Helping the Banks
The night is as obscure as homemade wine the TV screen
casts a grave light in a room that has no shadow; presidents
and prime ministers appear tell us of financial woes, even
the forgotten George Bush is there; they say they are doing
the best they can and that savers money is safe; but I know
they are as powerless as I’m, but they were the ones who
let lose the beast of a free market believing in the myth that
it would correct itself that is to ask a drunk to stop drinking,
gallons of booze and it are all free. “And your money is safe”
is not true, when a bank goes belly up the savers money is
the first to go. Had I money I would take them out and place
them under my mattress but since I’m broke I tell you.
They will try to stop you say it will make matters worse, so
let it; withdrawing you money is the only power you have,
you have little to lose, they will lose everything for without
your cash they are nothing
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Dick Whittington....
Dick Whittington and…
I tell my moggy that sits by the door and wants to go out
hunting in the night, that cats can only be taken out when
on a lead, because they kill sparrows and other birds; the world
is falling apart, banks are closing and the rich has to sell
their second yacht, while my terrace is full of bird droppings,
The cat is not doing its job;
am I supposed to clean up after them, fat birds feeding only
on rose petals and an ineffective cat that can’t keep order.
I’ve to get another cat one that isn’t tainted by bird calls and
not addicted by seed.
We have to change the world friendship only softens
the guardians who think they should eat from a golden troth
while we are served mud cakes from a plastic sack
And as I watch Tony Blair speak about this crises looking as
innocent as a house cat, it dawns on me that we really have to
cut off the balls of all male cats so they can’t go around
being paid for spreading obnoxious scent all over the place
I tell my moggy that sits by the door and wants to go out
hunting in the night, that cats can only be taken out when
on a lead, because they kill sparrows and other birds; the world
is falling apart, banks are closing and the rich has to sell
their second yacht, while my terrace is full of bird droppings,
The cat is not doing its job;
am I supposed to clean up after them, fat birds feeding only
on rose petals and an ineffective cat that can’t keep order.
I’ve to get another cat one that isn’t tainted by bird calls and
not addicted by seed.
We have to change the world friendship only softens
the guardians who think they should eat from a golden troth
while we are served mud cakes from a plastic sack
And as I watch Tony Blair speak about this crises looking as
innocent as a house cat, it dawns on me that we really have to
cut off the balls of all male cats so they can’t go around
being paid for spreading obnoxious scent all over the place
Monday, September 29, 2008
the storm
A Tempestade (The Storm)
By Ibn Suhayd 992-1034
In darkness
Each flower opens its mouth
And drink from the teats of
Fertile rain
Loaded with water
Armies of black clouds
Majestically
Marches
With golden swords of lightning
By Ibn Suhayd 992-1034
In darkness
Each flower opens its mouth
And drink from the teats of
Fertile rain
Loaded with water
Armies of black clouds
Majestically
Marches
With golden swords of lightning
animal concern
Animal Concern
I ought to protest for all, the world, they are killing
Bulls for fun in Spain. Elegant, but murderous men
with handkerchiefs folded up their crotch to give
illusion of big balls struts about with slim swords
and capes killing the stupid beast when it is tired of
a game it doesn’t understand.
When I think of the Roma children who drowned on
a beach in Italy and lay there for ours under bright
towels, while bathers, unconcerned went about their
business, when I think of these unlawful wars and
a bigger one that will engulf us all, then I must admit
that I don’t give a shit about Spanish bulls
I ought to protest for all, the world, they are killing
Bulls for fun in Spain. Elegant, but murderous men
with handkerchiefs folded up their crotch to give
illusion of big balls struts about with slim swords
and capes killing the stupid beast when it is tired of
a game it doesn’t understand.
