A Thousand Tales and Poetry

7/28/2019 A Thousand Tales and Poetry

1/60

A Thousand Tales and Poetry

60 pages

By Jan Oskar Hansen

End of Austerity

Winter had ice on the village pond, under elm trees sweet snow,

and our village was a postcard. Now it is about the price of potatoes,

no herring in the sea. Austerity, old women have been cooked and

made into lard. Old men have been rounded up, put in barrels and

salted; to be eaten,-as dry cod fish,- with green leaves of spring.

No winter wood, shot gun pellet damp and rabbits eat the carrots,

bankers live on curried eels rolled in euro notes, they let no one in.

Austrian mist dwells over Europe, yet there is the promise, EU has

disappeared like the romantic alpine fog; the drachma and escudos

are a legal tender again. Winter of discontent is over the English

will be scheming while waiting for approval by the USA (the special

relationship is a misty London dream) The French and Germans can

continue their natural enmity, as Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg

stir, as always, the big black pot of political intrigues.


2/60

Lost Love

On TV, the weather women I secretly love,

said it was 22 degree Celsius outside and

a beautiful evening. She smiled and winked,

knew I was admiring her.

She left and gave room to world news read

by a man in suit and tie; he read about

disheartening news and an Arab spring that

is turning into a military dictatorship

The weather woman walked home, turned

on the TV and tried to see me, but I was on

the terrace watching the stars and I had, in

my distraction, forgotten her.


3/60

A voice From the Past

My childhood friend rang me he hadnt been ringing me for some time

he is the shy type and only ring when he has been drinking and judging

by his infrequency of calls he is rather abstinent. He spoke of the time

he time of our boyhood when found, in a warehouse, Nazi uniforms and

put them on marching around the streets shouting Hail Hitler But this

in 1947 a time when children were given some room. If a child behaved

something like that today, now that time is so very intolerant we would

grow up not getting a job because of our childhoods criminal past.

Referring to Nazism is a crime and it doesnt matter how old you were at

the time. He wants to visit me and I have told him thats ok, yet I hope he

will not come; our childhood was eons ago and I cannot by mere words

bring him the magic he wants to hear of our infancy that in the end was

rather banal and full of dreams of what to do when were adults.


4/60

Suntan

In order not to cry I travelled, to the west, then south and east.

Then I travelled up north, and in Stockholm, on a sunny day,

the sun doesnt shine that often in Sweden, saw and old lady on

a terrace on the second floor of a house, sunning herself. She sat

there in the morning and the whole day. Next day too and the sky

was blue, I though she really must love the sun. She didnt move

just sat there in the sun. On the third day I got a suspicious and told

a police officer. The lady had been dead for three days. I wondered

if a corps can get a deep suntan? Not finding what I was looking for

I drove home to Portugal, where the sun is generous, and cried in

my own bed. Only now I knew way, I had left my mother alone in

a nursing home, and cowardly found an excuse not to be at her side.


5/60

Welcome onboard

I dont care to read of other people dreams it has nothing to do with

me, so I will tell you a real story. The day after my anniversary I walked

along the docks of Faro saw a sign, a cargo ship needed a chief steward.

I walked up the gangway, spoke to the captain and got the job.

On deck when the provision arrived; I was in charge just like before.

The captain came he looked baffled; according to my passport I was 73

and far too old to join a ship. The master thanked me, getting victuals

onboard signing for them and getting the food stuff safely stored.

The ship left without me but her captain saluted me, it was raining no

one saw my tears. Whatever I do these days even driving a car there are

people telling me Im too old. Yet in Japan their oldest porno star, a man

of 77 and still working, so why will they not let me go back to sea again?


6/60

Storm and an Old Cargo Ship

A storm is blowing outside, but my cottage is safely anchored on

terra firma. If my abode had been pitching and rolling as ship on

a restless ocean I would not been so cocky, but on my seamans

legs stagger about worrying about foamy sea washing the deck

hitting portholes in green fury. As a seafarer I loved the calm sea,

but feared its wroth. The terrible shudder when a big wave hit

and nearly drowning the ship, there was nothing anyone could

do but hope. Yes she did it and I couldnt help falling in love with

the old girl and call her a swan that knew how to take care of me.

