machination

Machination

In my vale I hear the echo of combat,
bullets targeted forward fired by lucky
warriors who kill civilians who, with
their chattel, obscure the long view.

The right place, wrong time, blood and
bodies under canvas, tears; pledge of
vengeance. Death is clean and nattily
dressed, sport sunglasses day and night.

3 new haiku

Haiku

The vanishing act
Summer leaves the verandah
Autumn light enters

Haiku

Deepening shadows
Fallen leaves on the terrace
Time for reflections

Haiku

A summer has gone
The breeze has a chill within
Will we meet next year?

tanak on a string

Tanka

Translate Moor poems
From Portuguese to English
And hear the murmur,
An echo of poets’ songs
Going back a thousand years.


Tanka

Andalusia,
Once an Arabic province
Poets once lived there
Sat dreaming in lush gardens
Writing verses of lost love


Tanka

Andalusia,
Christians marched
Sun shone on bloodied swords
Moslem’s peaceful rule vanished
But poets’ verses live on

the sea

The Sea.

I was an orphan lost on the vast plateau
of land till I came to the coast and saw
the sea wench all beginnings sprang;

yet I swim close to shore where the sea
is clear and has no dark, mysterious spots,
she is a greedy mother her love is total;

she hates land that stole her off springs,
hammers shores and will not desist and
be at ease before all is gone.

the orange orchard

The Orange Orchard.
Original title “A Laranjeira”
By IBN Sara
Written ca ( 1123)


As wood burning bright
trees stand fruit partly
hidden coloured dots in
shadow of a green curtains

The fruit hang on a delicate
thread and silently tell of those
who have suffered and suffer
for love

I see an orange orchard as
a place that shows its fruit
as red tears of who have endured
the torments of love

Tears petrified now, yet
with depth of pain
that reaches deep the soil making
it fertile for lovers.

Corneal fruit amongst
foliage that shines as topaz,
in your hand, as sapphire,
when cut in half.

Sometimes we kiss the fruit,
other times we inhale its aroma
like it should be the beautiful
face of a lass or the perfumed
breast of a woman.

double Tanka

Double Tanka

If, say… Christ returns
Bearded and in white burnoose
Will he be seized?
And sent to Guantanamo
If he looks like Bin Laden

Water tortured
Made confess odious crimes
He is innocent of
Or just say; “not again dad”
And magically disappear.

the request

Pedino Um Falcão
By IBN al Quaturnuh
Year 1214.


The Request

O, king, son of highborn parents
And of illustrious ancestry!

You whom I worship on my knees
I ask of you a favour greater than
the most beautiful pearl on a string
made of silver thread;


honour me with the privilege of giving
you this falcon with plumage limpid
as the sky, so much loved by
the northerly wind;

and let it fly from you hand, freed
from its chain, see it soar to join
the wind;

still life

Still Life.

Mother used to have on the wall, a picture
of a dead boy in his coffin, surrounded by
flowers, candles and silence.

I often stared hard at the picture, willing
the boy to open his eyes, he never obliged
me, but came alive in my dreams.

The name of the boy’s mother was Olga she
used to visit us till mother and her fell out,
mother thought it rude to remove the picture.

Years went by, my brother died and mother
took the picture down, but it was still there,
a square less faded than the rest of the wall.

a life

A Life

Squashed hedgehog
on the road,
dog sniffs at it
unconcerned.
“What are hedgehogs for?
the child in
me asks.
The unasked
question is:
What are humans for?

the winner

The Winner

Curled up on the pavement,
The long distance runner,
In life a tall man in death
Small almost child sized

He had tried to run away
From himself, finally did
But his sleeping face bore
No smile of triumph.

loss

The Loss

An hour’s wait, in Lisbon, before catching next plane,
had a meal in a cafeteria, some sort of meat and veg,
the girl by the till is busy flirting with an employee,
I interrupted them and demanded to pay, she looked
over to a security guard, by the door, as to say:
“we have got a right one here.” Plastic fork and knife,
food, freezing cold and the knife broke in half.

Hungry I ate the vegetables, had I gone up and back
to the counter demanding service I would have been
arrested, a security risk, possible a terrorist; they treat
travelers like shit, yet travelers would have looked on
and said: serves him right, why did he have to make
a fuzz, it will only delay our flight back home so we
can get a break, holidaying is tiring now.

us well behaved

Us Well Behaved


This is a nice Brussels locality, small blokes of
flats, as daylight falls, dwellers are coming out
with wrapped parcels, that look like gifts, and
put them next to rubbish bins. Tidy, no dogs to
tear open parcels and make mess of things. Cars
are parked on the left side of the road today;
tomorrow, parking is on the right side, and so on.