When I think of the Roma children who drowned on
a beach in Italy and lay there for ours under bright
towels, while bathers, unconcerned went about their
business, when I think of these unlawful wars and
a bigger one that will engulf us all, then I must admit
that I don’t give a shit about Spanish bulls
addiction
Addiction
Rain has abated
A man under an awing
Counts falling raindrops
He has little else to do
He stopped smoking last night
Fiddles with a lighter
Clicks it on and off forever
Giggles to himself
Kicks in a sweetshop window
Grabs a handful of “all sorts”
Rain has abated
A man under an awing
Counts falling raindrops
He has little else to do
He stopped smoking last night
Fiddles with a lighter
Clicks it on and off forever
Giggles to himself
Kicks in a sweetshop window
Grabs a handful of “all sorts”
no comment
No Comment
So here we sit shielding behind Sunday
and unspoken boredom leafing through
newspapers that predict the fall of
the society as we know it, without Wall
Street, the darkness beckons.
Crisis, we can’t all have a home, whom to
blame, if this time, not the Jews the Persians
can come in handy. Wars are ritual
bloodletting 30-40 million dead and nature
will restore it self
The ice caps will refreeze a clear distinction
between the seasons, above all, Wall Street
will bloom again, politicians will extol our
capitalism, and we will be told not to envious
of those who are filthy rich.
So here we sit shielding behind Sunday
and unspoken boredom leafing through
newspapers that predict the fall of
the society as we know it, without Wall
Street, the darkness beckons.
Crisis, we can’t all have a home, whom to
blame, if this time, not the Jews the Persians
can come in handy. Wars are ritual
bloodletting 30-40 million dead and nature
will restore it self
The ice caps will refreeze a clear distinction
between the seasons, above all, Wall Street
will bloom again, politicians will extol our
capitalism, and we will be told not to envious
of those who are filthy rich.
autumnal sunday
Autumnal Sunday
Rain, it is October the month of melancholy
and you know that the blue sky and sun of
yesterday was just another foolish illusion
the cock didn’t crow this morning and dogs
ears didn’t move when a stranger’s voice
echoed in narrow streets, they knew it was
the voice of doom;
the harvester had arrived in coming month
the old would succumb to the damp breath
of death; not too many tears shed, faces in
a black frame, yes, that’s the way it is we
understand death if not our own. Dogs need
not be told, they snooze sure they are own
their own immortality
Rain, it is October the month of melancholy
and you know that the blue sky and sun of
yesterday was just another foolish illusion
the cock didn’t crow this morning and dogs
ears didn’t move when a stranger’s voice
echoed in narrow streets, they knew it was
the voice of doom;
the harvester had arrived in coming month
the old would succumb to the damp breath
of death; not too many tears shed, faces in
a black frame, yes, that’s the way it is we
understand death if not our own. Dogs need
not be told, they snooze sure they are own
their own immortality
alitre of wine
A litre of wine
The wine in the glass is full the red liquid arches the slightest
movement and it will spill over and run down the stem like
a bleeding stomach wound trickling down a petrified leg.
I bent down and inhaled the wine no spillage and I wondered
why it is so many people, in fact more and more drink beer
that is no longer a natural brew is it because we are no longer
a part of nature and seek and feel more at ease with man made
products and we will soon have a diet that fits with the work
we are doing, say if you want a double cheeseburger with fries
you first have to work shuffling coal for twelve hours,
but if you only want to sit writing a simple poem about
the country side low fat yogurt for you; if you have written
the poem under the influence of a steak you will be censured,
made to walk in the park and tell everyone you’re a crock of
empty of gold empty of anything a modern society such as
networking banalities and get people to buy what they don’t
need; men get medals and titles for doing that. So what do
I care, but it annoys me that I end up buying a soap which
name I have seen on the television and smell like everybody
else, yeah…isn’t that just nice?
The wine in the glass is full the red liquid arches the slightest
movement and it will spill over and run down the stem like
a bleeding stomach wound trickling down a petrified leg.
