but I smile grateful for her fidelity.
the end of working days
The end of working Days
Lazy, they said I was, the old hands ‘cause I didn’t
want to sit in a foul bus at seven going to work at
a noisy factory, eight hours of recurring boredom
“Work makes you free!” Words written in blood on
an iron gate. “Labor is healthy,” the slaves say, men
whose will is broken, have no dreams only the pub.
A photo in the paper, my contemporaries has
retired from the factory, a golden, a handshake from
the boss they got, and didn’t expect anymore
I’m out if it I simply ran away, my life has been
abundantly spent doing as little work as possible;
yes know I’ll have to forego the golden watch.
Lazy, they said I was, the old hands ‘cause I didn’t
want to sit in a foul bus at seven going to work at
a noisy factory, eight hours of recurring boredom
“Work makes you free!” Words written in blood on
an iron gate. “Labor is healthy,” the slaves say, men
whose will is broken, have no dreams only the pub.
A photo in the paper, my contemporaries has
retired from the factory, a golden, a handshake from
the boss they got, and didn’t expect anymore
I’m out if it I simply ran away, my life has been
abundantly spent doing as little work as possible;
yes know I’ll have to forego the golden watch.
the feeding
The Feeding
The sky is pale, white clouds have eaten
all the blue, then diminish into fading mist
Bright sun pales as the sky gets deep azure
when the day darkens into a mature afternoon.
The sky is pale, white clouds have eaten
all the blue, then diminish into fading mist
Bright sun pales as the sky gets deep azure
when the day darkens into a mature afternoon.
peace in our time
Peace in our Time
I have no fear standing by the open window
where I live there are no snipers around and
no tank shells punch big holes in my house,
and I can drive into town buy an evening
paper without being shamed at a checkpoint
by soldiers who take glee in doing that since
I’m not like them
I heard the rifle shot that killed a twelve year
in her home, a bullet in her chest, it took her
three hours to die, the sniper must be proud
of himself, he’ll surely be suitable promoted.
The Middle East is not that far from here, and
for each time we look away in silence the war
is coming nearer our shores.
I have no fear standing by the open window
where I live there are no snipers around and
no tank shells punch big holes in my house,
and I can drive into town buy an evening
paper without being shamed at a checkpoint
by soldiers who take glee in doing that since
I’m not like them
I heard the rifle shot that killed a twelve year
in her home, a bullet in her chest, it took her
three hours to die, the sniper must be proud
of himself, he’ll surely be suitable promoted.
The Middle East is not that far from here, and
for each time we look away in silence the war
is coming nearer our shores.
what love can do
What Love Did.
Coming out of the grocer’s I had bought a tin of beans,
mainly because it can be eaten cold, and a banana, easy
to peel, when caught and drowned in the greenness of
her eyes. Day and nights of intense pleasure no time to
think of the future, this lasted till her dream ended.
I found myself on a mile long beach that had nothing
but cold, wet sand; I dug a deep hole buried myself and
cried till the island flooded and I was rescued by a cutter
crewed by bearded men who make a living killing baby
seals that will make into coats for those with sex in eyes
I became a great hunter clubbed little seals my bloody
footsteps across the ice could be seen from the space.
a suitcase full to make the finest fur-coat seen, but alas,
when we met she had gone blind and lost her allure,
now I feel regret for the baby seals so needlessly killed.
Coming out of the grocer’s I had bought a tin of beans,
mainly because it can be eaten cold, and a banana, easy
to peel, when caught and drowned in the greenness of
her eyes. Day and nights of intense pleasure no time to
think of the future, this lasted till her dream ended.
I found myself on a mile long beach that had nothing
but cold, wet sand; I dug a deep hole buried myself and
cried till the island flooded and I was rescued by a cutter
crewed by bearded men who make a living killing baby
seals that will make into coats for those with sex in eyes
I became a great hunter clubbed little seals my bloody
footsteps across the ice could be seen from the space.
a suitcase full to make the finest fur-coat seen, but alas,
when we met she had gone blind and lost her allure,
now I feel regret for the baby seals so needlessly killed.
the weight
The Weight
Guilt is a heavy burden
it makes you hate those
you trespassed against;
the urge is to erase them,
bodily and historically, so
there will be no trace;
of the grand larceny you
committed when robbing
a people of their land
Guilt is a heavy burden
it makes you hate those
you trespassed against;
the urge is to erase them,
bodily and historically, so
there will be no trace;
of the grand larceny you
committed when robbing
a people of their land
the homogenous sky
A Homogeneous Sky
I wore a blue uniform once, guarded red tractors
from midnight till dawn, I had wanted a green
uniform, as the German police officers wear, but
a tractor went missing and I was dismissed.
It would have been much more fun if the British
police had worn, say, burgundy uniforms, that
would have made them less grim now that they
can arrest anyone on the suspicion of terrorism,
The khaki is a practical colour too for uniforms,
look at the US soldiers in Iraq, alien sand dunes
amongst the striped pajamas dressed multitude;
and they even went and won the war for Iran.
I wore a blue uniform once, guarded red tractors
from midnight till dawn, I had wanted a green
uniform, as the German police officers wear, but
a tractor went missing and I was dismissed.