I have a respect for nature I have been helpless in its embrace

waiting what comes next. I survived, sit in a cottage and listen to

the storm, yet I would give years just to once more be out there

taking my chances, and when safely in port, eagerly raise my glass

in the knowledge of that I had been given another day of life.


7/60

In the eyes of the Beholder.

I hide from lives storm in a dale of incognito, gone is my name,

my gravestone will be free of a name and time of casting anchor.

Write I was a seaman cast ashore by a storm and could not return,

walking on the shore listen to the sirens call and fond silence.

And perhaps a man who has lost everything in life is walking his

dog, picks up a shell and listen to eternities soothing drone.

And the dog which soul is transient and wander from generation

to the next will wag its tail in tender memory of your life.

Yet forever to its present owner which it knows is mortal and will

end up as a memory by Canis familiars not yet to be born.

But as long as dogs, that have thrown in their lot with man, roam

and survive, we shall be there as a testament to eternity.

When you look into a dogs eyes youll see a mirror and another

mirror and you will see the birth of humanity and kindness.

You will come to realise the only anchor you need is love of life,

and respect for all living creature on our little blue planet.


8/60

Modern Haiku

Wet dog

Looks into a rain pool

Contemplative

When it rains

Cats sleep on window sills

Pensive mice

Meditative rain

Gently descends

In September

Introspective

Mountain village

In the mist


9/60

Octobers Pretence.

Rain, nature is greening, but its a false spring; December will

pale the land into submission. Do not write poetry till February,

when almond trees blossom and strew petals about in protest

thinking winter takes the season of its sinister drama too far.

Last winter snow fell, a wonder land; people said they had not

seen snow for forty seven years. The stream is xanthous I think

of Chinas main river where dolphins, not seen for years, swim

in cloudy water. What cant be seen cannot be caught by man.

Dawn, on the track a boar, sniffed the air and grunted; a hairy,

pig in need of a pair of glasses. I moved and it disappeared into

the brushwood. On nature walks I used to take a camera, but

wild animals hate having their photo taken and avoided my

intrusive lens I was left with taking photos of trees, weeds and

evergreen bushes. My lazy dreaminess has paid off I have had

a good life no one ever expected anything glorious of me, and

left me in peace. If you look for me I will be on a bus trying to

find the fabulous castle; I once saw when I could see the future.


10/60

The Last Sunday of October.

Vilamoura marina on a glorious October day, tourists gone home

leaving the promenade for us elderly to walk sedately along it.

I saw an ancient lady walking forcefully, using a Zimmer frame,

It looked like she was trying to set a new personal record, and

we gave her space. We saw a once famous footballer, sad really

you see them running around a big green field and the next day

they are dated and forty. In case you ask, it wasnt Beckham.

Many yachts tied up and their owners are allowed to drive their

cars on the promenade, my old socialist heart was ready to revolt.

Cafes were open and served food for us old at reduced price; still

too expensive, it was as idle waiters were eyeing us malevolently.

The Zimmer lady returned I think she had beaten her old record.

Then it was late afternoon and the sea breeze cooled our ardour;

time to go home and drink our cacao.


11/60

(Halloween)

Old people and children are to blame for our overpopulation, yet the land where

I live, is empty everyone has gone to live in a city fleeing poverty hoping to find

work, now they are worse off than before. A sudden blackout, I sat in darkness

couldnt even see my hands. Staggered around till I found a flashlight, lit candles

I had in the kitchen; back at the time when people rose at first light and went to

bed early and stories were told by the old by the fireside .Only priests could read

and we believed in their gospel truths and they held the evil power of knowledge.

Now cities are lit up like Christmas, no corners are dark and it easier to believe in

neon light rather than god. We are urbane and laugh in the face of gloom and call

it Halloween. There was a time when people were old at forty and many children

died in infancy. Electricity is back, but we mustnt forget if we do not take care we

can easily be thrown into to a world of cruelty where only those between the age

of twenty and sixty have the right to eat, and babies are hidden in basements to

avoid detection have their vocal cord cut. The old have facelift in frantic attempt

to look fifty four, to avoid being gassed, at places called: Friends of the seniors

and Heavenly Peace. And silent children, survivors of our selfish madness, shall

inherit our world and learn to whistle as new way of communication.