I bent down and inhaled the wine no spillage and I wondered
why it is so many people, in fact more and more drink beer
that is no longer a natural brew is it because we are no longer
a part of nature and seek and feel more at ease with man made
products and we will soon have a diet that fits with the work
we are doing, say if you want a double cheeseburger with fries
you first have to work shuffling coal for twelve hours,
but if you only want to sit writing a simple poem about
the country side low fat yogurt for you; if you have written
the poem under the influence of a steak you will be censured,
made to walk in the park and tell everyone you’re a crock of
empty of gold empty of anything a modern society such as
networking banalities and get people to buy what they don’t
need; men get medals and titles for doing that. So what do
I care, but it annoys me that I end up buying a soap which
name I have seen on the television and smell like everybody
else, yeah…isn’t that just nice?
Livorno Mon amour
Livorno Mon Amour
Livorno this dreary harbour port, not Rome and now in
winter a ghost town, every window shuttered telling not
of life inside. Into the bar came a young woman, long legs
like a colt, she was frozen warmed her hand and fanny by
the fire. I thought she looked like the American I had once
seen the shadow of in Trieste, I offered her a drink, she
had a coke, then she left to resume her lonely profession.
Later that night I saw her by a corner and as cold rain hung
In the air; I took her to an hotel, got heating going, she
jumped into bed ready to do her duty, but I was pensive
waiting to write a poem about Trieste.
When I awoke tired morning light seeped through holed
curtains, the girl had put a blanket around me in the night
I was grateful for that. We breakfasted; she had fried eggs
and ham, I drank coffee and a little brandy. Saw her dance
down the street, yes she looked like an eager colt. Hoped
she would meet a rich man, marry him and become his
respectable whore instead of ending up an old diseased
slag begging drinks from men who are ready to debase her.
Two days later I took the train to Trieste, I asked around
but no one had seen the American girl and the poem was
never written.
Livorno this dreary harbour port, not Rome and now in
winter a ghost town, every window shuttered telling not
of life inside. Into the bar came a young woman, long legs
like a colt, she was frozen warmed her hand and fanny by
the fire. I thought she looked like the American I had once
seen the shadow of in Trieste, I offered her a drink, she
had a coke, then she left to resume her lonely profession.
Later that night I saw her by a corner and as cold rain hung
In the air; I took her to an hotel, got heating going, she
jumped into bed ready to do her duty, but I was pensive
waiting to write a poem about Trieste.
When I awoke tired morning light seeped through holed
curtains, the girl had put a blanket around me in the night
I was grateful for that. We breakfasted; she had fried eggs
and ham, I drank coffee and a little brandy. Saw her dance
down the street, yes she looked like an eager colt. Hoped
she would meet a rich man, marry him and become his
respectable whore instead of ending up an old diseased
slag begging drinks from men who are ready to debase her.
Two days later I took the train to Trieste, I asked around
but no one had seen the American girl and the poem was
never written.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
the jogger
The Jogger
They said he had invented jogging and he was quite
addicted to his invention, ran every afternoon longer
and longer distances; till he dropped dead.
“He had congenital heart disease and would have died
anyway,” the defenders of jogging said.
Sure but that’s not the point he could have died when
copulating, angling, having a splendid meal with wine
or congenial drink with friends in the bar, and not
prancing about in shorts on a cold road alone a chilly
autumnal evening.
They said he had invented jogging and he was quite
addicted to his invention, ran every afternoon longer
and longer distances; till he dropped dead.
“He had congenital heart disease and would have died
anyway,” the defenders of jogging said.
Sure but that’s not the point he could have died when
copulating, angling, having a splendid meal with wine
or congenial drink with friends in the bar, and not
prancing about in shorts on a cold road alone a chilly
autumnal evening.
o marmelo
O Marmelo (a pear shaped fruit of
the quince, tree can also mean
“Saio de Mulher” Bosom)
Al-Musahfi ca 982
Translated from
old Portuguese by Jan Oskar Hansen
O Marmelo
Is of the colour yellow that of shame
A narcissist’ tunic and it has a musky
Penetrating aroma
As the perfume of once beloved and has
The same force as the heart but has
The colour of one who is in love and
haggard.
