TERRORISM ACCORDING TO ISRAEL

Everything is terrorism

to Israel, even little children

playing foosball,

except state terrorism.

That is self-defence.

31.05.2024

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THE SUMMER DAY IS ALMOST AT THE SUMMIT

The day is almost at the summit

after nineteen hours of climbing;

it had descended from the previous

peak in four and a half quick hours,

finally running downhill, encountering

the light, there, at the roothills

of this mount, starting vigorously,

renewed, its climb, but now it's

tired, the day, it longs to gaze

from the summit, catch it's

breath, perhaps to sit down

for a moment, before starting

the descend, slowly at first.

31.05.2024

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MEMORIES OF THE ATLANTIC

Memories of the ocean for

some reason, on this hot summer

night, deep here inland,

a memory of gray waves

under iron sky rising on rocky

shore, cold sea on a cold shore,

and someone in a yellow

raincoat, standing on a boulder,

trying to fish with a rod;

even then, as a child who

feared that stranger would

be hit by the waves, I

wondered how they could

hope to get a fish that

way, and still do; but

the old part of me wants

to think it was the act of fishing,

not catching, that mattered.

And then same same deep blue,

years later, on a tranquil fjord,

high mountains calming the ocean,

last trip, after years, and you

were so glad you got to see

the ocean once more,

said you had believed you

would never get to see it

again. It was the last time.

31.05.2024

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GOLDEN LIGHT OF THE SUN

Morning, washing away

the rising tiredness with

coffee and cold water,

golden light of the sun.

31.05.2024

#LyricalPoem #Poem Poem #Poems Poems #Poetry Poetry #Verse Verse

ONE MIGHT

It's said that all moments might

exist simultaneously, and that

when this linear flow is at

its end, one might, holding

one particular moment

in thoughts, choose

to step into that.

31.05.2024

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IT'S ALL ONE

The past lives in the current moment,

and that moment weaves the future

from what the past gives; future,

ever arriving, ever becomes

the fleeting moment, eternal,

weaving itself from its past.

31.05.2024

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THE TOUCH OF THE SUN

The wrong people go first away,

in the still gloom after nightfall,

before breaking of the morning,

when resurrecting light comes,

a wave across space to touch

the emply places in the world.

31.05.2024

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DAWN

05:37 and a golden light

washes the deep blue night

away, caressing the fir tree

we planted fourty years ago.

31.05.2024

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IN THE DIM BLUE NIGHT

Birds are singing in the dim blue

night, and I would open the window

to listen and let the cool air

and the insects in, but the old cat

is sitting atop my grandmother's

drawer, listening, carefully.

There's a three meter drop

from that window, but off

he would go if it would be open,

letting the night and the birdsongs

and the breeze in these rooms,

and a cat, searching a nest,

on the fox's path.

31.05.2024

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SUDDENLY THEY ARE BRINGING UP SUDAN

 Suddenly bastards who have shrugged

at Sudan's war for thirteen months

are bringing it up, they are bringing

it up, the bastards, because Gaza

is turning the world against Israel's

regime, and now they point at Sudan

and say, "Why are you not talking

about Sudan?", these who have

been silent thirteen months,

when many of us have been

talking about Sudan

all this time.

30.05.2024

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THE BIRDS ARE SINGING

The birds are singing at quarter

before eight this morning, the birds

are singing, the birds are singing,

uplifting my thoughts, the birds

they are uplifting my mind

at quarter before eight

on a golden morning.

30.05.2024

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FINDING TOO LATE THE ART THAT WAS YOURS

Better not to find your calling at all

than to find it too late; better to

go to your grave thinking nothing

was to be made by you - than to

know what was your craft and

know it was too late to know.

30.05.2024

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BACK FROM THE CEMETERY

Back home at half past seven

in the morning, in terrible shape

after less than five kilometers walk,

and it's only sixteen degrees

centigrade; should walk more,

like in the old days, less time

before computer, on the bed

with a book. But the screens

and pages tempt, and the road,

as easy as it's when its under

the feet, has less the lure

than the screens and page.

30.05.2024

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AFTER YOUR 73RD BIRTHDAY

Almost fifteen years

since the end of the world,

and still, somehow, it

stands, until it dissolves

with last thought of

mine, my mother,

this gone world.