12/60

The End Game.

The enemy was getting closer they were coming to kill him.

The old despot looked towards the west to the desert he

knew so well if he could get there and walk about he would

have time to think. What he could not understand why was

that his people had not risen up and defended him against

the rebels ? He had built hospitals and schools for them,

people had houses, cars and no one starved in his country.

What the old dictator didnt see was that his largesse had

had created a middle class that wanted freedom to openly

voice their opinion of him and his rule, and now they were

coming to destroy his edifice. The tyrant thought, is this

a bad dream? Cursing voices were coming nearer he looked

towards the desert for the last time before submerged by

a mass of vengeful murderers.


13/60

Two Sadorma poems

Path unknown

Yet walked before

My footsteps.

Trees know me

Turn winter into April

Just to gladden me.

Saw a saint

Walking down the street

Brutal rain

Cold as frost

But the saint, comfy and dry

Under his halo.


14/60

A Dog and Thunder.

Thunder is nearing the dog, not cared for, whines; fears of Odin

horses hooves, jagged spark from the murky sky. Thor, the idiot,

tries to steal his fathers ire. To tell a dog its chances of getting, hit

is remote? I open the gate it runs into the shed, curls up on a rug

I was about to throw away as it is threadbare and holed; once it

Was admired for its colour and audacious pattern by posh ladies

In hats, drinking tea and nibble cakes with manicured fingers.

Sad sight a hounded dog, it avoids eye contact scared I may change

my mind and throw it out. Its owner a man of unsure anger if I offer

to adopt it he may shot it as he did another dog of when it was vain

as a hunter of rabbits. My failing is eternal to confront a man with

guns on his walls, not me! So sleep on the carpet my little friend.


15/60

Shadorma

Rainy day

Wet dog on pavement

Looking in

Seeing me

Sit by the cosy fireside

Ignoring its plight.


16/60

Shopping Spree

It was a big shop, large as warehouse it sold everything I didnt need;

and the shop was empty of staff. The thief in my thought: if I had a van

I could back it up to the entrance, take everything in sight drive off

and sell it to retailers who would say when I was caught, we bought his

stuff in good faith. I could make a thousand Euros, but would have to

spend it fast by going to nightclubs and be the big guy paying drinks for

everyone; and beautiful women would fawn over me.

Finally a shop assistant came chewing on a burger and smelling of

fried onions. Asked me what I wanted. Two batteries for my remote

please. They cost 67 cent. He didnt have the three cents so I told him

to make it seventy. This pleased him no end, but having robbed

the shop I could afford to be grand. Coming home the batteries were

not the right sort, but never mind, they could be useful for something

else, say, to run my toy car.


17/60

Shadorma Poems (the climate)

Icy blue

Sky a deep freezer

Zephyr gone

Cold wind rules

We have had our summer time

Spring is a new hope.

Pale is sun

The king lost his crown

Fall of pride

Power failed

And La Luna smugly smiles

Fear of the king gone.


18/60

Phobia

Once in Paris, I was going to a venue reading poetry, the hotelier told me to take

the subway as it was easy. After being a fender for busy people I found my train

and suffocated. First stop, I ran off and found myself at a strange part of the city,

sweating and shaking like d drunk who had been on a bender for a fortnight.

Phobia! I didnt even know I had one, my pipe dream of being a u-boat captain

had sunk in a hole of terror. My instinct, when lost in a strange place, is to find

the nearest tavern/bars, there are many taverns in Paris it was easy to find one.

I had Pernod, not that I like this drink, but after all I was in France; to blend in

I wore a black beret given to me by a relative of my wife who runs a hat factory

in Lyon, and I had had garlic bread for breakfast. But was unable to lift the glass,

my left hand wouldnt let me, the right hand blankly refused and pretended to

be lame. Finally hiding, behind the Guardian- an English newspaper for people

who see themselves as liberal socialists-. I gulped down the horrid drink. It did

wonders. So I ordered a whisky, I was a hero, nothing could scare me

as I walked bravely out into busy streets full of people who looked at me as if they

had not seen a beret before, and looked for a taxi.


19/60

The Economy

Burning bed, the mattress, afire; under it I had two thousand Euro,

as banks can go belly up any time bolt their doors and call the law

to keep the screaming multitude at bay.