Her paleness is but an imprint of my pallor
And my breath has the aroma
Of my woman’s breaths
Fragrant when the fruit is lifted from the branch
Under the brocade of woven leaves, suavely
In my hand I carry it indoors and put it as
A costly treasure, in my alcove
Dressed in grey down which flutters on its
Smooth golden body
And when in my hand, naked sans its shirt-
The colour of narcissism- makes me record
What I can’t express as the heat of my vigor
Fades and drips between my fingers
the quince, tree can also mean
“Saio de Mulher” Bosom)
Al-Musahfi ca 982
Translated from
old Portuguese by Jan Oskar Hansen
O Marmelo
Is of the colour yellow that of shame
A narcissist’ tunic and it has a musky
Penetrating aroma
As the perfume of once beloved and has
The same force as the heart but has
The colour of one who is in love and
haggard.
Her paleness is but an imprint of my pallor
And my breath has the aroma
Of my woman’s breaths
Fragrant when the fruit is lifted from the branch
Under the brocade of woven leaves, suavely
In my hand I carry it indoors and put it as
A costly treasure, in my alcove
Dressed in grey down which flutters on its
Smooth golden body
And when in my hand, naked sans its shirt-
The colour of narcissism- makes me record
What I can’t express as the heat of my vigor
Fades and drips between my fingers
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
tomorrows world
Tomorrows World
So the world is a changing greed has failed,
Now we shall all work unselfishly for, and
Together heal the world, make financial rules
Based on trust, honesty and real democracy.
We will suffer together and prosper together,
But as usual the majority will suffer while
The minority will prosper, and when time is
Right greed will be back on the agenda.
This of course may sound pessimistic, but it
Is human nature, the will to survive; if there
Are no games to play, no wars to fight
Humans will simply sink into apathy and die
So the world is a changing greed has failed,
Now we shall all work unselfishly for, and
Together heal the world, make financial rules
Based on trust, honesty and real democracy.
We will suffer together and prosper together,
But as usual the majority will suffer while
The minority will prosper, and when time is
Right greed will be back on the agenda.
This of course may sound pessimistic, but it
Is human nature, the will to survive; if there
Are no games to play, no wars to fight
Humans will simply sink into apathy and die
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
the disappeared
The Disappeared
The man, in our village, who died last
year is now entirely forgotten, since
he passed away- before Christmas-
someone else had to come kill the pigs.
His wife has shed her mourning dress
has got a lover, he arrives late at her
house and leaves at dawn; we know
and decorously pretend we don’t
It is a bit frightening to realize who
quickly the deceased are forgotten,
it must be so it’s good for our ego
to see how insignificant we are.
There is a new killer of pigs now, he
lives in the next village and it is said
he’s even better at it then the one who
expired; what was his name again?
As I write these meager lines millions
have died, some in agony we cannot
shed tears for the world’s monotony,
forget and welcome the newborns.
So, hold on to life do not strangle it
with impossible demands of longevity
smell the rose they are demises perfume
and hope you’ll see tomorrow’s sunrise.
The man, in our village, who died last
year is now entirely forgotten, since
he passed away- before Christmas-
someone else had to come kill the pigs.
His wife has shed her mourning dress
has got a lover, he arrives late at her
house and leaves at dawn; we know
and decorously pretend we don’t
It is a bit frightening to realize who
quickly the deceased are forgotten,
it must be so it’s good for our ego
to see how insignificant we are.
There is a new killer of pigs now, he
lives in the next village and it is said
he’s even better at it then the one who
expired; what was his name again?
As I write these meager lines millions
have died, some in agony we cannot
shed tears for the world’s monotony,
forget and welcome the newborns.
So, hold on to life do not strangle it
with impossible demands of longevity
smell the rose they are demises perfume
and hope you’ll see tomorrow’s sunrise.
tomorrow's world
Tomorrows World
So the world is a changing greed has failed,
Now we shall all work unselfishly for, and
Together heal the world, make financial rules
Based on trust, honesty and real democracy.