It would have been much more fun if the British
police had worn, say, burgundy uniforms, that
would have made them less grim now that they
can arrest anyone on the suspicion of terrorism,
The khaki is a practical colour too for uniforms,
look at the US soldiers in Iraq, alien sand dunes
amongst the striped pajamas dressed multitude;
and they even went and won the war for Iran.
the way home
The Way Home
I could see my home it was afar but the landscape
was flat, in front of me a thousand of sand dunes
with silvery grass, that had to be crossed; when
the wind blew it looked like a petrified sea forever
going westward. I was on an unpaved wide road
used by everyone, walkers, cars, dogs, cats, tractors
and cyclists, here even the blind could walk without
fear, a highway of humanity unregulated by traffic
experts, but, alas, they were not going my way
Climbing each wave was hard work and I was tired
when reaching shore a landscape of rich soil and
endless potato fields and one flat boulder I climbed
to get my bearing, I couldn’t see my home , not any
home for that matter, but did see smoke far away at
the edge of the horizon. Exhausted I rolled out my
sleeping bag, I still had miles to walk, but it didn’t
worry me, now that I could boil, fry or bake delicious
tubers, there was no hurry getting home anymore.
I could see my home it was afar but the landscape
was flat, in front of me a thousand of sand dunes
with silvery grass, that had to be crossed; when
the wind blew it looked like a petrified sea forever
going westward. I was on an unpaved wide road
used by everyone, walkers, cars, dogs, cats, tractors
and cyclists, here even the blind could walk without
fear, a highway of humanity unregulated by traffic
experts, but, alas, they were not going my way
Climbing each wave was hard work and I was tired
when reaching shore a landscape of rich soil and
endless potato fields and one flat boulder I climbed
to get my bearing, I couldn’t see my home , not any
home for that matter, but did see smoke far away at
the edge of the horizon. Exhausted I rolled out my
sleeping bag, I still had miles to walk, but it didn’t
worry me, now that I could boil, fry or bake delicious
tubers, there was no hurry getting home anymore.
patience
Patience
Spindrift at sea I can understand, it blinds.
My ship ran aground on a strand of pebbles,
coarse grass inland and goats, the frictions
of sea surge had made every tiny shingle
round; soon here will be a beach of golden
sand, hotels, restaurant and pocket thieves.
Oh, yes I had great plans, but ashore I met
a peculiar type of spindrift, it’s called love,
and she didn’t want to wait. When I could
see again I lived in small flat with a woman
and her noisy children, whom, she says, are
mine and working in a factory. The pebbled
beach has soft, yellow sand now where old,
rich men play with their second wife; and it
ain’t fair ‘cause it should have been me.
Spindrift at sea I can understand, it blinds.
My ship ran aground on a strand of pebbles,
coarse grass inland and goats, the frictions
of sea surge had made every tiny shingle
round; soon here will be a beach of golden
sand, hotels, restaurant and pocket thieves.
Oh, yes I had great plans, but ashore I met
a peculiar type of spindrift, it’s called love,
and she didn’t want to wait. When I could
see again I lived in small flat with a woman
and her noisy children, whom, she says, are
mine and working in a factory. The pebbled
beach has soft, yellow sand now where old,
rich men play with their second wife; and it
ain’t fair ‘cause it should have been me.
epigram
Epigram
Only when a black politician speaks and
Behaves as a whitey, can the middle classes
Vote for him; beat their common chest and
say: “There is no racism in The USA”
Only when a black politician speaks and
Behaves as a whitey, can the middle classes
Vote for him; beat their common chest and
say: “There is no racism in The USA”
westerly landscape
Westerly Landscape
The wind blows here, over the flat landscape,
storm come in from the sea, tastes salt on lips
when bluster stills for a few days in the summer
voices carry long and people look up surprised
by their own clarity, as they are not used to
whisper their words here where wind screams
like women betrayed to a life of drudgery; only
the women stops hollering when their backs are
bent, but the wind never ceases its blaring
Winter here is full of hailstones and christianity,
traveling preachers rule this harsh landscape till
it softens in May when the fiddlers come around
and there is dance and moonshine made in barns.
The men of god stay away then, but they have
collected enough money to live in comfort, till
it is time, when autumnal wind freezes the loins,
preach from one cold hall to the next and in
the name of god keep sinners subdued till spring
comes around again and crude sex is made and
euphemistically called love
The wind blows here, over the flat landscape,
storm come in from the sea, tastes salt on lips
when bluster stills for a few days in the summer
voices carry long and people look up surprised
by their own clarity, as they are not used to
whisper their words here where wind screams
like women betrayed to a life of drudgery; only
the women stops hollering when their backs are
bent, but the wind never ceases its blaring
Winter here is full of hailstones and christianity,
traveling preachers rule this harsh landscape till
it softens in May when the fiddlers come around
and there is dance and moonshine made in barns.
The men of god stay away then, but they have
collected enough money to live in comfort, till
it is time, when autumnal wind freezes the loins,
preach from one cold hall to the next and in
the name of god keep sinners subdued till spring
comes around again and crude sex is made and
euphemistically called love
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