Too late, my poor mans saving burnt to ashes. I shall not cry, soon

the euro will be quite valueless when 10.000 is worth ten pence,

and for that I cant even buy an ice-cream.

I do regret I wasnt a good consumer didnt help the economy

by not using credit cards to buy stuff I didnt need, I have failed

in my duty as citizen and now harvest devastation.


20/60

The Transitory

A feline has

Moved into the shed

Gave birth

Two six kittens

Im looking for a hammer

No not kill kittens but

To hit a nail

Into the wall and hang

Up a painting of Jesus with

His eyes closed

Looking remarkable like

Gaddafi when he was murdered

The painting is a fake

Kaddafi was not

I shall miss his splendid

Sky-blue uniform.


21/60

Army Psychologists.

Another Sunday gone into an overcast sky, the weather woman

promised rain, it did, but not on my patch, and thats ok Im not

a man who only dance when it drizzle. Sometimes I wish it would

rain, on the right places, say, war zones, tanks will sink into mud,

planes are not able to take off and bloody drones rust in the air

and self explode. There is no justice it rains in Bangkok and that

is meaningless, if typical, it is as always the civilians who drown.

Pilots of drones sit dry by their consoles can get psychological

help If their murderous game become too much to bear in one

sitting; that is, if they have the ability to think over cups of coffee

in the canteen. There will be psychologists who will betray their

calling self haters it is ok, they are fighting for freedom... and

more people are killed in cars crashes every year, than by rockets

fired from drones. .. So let rain continue to fall on the innocent.


22/60

A Bag of Inconsequence

I remember tiny things picking up a burnt match

from a floor wondering who threw it there.

A May day in St. Malo, I saw an old man crying

streaks of tears down rumpled chin.

Shy bluebells lost amongst tall trees, yet they

made me think of prayer wheels in Tibet.

Glow of coal in the grate, it was early morning

and the road outside was frosty white.

A summer night up north I was waiting for night

it never came...and then it was morning.

In dead rabbits eyes I saw the warm August sky,

I, happy to alive, yet saddened.

When the Pacific Ocean was a mirror of eternity

And time ceased, yet lingered like a kiss.

Waving flags, military band and bloody parades,

I have long forgotten why and where.


23/60

Murmour

Hipster jeans

And a big belly

Beard guarding

His face

Studying his hands

Unobserved

Man alone

In his cocoon.

Has Brussels

Banned tomatoes .


24/60

Romania (laughter kills))

They hooted

When the dictator spoke

They chortled

Odium

Giggles of utter contempt

Then they shot him.


25/60

Winter Art. (Fimbulvinter)

1947, mother of all winters, our oak dinner table ended up as

firewood...kept us warm for days. A deep frozen feline stood

on the top of the bin, a clawed outstretched paw, staving off

frosts attack. Days it stood there an epic symbol of valiant, if

hopeless struggle, - brutal art- admired, but also pelted with

snowballs by impish children. Thaw, winter lost its grim grip,

the moggy crumbled fell off its pedestal. The bin lid, opened

natures glory ended up among potato peels and other things

discarded without a second thought.


26/60

Hunted

Winter white

Was a Nordic hare

Shotgun fire

Jump of death

Purple snowflakes softly fall

Echo in forest.


27/60

Shadorma (a writer)

Mellifluence

A flow of harmony

Smooth verbum

Easy read

Hemingway at his finest

I will drink to that

Shadorma (Dipterous.)

An insect

Walks on the ceiling

A hideous

Blue bottle

Hope it does not lose its grip

And land in my soup


28/60

Birthday Party

Wolves and foxes had promised me not to fight on my birthday and

I made meaty cakes just for them; But black ravens I had not invited,

came too, egged them on, while also cruelly harassing sparrows in

the plum tree. I had put lights up on the trees in the garden but they

could not on my, day behave. I took the cakes inside, switched off

the lights went to bed and cried. A rumble in the forest, a bear came

told them to behave and be kind to me, mainly because I had baked

it a straw berry tart. The party continued, and squirrels sat on trees

squeaking happy birthday to you as I threw them nuts. In the animal

world it is all about food and as long as you can provide youre a friend.

Except the raven they do not care, are contemptuous of my feeble,

attempt to be loved by unruly members of the Corvidae family.