Walk I do because the nice people I’m stay with,
watch football an important match, few people out
on this June evening; amble on till I see lights of
a bar, a man comes out looks around and pees up
against a wall. I find his act of revolt heartening,
but when someone shouts the man is a pig and
ought to be arrested, I cowardly flee into the bar.

poet actor

Poet/Actor/Clown

I’m a poet and showman, want you to be
amused, or sad when needed, shake your
head fondly say I’m being ridiculous, but
don’t ignore me because I’m an actor too
timid to stand in front of an audience.

I can live in the basement, at the bottom
of your garden, or in deep shadow under
a carob tree. I cut pieces off my soul, post
them to you in the hope you may feel
Entertained, laugh and think well of me.

Double Tanka

Double Tanka

If, say… Christ returns
Bearded and in white burnoose
Will he be seized?
And sent to Guantanamo
If he looks like Bin Laden

Water tortured
Made confess odious crimes
He is innocent of
Or just say; “not again dad”
And magically disappear.

three men in a car

Three Men in a Car.

Ship less docks, empty warehouses and Liverpool
was collapsing into itself; 1980 the nadir, and
hadn’t the Liver Bird been hold down by wires
she would have flown away.

I walked along the docks the winter air was full
of melancholy, an epoch had ended it waited for
renewal, there was talk of converting warehouses
into smart apartments for the bright eyed set.

Three police detective sat in a car trying to look
like civilians, stupid when does three blokes have
time to sit in a car in the middle of the day, unless
they are thieves or police.

I was just standing there looking into the water
tried to recall Marilyn’s face, zilch, and a seabird
floated in the filthy water, the officers were out of
the car, stood there looking at the lead grey sky.

Too cold and the water wasn’t clean, I looked up
and saw the Liver Bird she could do with a perm,
but there wasn’t anything cowed about her; and
what do I know? Maybe the three men were poets?

The Long Walk

Arabic poem
“Passaram” (year 979)
by al-RADI BI-LLAH

The Long Walk

When evening without
Warning falls
My wandering has
Lit a fire, my heart
Is ablaze.

It is not strange
Ones desire increases
As one walks,
Growing thirst,
There is vision of water.

the lady and the tramp

The Lady and the Tramp

I took the bus from Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead,
from there the underground to Liverpool, walked
to Hanover Street; took a rickety lift up four floors
to a studio where Miss Summers tried to teach me
to speak posh English. A hopeless task my Norse
accent refused to be relegated clung to my throat
like phlegm, the size of a jelly fish, and anyway,
when Miss Summer said my own voice was sexy
I decided to take acting lessons with her instead.

Alas this didn’t last; the doctor said I was fit to go
back to sea and I was sent to join a ship in Aruba.
I loved Miss Summers used to meet her secretly in ´
Southport on her days off, impressed me with her
noble manners it was like making love to a duchess.
The problem with being a seafarer is that when he
Returns, life ashore has moved on. My teacher lady
had an acting job, when I rang her voice was arctic
and, yes, she had also gone and married a doctor.

three Arabian/andalouse poems

Rose & Lily
Arabic/ Andalusian poem

Savour the wine
with the fragrant lily
in bloom
and during morning
form an assembly
when the rose blush.

If you suckle
the heaven’s teats
and together blend its
milk with lily, rose and
blood,
there will be a revolt,

the lily becomes whiter
than the camphor-tree-
the queen of whiteness-
and the rose- disobedient
against conformity-
becomes more divine than
red hot iron.


The Nut
Arabic/Andalusian poem

Inside equal pieces
Perfectly united
A lovely sight,
Like an eyelid
Closed in sleep;

Opens easy
With a knife
Offers little resistance
And can be admired;

An ear’s wrinkled
Surface, that in its
Interior
Hides, priceless
Beauty.


Modesty

Arabic/Andalusian poem
Original Title: Puder
Written by Habib (ca 1048)


When, on certain situation,
Your are offered a modest
Face to face,
Wine in a carafe,
By a servant with friendly eyes,
Do not hesitate to drink;
There are fuller wines,
Of course, but they will only
Make your feet heavy.

tourist town

Tourist Town.

Pale dust,
fallen leaves,
smeared
paper napkins,
whirl in
the square,
a dance
of decay;
summer season
over
tourists gone
home,
will we meet
next year?

do not look back

Never Look Back

The track I walk on, to the top of the hill
where I can see the sea, is falling into
neglect, overgrown, dry weeds crinkle
underfoot, made smooth and slippery by
the unforgiven August sun.

The sea afar is blue with glitter on, just
as a postcard: “come sail on me,” it says.
I did once, long time ago. I used to stand
on iron deck, look towards shore, dream
of mountains, streams and lakes.

Clouds sail across the sky, sea darkens
gets restless frothy waves, are gored by
dagger sharp cliffs; endless war the sea
will win. Farewell, I shall walk on this
path again, the bygone is another dream.