30.05.2024

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LIFE AFTERWARDS

Simple things became

hard, but that's what

happens when one leaves

parts of oneself behind

on graveyards, under

turf and stones.

30.05.2024

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A PRIVILEGED LIFE ON A PLANET OF ENFORCED POVERTY

Time to make another

pot of coffee, translate

another poem, write

one, tweet and read

some science article.

Because... what else?

28.05.2024

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POLITICAL THEORY

When you live in a small country

whose politicians are badly-trained

circus monkeys only aping

what's being done abroad,

and the journalists are spineless

wonders of moral devolution,

slithering their way offering

the electorate rotten apples,

then the only way to have

any positive change is to fight

the good fight in other countries,

because the circus monkeys at home

can be only made to change

their policies that way,

when the decent win

and they ape it here.

28.05.2024

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RAFAH

 45 were burned in the holocaust

the night before last, and last night

Israel killed 21 more, and United States

isn't yet really sure whether it should

condemn this or not, while its $320

million pier rocks unusable offshore.

28.05.2024

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IN SUMMER NIGHT

The summer night here is,

the kind of which they used to

write poems titled "Nocturne";

warm and clear and bright,

tranquil and silent, all

frozen solitude.

28.05.2024

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LAST TIME YOU HAD LESS THAN A MONTH TO LIVE

Tomorrow it would be 73 years.

It wouldn't be that much; your

parents lived to be 77 and 82, your

favourite aunt out to be 77 too,

a grandmother 86, two uncles

89, another 85 and so forth.

It wouldn't be that much,

mother, yet it won't be.

28.05.2024

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JUST AWFUL, AWFUL

You don't have to be able

to write good poetry to be a poet;

just ask the ghost of John

Betjeman's teddy bear.

28.05.2024

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IN NORTH DARFUR

Near Darfur's besieged city of El-Fasher,

the military junta's counter-attack today

returned control of the Golo reservoir;

at least, for now, the million and a half

people in the city won't dry of thirst.

Small consolation in a time of genocide.

28.05.2024

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ANOTHER HOSPITAL IN GAZA CLOSES

Outside the Kuwaiti Hospital

at Rafah are two dead

men, healthworkers,

on the ground

sprawled, living bodies

turned cooling flesh,

their time to be raised

on stretchers, like they

have raised other dead

killed by Israel. And

the hospital, now

out of operation.

28.05.2024

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IT SEEMS TO ME THAT

John Betjeman is to poetry

what a person who has

never seen an intact house

is to architecture.

Assuming this person

is not a genius, but

of the type that

gets knighted.

28.05.2024

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PAPUA NEW GUINEA

First the number of dead

and missing was 300, then 670,

now 2000, but possibly 5000.

A green hill, before,

now light brown gravel,

tumbled rocks, water

flowing light brown,

where houses stood.

The landscape flowed,

and humans, the humans,

under all this brown soil,

these rocks like megaliths

marking graves.

28.05.2024

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RAFAH, GAZA

Headless toddler,

charred corpses,

a refugee camp

of tents in flames.

Zionism.

28.05.2024

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UNTIL THE DAY OF RESURRECTION

Eros has abandoned me, and all

the Muses; Ares has slain them.

I buried them in the chambers

of the necropolis of memory.

No resurrection from my withered

touch; power was always theirs.

28.05.2024

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BUT ALL MOULDS WILL BE BROKEN

To write is to pretend

of leaving a mark,

creating a mould

on which imprint

other minds when

you are gone.

28.05.2024

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PRINCE INTEFMOSE OF THE 17TH DYNASTY OF EGYPT

Nothing left of Intefmose except a few damaged

statues, a broken stela, the foundations of a

mudbrick funerary chapel, the shaft tomb that was

maybe his, a coffin disappeared into the bowels

of the British Museum, never recovered.

And yet, briefly, he was there, at the court

of the Dual King in Thebes of the Hundred

Gates (not during one of its more illustrious

periods, we must admit, Dual Kings ruling

halves of land), the son, brother and uncle

of kings, brief kings, three generations ruling

in twenty years. Surely he was at reach of

the throne, heartbeat or two away, once.

But then, death. And burial in sight

of a nephew's little pyramid - or did

the pyramid (just walls on the ground,

now), come after Intefmose had been

put in his tomb, safe for over a century?