29/60

Trolls or Frogs

It has been raining for days, fine gentle precipitation and

the sun ravaged ground, where I walk among olive trees,

has turned deep green hiding gray stones in a verdant

blanket of love. It is like a second spring minus a hot sun,

a respite before the real winter sets in. A few big frogs

cross my path it appears they wear black woolly coats, but

perhaps Im mistaken, they could be tiny trolls only seen

by a privileged few. They live under the stones and since

they do not read or have computers I wonder how they

spend time. What did I do before computers and the lure

of the internet? I did read hundreds of novels, but I have

little patience for long books now. But I do read poetry,

mainly written by the not so famous. The landscape smells

new and fragrant, like it has had a bath and is half asleep.

The ground is soft as a carpet in a luxury hotel, so I have to

try walking lightly and not upset new plants. Deep silence

except from a silky murmour, I think it is stones talking.

The light is fading; time to go home light the fire, switch on

the computer read and see how the world is getting along.

The frogs, or trolls, can jolly look after themselves, but

I remember eating frog legs in Alabama... tasted like chicken.


30/60

Love in the Afternoon.

The bus had steamed up windows she had a red hat on, and waved as

the bus left the terminal. She will be in Lisbon in the afternoon- about

four- promised to ring when she arrived. Two days she will be away,

and Im missing her already. She cooked food for a couple of days, all

I have to do is to take it out of the fridge, warm it in the microwave.

Ok, Ill do that, for heavens sake I used to be chef; two days is a long

now that Im time short. Love is a strange ting it settles and grows with

years we wake up at the same time at night to go to the loo, as I take

longer than her I let her go first. On Sunday when I drove her to church,

she is catholic, worship is important to her; sometimes I envy her faith,

I reversed and nearly hit her, she joked and said I was tired of her, but

when she saw my pale face, she stopped and kissed me. Yes, I have

promised to shave and take a shower every day. What is wrong with this

confounded woman, Im not a child.


31/60

Time To Come

Years ago I went to a fair in Glasgow they had an elephant there it

was chained on each foot. The pitiable animal was moving its head

from side to side, everyone with an ounce of empathy could see it

was in pain, yet small humanity admired its penis size and laughed

making coarse comment. One of the chains snapped and creature

lunged forward and humanity fled in horror; but it was still chained

and could not get far. The elephant was put down as it could not be

trusted amongst people. When they killed the great beast I was not

in Glasgow, but In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but woke up in

the night and heard its call of complete anguish a protest against our

cruelty and lack of insight. I knew the day will come when elephants

would roam unbound and birds fly unmolested by shotgun fire,

but will we be there?


32/60

All Souls Day

Suddenly a big hole opened up in the sea, the ship sank into it; the vessel

rests on the bottom where shiny star fish light up the dark before they are

swallowed by sharks .The captain on his bridge, cook in his galley, the first

engineer in the engine room, as it was dinner time when she sank ,her crew

are in the mess room, dancing ghoulishly around as the sea gently sighs.

And sometimes the skeletal face of the deck boy peeks through a porthole

asks when the ship arrives in New York, a girlfriend waiting for him; there is

a moment of hilarity as dead sailors moves about free of mans burden.

The cook rests in a in a large pot tells himself he must wake up, bake bread

and do the bloody the dishes as he tries to get his cigarette lighter to work.

Her captain bobs up and down trying to find his charts, maps of the oceans

currents and wonders why the radar isnt working. The engineer is trying to

find out why the engine stalled. I knew them all, but dastardly left them in

Rio de Janeiro just because I met a girl called Maria.


33/60

Late Night Movies.

I wear denim trousers and matching jacket in winters, this because

I always wanted to be a cowboy, the simple life, what can be simpler

than herding cows. I cant afford to buy a horse, but nearly bought

a donkey once, I have no stable and couldnt leave it indoors you

cant toilet train donkeys. Oddly enough, once upon a time my living

room was a stable; a pile of manure was the first that greeted me

when I bought the dwelling. Time moves on there are no beasts of

burden left, only tractors litter the landscape and the good smell of

sweat animals has been replaced by diesel fumes .I wouldnt mind

being a monk though especially now that my sexual drive is in a steep

decline, but Im not ascetic or contemplative enough to fit in. So Ill

stick to being a horseless cowboy while trying to walk like john Wayne

and watch late night western movies.