We will suffer together and prosper together,
But as usual the majority will suffer while
The minority will prosper, and when time is
Right greed will be back on the agenda.
This of course may sound pessimistic, but it
Is human nature, the will to survive; if there
Are no games to play, no wars to fight
Humans will simply sink into apathy and die
So the world is a changing greed has failed,
Now we shall all work unselfishly for, and
Together heal the world, make financial rules
Based on trust, honesty and real democracy.
We will suffer together and prosper together,
But as usual the majority will suffer while
The minority will prosper, and when time is
Right greed will be back on the agenda.
This of course may sound pessimistic, but it
Is human nature, the will to survive; if there
Are no games to play, no wars to fight
Humans will simply sink into apathy and die
tanka for you
Tanka
Quiver in fingers
Folded as a butterflies wings
Long is the day after
Suckling pig and strong wine
And too early for a beer
Quiver in fingers
Folded as a butterflies wings
Long is the day after
Suckling pig and strong wine
And too early for a beer
white skin
Original Title
A Tez Branca
By IBN ABD RABBINI
Ca 860 - 940
White Skin
A thing like this
Have we never
Heard of,
The reward for modesty
A goat horn transformed
Into a pearl
So very shiny her face
When contemplating
Its perfection, that the real
Face vanishes in its
Own clarity
A Tez Branca
By IBN ABD RABBINI
Ca 860 - 940
White Skin
A thing like this
Have we never
Heard of,
The reward for modesty
A goat horn transformed
Into a pearl
So very shiny her face
When contemplating
Its perfection, that the real
Face vanishes in its
Own clarity
Monday, September 22, 2008
The proletariat
The Proletariat
A creamy butterfly
Sat on a big yellow rose,
Softly fluttering wings
Betrayed its modest presence
A common sparrow swooped.
I sadly concluded:
The masses don’t care for art
Busy as they are,
Wedded to a life of work,
No time to stop and wonder.
A creamy butterfly
Sat on a big yellow rose,
Softly fluttering wings
Betrayed its modest presence
A common sparrow swooped.
I sadly concluded:
The masses don’t care for art
Busy as they are,
Wedded to a life of work,
No time to stop and wonder.
Denmark mon Amour
Denmark, Mon Amour
Aarhus, Denmark, yes I was there many years ago,
perhaps the place has changed but I doubt it. Met
a woman there her name was Margot, about my age,
a racy thirty, I was off a ship going home next day.
How perfectly we danced together and how I liked
the promising glint in her brown eyes, yes she was
the right one for me; and when the bar closed it was
only natural that I followed her home.
But as she turned the key on the lock of her door,
she asked me for money, shocked I mumbled yes,
but wondered if I would be able to after this cold
shower of naked reality
She had a dog and as she put a mattress on the floor
for us to lie on, the dog kept glaring at me, its eyes
were spiteful eyes night after night it saw men doing
things to her it could only dream of
I took my trousers off and tried to get through this
act of loves’ betrayal when the dog had had enough
and bit my bum, I began giggling and gave up this
pretense and we’re all relieved when I left.
Aarhus, Denmark, yes I was there many years ago,
perhaps the place has changed but I doubt it. Met
a woman there her name was Margot, about my age,
a racy thirty, I was off a ship going home next day.
How perfectly we danced together and how I liked
the promising glint in her brown eyes, yes she was
the right one for me; and when the bar closed it was
only natural that I followed her home.
But as she turned the key on the lock of her door,
she asked me for money, shocked I mumbled yes,
but wondered if I would be able to after this cold
shower of naked reality
She had a dog and as she put a mattress on the floor
for us to lie on, the dog kept glaring at me, its eyes
were spiteful eyes night after night it saw men doing
things to her it could only dream of
I took my trousers off and tried to get through this
act of loves’ betrayal when the dog had had enough
and bit my bum, I began giggling and gave up this
pretense and we’re all relieved when I left.
autumnal song
An Autumnal Song
Autumn in the park leaves keep falling off trees,
silently just like snow; many people around,
children behave themselves and dogs do ditto
Oslo enjoys a rare threat, a clear Saturday sky,
soon there will be massive rain falls, later sleet and
endless snow, and naked tree will suffer for our sins.
