a cigarette

A Cigarette


Dawn, yes and the mist, what else do you
expect on lake Martin early and summer?
Swamp cypress dripping with Spanish moss.
I have stopped rowing, water swirling around
Oar blades, the silence is absolute I dare not
Inhale, a bird shrieks, the lake shudders
An evil thought has entered Paradise, I hear
The faint noise of outboard motors,
The moment of ethereal stillness has gone,
I lit a cigarette inhale deeply, exhale and blow
Rings a pure delight into morning air.

haiku

Haiku

Lucid is the sky
Cool and translucent is day
Wonderful is fall

Haiku

Unambiguous
Is the cold northerly wind
The master of frost

Haiku

It was a mistake
The sun shone and it was warm Haiku

Morning’s snow crystals
Downed on lawns too early
Sun is still in charge.

Haiku

Aquatic time
Relentless rain harshly fall
Time to read a book.

Haiku

Rain on the mountain
River runs with fiercely rage
To meet its maker.

Indian summer

the girl who loved me

The Girl Who Loved Me.


At a house that posed as a posh bar I saw her,
very tall, thin and gangling she smiled shyly
and the young men in the throng thought her
weird, so I befriended her, she was grateful;
yes, for I too know how it is to be neglected.

Afterward we went out for meal she insisted
I must meet her parents, who were proud of
her. And life was sweet for a few days till
I had to leave, she cried, I promised to write
and callously didn’t.

When the moon shone on the Caribbean Sea
and I stood on a hot iron deck alone I regretted
my self-serving empathy, playing on other
people’s emotion, just to tie another knot on
the hangman’s noose .

The US Election

The US Election


Behind Obama, president almost elect, there is
Another black man, his body, who sharpens his
pencil and lick stamps. There is a whisper that
the body might be a Moslem, alas, he is a true
blue blooded American black born in a ghetto
and we are now seeing the roots of thing, as we
all started from a humble beginning- those who
didn’t have to fake one- and it’s quite right too.
Sarah too came from unassuming background,
she bravely rose above it and there isn’t a trace
of modesty in her throbbing, attractive veins.
So all is well then? We have a president, who
will rule the world kindly, make the bald eagle
a symbol of respect again. There aren’t many
eagles left in the wild, the zoo bred ones do not
know how to soar, we must me careful so this bird
doesn’t end up like the Tasmanian tiger

Nazism and the Belgian chef

Nazism and the Belgian Chef


In Belgium, I read, a TV chef has been fired and
The program axed. He cooked dishes famous people
through history liked. All went well, till he cooked
Herr. Hitler’s favourite dish, fried trout with sour
cream. People protested, this was to humanize Hitler
and our chef was fired for having bad taste (pun?)
It is quite naïve to believe that by not mentioning
Hitler, the towering inferno of the twentieth century,
they can somehow wish him away by making him
into a monster without human feelings and emotions.
Alas, he was so very human and real, there are many
as him walking around and giving half the chance
will behave just as Herr. Hitler did.

the notion

The Notion


A thought, a beautiful bird, sat on a tree
tried to grab it, but it flew away and was
liquefied, now I can’t even remember its
colour.

The thought is a river, as I put my hands
into it to stop its flow, it turns into a useless
seam of gold.

Gold diggers came, rich now they will
be interviewed, say weighty thing to
newspapers, we will nod in accord, surely
they must sages, as surely as I must find
another stream

I wait for a new thought to drift along,
without great fanfare, one that will change
itself into a beautiful bird that, in time,
will transform into a poem

heat

Heat.


Summer light fades.
long shadows
weave a carpet across
the scenery,
meet and unite,
only on slopes
skeletal light
disappears;
an August day is over,
but heat lingers
domineering and violent
waits to be ignited.
Raised voices spilling
over and into the street.
Towards dawn
a slight breeze stirs,
sooths and cools brows;
for a moment bliss,
until a new August
day begins.

birthday greetings

Birthday Greeting


The darkness gives way for light, joins
Up quickly behind me, I drive home,
When morning breaks I’ll be seventy.

I think of a black, shiny coffin; silver
Handles and flowers too, my grief is
Immense nothing much to celebrate

I sail close to shore carful now under-
Water reefs, seek shelter from old age
While contemplating my sunset.

jackpot

The Jackpot


I stood where the rainbow landed, close up its light too sharp,
almost vulgar, had to close my eyes. When it vanished
the ground was soft and warm, began digging when a middle
aged man appeared, as from nowhere, thought it was god
because he looked dignified like the pianist in Alfred’s bar;
to be a pianist in bars knowing you are not going to play in
Carnegie Hall you have to look revered to survive. He asked
me what I wanted to do with all that gold. I thought of cars,
long legged blond birds, my own aircraft, a yacht and a loo
with a gold seat; got so bored with my infantile wishes that
I gave God my spade and walked home. Saw him on the TV,
a week ago, on the deck of his enormous boat, surrounded by
giggling birds; dyed his hair and goatee black and - I’m sure –
he, in his bathroom, had a loo seat made gold.

flag days

Flag Days

In the village people are not keen of waving their
national flag about (Portuguese) it’s regarded as
rude boasting. An American, who once lived here,
hoisted the Stars & Stripes every morning and, at
times, tied yellow ribbons on almond trees.