34/60

Neigh, My Lovely Foal.

The mare heavy with foal stood on a knoll looking down at

the grassland below her. A place, open and luxuriant, ideal

for horses. But she was worried out there, by the horizon,

a monster of a housing estate was creeping nearer, and on

days if the wind came from the west she can hear its roar.

Relentless now and when the environment people come to

try stop it the fiend will point the facts on the ground and

build more. When the ogre has finally got enough, the land

left will be too small for horses, there would be stampede.

What future, her foal? Or, for that matter the whole group?

The best thing if her tiny tot could be adopted by some nice

people where it could trot around a white fenced field with

peoples children on its back. It would be a good life plenty

of hugs, fodder and not too strenuous work. A flock of colts

were galloping across the land just for the great fun of liberty.

The mare sighed this was freedom her foal shall never know.


35/60

The Absence of Mind

There is an elephant in the room its in the corner eating my

straw mattress the one I have had since childhood and could

not bear to get rid of, because all my dreams are hidden in

the stalks of cereal plants; white now as an old mans beard,

yet soft as the fleece of a spring born lamb.

Ah, memory of a good life lived; sing for m let me write down

what happened so long time ago when time was forever and

forgetfulness was a youthful distraction on a jubilant day.

Poor memory is more sinister now, what is forgotten will not

be remembered, so I need my dreams.

It is true that once upon a time I was seafarer, but since I do

not recall well, I have to invent my tales, yet I have seen and

feared the irate sea. I must write all this down if the elephant

eat the last straw my dreams will be blank screen.


36/60

Self Knowledge

And now that they have entered the abstract world of souls,

the non existence of shadows and light, yet their actions

the way they smiled, talked, moved and showed irritation with

my curious mind, their voices still ring in my ears.

But there is a difference, younger than me, I must smile how

dare you talking to me; Im older than any of you, show

respect for my elderliness. A chuckle, they knew me as a child,

I laugh too even that Im the butt of their hilarity.

There is silence in my late night room, they have gone, dont

visit as often as before, and thats ok for as long as I remember

I will be sane and remember them.


37/60

Embarrassment

A glass door

How was I to know?

Bloody nose

Full caf

Ringing laughter, the bastards

Crushed my exit.


38/60

Solitude

Late night caf in New York

The short order cook fried me a burger

A lit cigarette hung from his lips

The street outside rain heavy and desolate

Big cities are such lonely places,

When youre a million miles from home.


39/60

Round Trip to Italy

From Bangkok

Plane landed in Rome

Transit hall

Drank some wine

You been sent home in shame

By fulsome jesters

Try Genoa

Martinifor sure

A new job

Easy now

Dont let the fuckers catch you

Keep your head down.


40/60

Round trip to Italy

Ship sails noon

From shores of misery

Screw them all

More wine mate

Wake up tomorrow midday

Drink a cold beer.

Tell the truth

You oversleptsorry

Its no lie

Be contrite

Your young face oozes of sincerity

And moist blue eyes.


41/60

A War to Come.

The elites

Prepare us for war

Iran? Yes.

Stop them now

They cannot have what we have

Nuclear arms

Lies are told

Reckless is Iran

Islamists

Destroyers

Of our cherished democracy

War for lasting peace.

Rallying cry

We must act at once

Neighbour says

Bomb them now

Dont let them be dominant

As us unique ones.


42/60

A Fairy Tale (sonnet)

On a forests lawn, where elves dance on nocturnal summers,

snow had fallen. Since the little people wears no shoes their

dainty feet can only bear ductile mould and grass in slumber.

They have moved into their cozy houses under green bushes,

homes lit up fireflies caught in summer when evening lasts till

midnight and they need not hide their light under a bushel.

But boars are not so delicate they rough and tumble in snow

and rock around the clock all night when stars are bright and

heaven is near, till the stars get very tired and stop their glow.

Much more snow will fall and hide their irresponsible dancing,

and the snowy stage is taken by white attired hares that jump

about for no reason at all, till the sly red foxes come prancing.

The tall cow of the forest arrives, scrapes away pristine flurry

looking for fine moss to munch and the forest falls eerily fluffy.