Tomorrow I’ll return to Portugal, where leaves fall
off trees too, but in time of decay the almond tree
will flower and strew silky snow on my way.
Peace will come over me, the burden of nostalgia
and sadness that made me weary in Oslo will leave,
and I will be free of my past.
I have lived in here twenty years, that’s how old I’m
having been born twice, first time I had no say in
the matter, but this time, however, I willed it.
And I shall go on living here amongst thorny bushes,
olive, carob and almond trees, I will not leave again
until my journey comes to an end
Autumn in the park leaves keep falling off trees,
silently just like snow; many people around,
children behave themselves and dogs do ditto
Oslo enjoys a rare threat, a clear Saturday sky,
soon there will be massive rain falls, later sleet and
endless snow, and naked tree will suffer for our sins.
Tomorrow I’ll return to Portugal, where leaves fall
off trees too, but in time of decay the almond tree
will flower and strew silky snow on my way.
Peace will come over me, the burden of nostalgia
and sadness that made me weary in Oslo will leave,
and I will be free of my past.
I have lived in here twenty years, that’s how old I’m
having been born twice, first time I had no say in
the matter, but this time, however, I willed it.
And I shall go on living here amongst thorny bushes,
olive, carob and almond trees, I will not leave again
until my journey comes to an end
lovesick blues
It’s Love, You See.
Knocked on the lovely ladies door, asked if
I could weed the flowers in her front garden,
mow the lawn and trim her hedge. She smiled,
said she has a man in the house to do it.
“Next year?” “Perhaps,” she said and gently
closed the door. Then it was autumn, leaves
flew trough the air making me feel blue;
then winter with snow, and from my window
I saw see her garden looked like every one
else’s, suburbia landscape
Spring came suddenly and her garden was
a mess, weeds were strangulating her flowers,
the lawn a jungle, her hedge looked like
a broken accordion. I walked over and asked
her again, she was in a foul mood, said: “I could
do what I wanted but don’t expect her to be
grateful, I hate men you’re all alike,” with that
she slammed the door shut. It took me weeks
to get the garden ship shape, but when all was
perfect I knocked on her door again.
She came out into the summer sun shine, but
she wasn’t alone leaning her head against
a man’s shoulders she smiled up to me with
teeth that looked like marble headstones in
a Spanish graveyard in moonlight, and her
eyes had the hard glint of sapphires. From my
window I can see her garden it’s lit up by
the light of her bedroom window, and when
the light is switched off I still sit there, tell
myself that I don’t lover her anymore.
Knocked on the lovely ladies door, asked if
I could weed the flowers in her front garden,
mow the lawn and trim her hedge. She smiled,
said she has a man in the house to do it.
“Next year?” “Perhaps,” she said and gently
closed the door. Then it was autumn, leaves
flew trough the air making me feel blue;
then winter with snow, and from my window
I saw see her garden looked like every one
else’s, suburbia landscape
Spring came suddenly and her garden was
a mess, weeds were strangulating her flowers,
the lawn a jungle, her hedge looked like
a broken accordion. I walked over and asked
her again, she was in a foul mood, said: “I could
do what I wanted but don’t expect her to be
grateful, I hate men you’re all alike,” with that
she slammed the door shut. It took me weeks
to get the garden ship shape, but when all was
perfect I knocked on her door again.
She came out into the summer sun shine, but
she wasn’t alone leaning her head against
a man’s shoulders she smiled up to me with
teeth that looked like marble headstones in
a Spanish graveyard in moonlight, and her
eyes had the hard glint of sapphires. From my
window I can see her garden it’s lit up by
the light of her bedroom window, and when
the light is switched off I still sit there, tell
myself that I don’t lover her anymore.
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