Politely we didn’t mention this banner madness it
was as it never happen; then he suddenly died no
one took the flag down till it was in tatters and
blew off in a winter storm; as for yellow ribbons
the almond tree bears beautiful flowers in spring.

the sea

The Sea

Silent sea dark and deep, on your surface I skimmed
for years, feared you too sleepless nights, mountainous
waves when my only defence was luck; romantically
thought that you had secrets to divulge when hearing
whispers in the tropical night. Now I know it isn’t so
and that makes life sadder than it ought to be, endlessly
wet you are Saragossa weed, fog and terrifying sharks;
like everything else, you suffer from advanced pollution
but when I hear the melancholic fog horn sing, late in
the night, I wish I were skimming your surface again.

african justice

African Justice

On the porcelain plate the residue
of a burnt down
candle light so all life and
sorrow must end,
yet the cur barks in the night
and the bakery
opens at five.
And morning bustles began
in Ruanda a the machete welding
thugs began
their senseless slaughter
blood on loaves and on hands
of the killers;
sated they begged
forgiveness,
yet didn’t return the rings and
money they had stolen;
as so many were guilty
a truth and reconsolidation
was formed, no one really cared
Ruanda is a backward land
it is even difficult to
find the cursed, fly infested place
on the map.

the birthday party

The Birthday Party


It was mother’s ninetieth birthday and I had arranged
the party at a nice rural hotel, plenty of food, wine
and cakes. Many people came there were wishes
flowers and the press was there, they all waited for my
twin brother Jurgen to show up he was a famous
right wing politician, he and mother were both
right winged wishing the good old days when there was
order and discipline to return.

A police officer came to see me, an been an accident
on the motorway, brother was involved and he wasn’t
coming to the party or any others. All that food and
flowers I rang the local old people’s home for them to
come and get it, worst of all it was left to me inform
my mother. She is blaming me now, if I had arranged
the bash in the town where Jurgen lived, he would
have been alive now

rendzvous

The Rendezvous


Saw her sitting by the window at the railway station’s
restaurant talking to an older man, I didn’t stop had
she looked out it would have been awkward since we
had broken up. I walked to the other side of the street
and stood looking at her in deep the shadow of
an oak tree, I loved her and felt emotionally raw and
tearful. She got up kissed the man lightly and left.

So she was going on a train journey, I got on to
the terminal and at a distance watch her take her seat
and leafing through a magazine, as the train started she
looked up and out saw me, looked pleased knocked on
the window and mouthed something, ran towards
the train but it gathered speed so I waved and waved
till long after the train had left

Walked back into the restaurant to ask her friend for
her address, an empty beer glass, he had gone and
I never saw my beloved again.

the forgotten one

The forgotten One

She was the wife of a famous prisoner, the world
Looked her way and expected greatness; a burden
She tried to bear, but was ill equipped for.

She was a vibrant woman of blood and emotion,
Not some tragic virgin wife waiting patiently for
Her man to come home. The world turned against
Her, scandals and gossip followed, she was found
Guilty for being true to herself.

The great man was released from prison and became
The president of his jailers; now he is a living saint,
No one asks:” What happened to Winnie Mandela?”

Heroism

Heroism


Days with winter rain were endless, little snow
mother wasn’t coming home from the sanatorium,
I had read a book about cowboys, they were tough
and hanged cattle thieves. A thin rope, a thread
used to wrap parcels I threw over a bough tied it
around my neck and thought of all the people who
would be sorry when hearing of my demise; thought
of that brought tears to my eyes. Stood on a chair
jumped off immense pain, struggled to get hold on
something, the rope broke and I was reborn.
Told the kids at school, showed them red marks on
my neck, but they didn’t believe me; which taught
me that a daring deed is nothing if performed alone
and not recorded,

the competition

The Competition

In the fallow where the land dipped
autumn rain collected formed a lake
that had no name but in the winter
it froze and I had an ice rink.

After school I skated for hours around
and around till I got quite giddy, but I
did win every race against the winter
sports hero of the day.

There wasn’t any witnesses to my
many sporting achievement except
the wild ducks that didn’t flew south
but used my lake as a landing pad.

I skated so fast that I took lift, flew
and saw the flat landscape from above
every pond, house and trees; but when
landing I usually fell flat on my face.

…And when I tired sat on frozen straw
and the ducks took over, I felt tired and
good as I listened to silence and the sky
was big and I was declared a winner.