43/60

A Christmas Tale

When a child we had small live candles on the Christmas tree;

the fire service had a busy night. Mum had a bucket of water

by the tree and kept an eye on it as we children forgot.

The tree caught fire; my uncle was there, but before mum

could douse it he opened up a window, threw out the tree.

Not a smart move the curtains caught fire too and he had to

throw the curtains out as well; mum was furious with him.

Uncle a genial man worked on the docks and tended to react

before thinking. Blinds burning in the snow, uncle brought

back the tree plus the unburned decorations. But gifts under

were saved. Uncle had to buy new drapes when the shops

opened. Next year electric candles came on the market, and

our fire service was less busy, but my uncle had died; a bag

of rice fell into the icy harbour water, he dived after it forgot

he couldnt swim.


44/60

Hibernation

Occupy falling snow; claim it make a snowman with coal eyes and

carrot nose before winter is over and your task runs through your

fingers as water into soft the soil and is privatized when it runs into

a deep lake and you must pay if you want a drink or take a shower.

A carrot not enough to make soup, pieces of coal are not enough to

warm your cold hands. The barons of money have bought streams,

forests and mountains, fenced in and there are gates, you must pay

if you want to walk and see nature at her most enthralling liberty.

And you will think; where is our emancipation to express ourselves?

Nothing is free, why should it be? This is democracy the right to buy

and sell the worlds resources and charge whatever the market says.

And you pay for what is rightfully yours. If you do not occupy it now it

will be too late, spring is the name of misery and it is your fault for

sleeping when snow fell in your garden.


45/60

Lonesomeness

At the news agents a woman in her forties spoke to me, said she had

lived in Algarve for two years, from Romania, used to be a doctor, but

here she could only get a job as a cleaning lady. I dislike being spoken

too by people I dont know; perhaps I look of avuncular and reliable.

I commiserated with her plight and began walking away, but I cant out

walk anyone she followed said she was looking for a friend in this cold,

cruel world. I occurred to me since she was lonely had become a little

unhinged. Men tend to drink too much when alone, women fantasize

about true romance, for both it is often a one way road to oblivion.

I was waiting for my wife she had been to the bank, when she showed

up the other woman shrunk off, but my wife wanted to know who that

woman was, like I would know. No one should be so alone they accost

strangers in the street it is sad and scary for those spoken too. Loneliness

is a curse and can make people mad.


46/60

Tango in Argentina

It was eons ago, in Buenos Aires, many of us around a table at a cafe

I cant remember why I was there think it was something to do with

buying race horses. A woman asked me up to dance I first declined,

shyness is my bane, after prodding I trotted up on the dance floor.

The band played a tango, not that I hadnt dance before, mother was

a dance teacher, something happened, I forgot about my timidity

just danced floating on a cloud of pleasure. Were alone on the floor,

when the music stopped, applause. Back at our table dad gave me

a glass of wine, the dream continued. I wanted to marry Dona Juanita,

my dancing partner; dad said no, she was married and too old for me.

But I have never since been able to emulate the magic of the moment

When I see a colt galloping across the pampas I know of the physical

pleasure it feels, once it was me feeling exuberant and timeless in

a world of everlasting youth.


47/60

Poetry Soup

On a stone in the forest a rusty pot full of soup, I tasted it with my

right index finger it was still warm. I felt dizzy around me darkness

descended it embraced me and I became a part of this weird mass,

without will of my own. Wind blew me around like I was in a centre

of vacuum till I lost all sense of time and place. When I woke up on

soft moss it was sunset and I saw lovely forest maids with boar tails,

their job is to protect saplings, swimming in a tarn. When they saw

me they became furious, called me a pig, got out of the water and

chased me out of their enchanted forest; all the while I was slapped

by tree twigs, scratched by thorny bushes and called a Peeping Tom.

Next day I tiptoed into the forest saw the pot of soup on a stone, but

wisely desisted a taste; the tarn was still and deep.

To be wise

We first have

To be idiots.


48/60

Winter Evening (Shadorma)

Five oclock

Sun is a pink cloud

Cold seeps in

Tuesday gone

It was a beautiful time

Now for a wee dram.


49/60

Melancholy (shadorma)

Homesickness

Twenty years away

I dare not

Travel there

A stranger on foreign shores

Who knows me now?


50/60

Winter Evening

Wednesday

Twilight in heaven

Fire place roars

Easy heart

Flickering fire consumes logs

Ashes to ashes


51/60

A Cooks Battle

The ship -cook was tired it had been a long day, the ship was old

full of cockroaches, one had found its way in his bread dough and

when the captain cut a slice of bread it was there, a brown raisin;

the old man had been very angry. The cooks trouble was roaches

they were everywhere. He had asked to have the galley fumigated

when the ship was in dry dock, but no it was far too expensive.

Every week he boiled a big pan of water and squirted into corners,

it helped a bit and he had buckets full, but soon they were back

encroaching his galley. Then there were mites in the flour which

he had to sift before baking bread, not his fault yet he had to take

the flack. He often worked till late evening to keep the galley clean

he had even painted it so on the surface it looked bright and nice.

He was losing the battle against insects he often felt he was losing

his mind as well, they appeared in his dreams strangulating him.

Time was hard not easy to get a job, still when his ship docked in

Bombay he was off and the crew could get someone else to insult.


52/60

Mystery 1.

Wistful lake

In the forest hides

Stillness deep

Silky silt

Where quiet dreams softly sigh

Where is my child?

Baby mine

An infants smile

Take my child

Forever still

Keep it in your soft embrace

Until I return


53/60

Aghast.

The full moon

Throws blue light on clouds

Winter night

Dry landscape

And all lovers sit indoors

Watching Come Dancing


54/60

A Sort of Fame

Stealing shoes

Nave thievery

Deserves scorn

Disrespect

Why not bust a savings bank

And get a fat pension


55/60

December Paris

Winter Paris pavement cafs vacant chairs and poor sparrows look for

baguette crumbs. Artists had gone to their loft conversions, in bed with

their models and plates of goose liver pate, waiting for a better time.

I came across a posh bistro people inside wore silk suits, doors locked;

invitation only. A famous philosopher came out, said something deep

about peace- in broken English- then asked where the camera was.

When he saw I wasnt a journalist he said: Merde, and walked back in.

At the bookshop Shakespeare, academic tourists had assembled they

looked through books of famous writers, thought of saying that two of

my poetry collections were there, but they looked so educated, wore

capes of superiority and poetry workshop shoes I lost my nerve. Rain,

found a bistro at a side street, had coffee with an Armagnac, thought

of the days when Ernest Hemingway scribbled away here, other writers

too, when Paris was not so haughtily conscious of her artistic status.


56/60


57/60

Jerusalem

When they burn down our olive trees well plant new ones,

it will take many years, but we are patient and we will go on

planting the tree of life in our land. Plants ruined, date back

to biblical time, but our history, on his holly land, will live on

in our shared memory. In the air there is a whiff of freedom.

Vandals shall perish one day and the olive trees, bear fruit

when time is right. Well not be bitter but ask our pretenders

to harvest the fruit of our labour with us, we know for they

have suffered too. Together we will have a land of plenty;

the world will know we are a family.


58/60

Our Humanity

They got him in the end, not a pretty sight, dictators are humans too.

Now we are hunting his many sons and the rest of his family.

We have seen their photo album they sit on sofas smiling kindly to

the camera, just like us on a happy day. We have not evolved our

lack of empathy is intact we still want to destroy a family, blood

thirsty ogres we are gloating over a suffering face as a man dies.

Instant justice, easier that way, the family, might have much to tell

about us. When our side, men in expensive suits and soft hands, kill

the perceived foe, we say nothing, but a trail of blood and injustice

will one day lead to our doorsteps.


59/60


60/60

Just One More Cigarette...Please.

It is evening they take him out of his cell and into

the walled court yard. An officer offers him a fag

he accepts , and smokes it slowly inhaling deeply.

The officer says, dont worry it will soon be over.

Then they tie his hands behind his back, blindfold

him and place him against a pockmarked wall.

The officer asks if the prisoner, has a last word,

a message to the world or his family. The damned

shakes his head, a long silence, and a volley of fire.

Today, after being told by my doctor Im an idiot,

I have stopped smoking.

A Thousand Tales and Poetry

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Transcript of A Thousand Tales and Poetry