Until future came with its own corpses

needing resting places and remembrance,

and his gave way. And at some point,

tomb robbers, but whatever was taken

must have been a paltry thing, compared

to those taken from tombs of greater

dynasties. Yet, his name lives, fragment

of his life in broken pieces. This

is the immortal life of Intefmose,

justified, uncounted among

the Lords of the West.

26.05.2024

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BETTER NOT TO BE LESS AND NOT TO KNOW?

I'm thinking about how

long it takes to become

fully humane human

being, capable of

understanding other

people around you, their

motives, their lives

separate from your own

existence, and how often,

like now, knowledge,

wisdom gained,

is too late.

26.05.2024

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ENDING THE DROUGHT

Let's try. It has been

a quiet week, devoid

of poetry. So, let's

try a few lines.

Behind the open

window, slowly moving,

creaking in the evening

breeze, blue sky above

green land, extending

to the past, and

this day, a floating

white cloud lacking

shape.

There. A few lines.

A mouthful of

not-so-good coffee

from a blue mug,

and still, thoughts

of betraying you.

26.05.2024

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SPRING TO SUMMER GONE

It snowed two weeks ago,

on bare tree branches.

Now sweltering heat, 

trees in almost full leaf.

Spring so short, so swift,

the sweetest season

gone into the arms of

the onrushing summer.

23.05.2024

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SPRING NIGHT

Dark night, for late spring.

But then, a dark time.

A midnight of humanity.

19.05.2024

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HOW DO WE SAVE THESE PEOPLE - AND THE WORLD FROM THEM?

When someone is told a lie

that fits their prejudice,

they embrace it, they don't let it go,

no matter true facts they're given.

They were told the Holocaust

is a lie, so they go on about 'Holohoax"; 

told death toll in Gaza was halved,

so they now talk about 'Pallywood'.

Tell them vaccines cause illness,

and they will be friends of a deadly virus,

tell them Big Oil is a friend and a victim

and they rage against environmentalists.

What shall we do with these people?

Cut off the lying tongues that rule them,

take their screens off them, quarantine

them like the plague victims.

18.05.2024

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse

WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE

The young ones think that pop stars

are to be admired because they are famous

and mountains of money and oceans of hours

were spent to make them look good in public.

 The old ones think that politicians

are to be admired because they are famous

and mountains of money and oceans of hours

were spent to make them look good in public.

18.05.2024

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse

LATE SPRING, WARM NIGHT

Bright spring night, walking

to get the mail, listening

to birdsongs; engulfed

by warm air, hard to

believe it snowed

two weeks ago.

17.05.2024

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AFTER FIVE AND A HALF HOURS AWAKE

Finally made it to the outside,

escaped the confines of the cool

rooms in endless gloom, drinking

coffee, eating sandwiches on

the porch in the warm spring

evening, listening to birds

singing, reading Wang Wei,

more than mere dust, living

in words beyond my moment.

17.05.2024

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TIMESLIP

In this warm spring evening, all

the warm spring evenings I ever

lived; sitting on the porch, I'm

back roving on the dark waters

of the lake of my childhood,

time fluid as the unreflecting

surface which the oars broke.

17.05.2024

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MAKING A NEW POT OF COFFEE

I promise myself, this pot

of coffee I will take outside,

with piles of books, to sit

there in the afternoon heat,

leaving these cool, shadowed

rooms where no song of birds

disturbs my solitude.

So many broken promises,

even these little ones,

to myself.

17.05.2024

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NOT IN THE LIGHT, BUT IN THE SHADOW

So many summers gone past

without truly living, this one

will be yet another, spent in

shadowed, cool rooms,

not where the sun drenches

the burgeoning green.

17.05.2024

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SPRING AFTERNOON

I awaken late, deep into the afternoon,

the house in cool shadow, spring

all bright colours from the road's edge

to where ploughed fields climb the ridge.

Warming old coffee I sit down, plan

a day spent in idleness.

17.05.2024

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DEEPEST SPRING NIGHT

That part of the night

that is dark, this time

of the year, brief hours

between spring light,

and somehow mind

half believes it's

autumn, winter

hiding in the dark.

16.05.2024

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IF, ON SOLAR WINGS

Lives are short, not enough

of time and experiences for

eight billion living, tens of

billions who lived; curtailed

lives, aspirations lost, dreams

shredded, autumn leaves

sinking in dark waters. But

of death, of death there is

enough for all. Even if on

solar wings we would spread

and inhabit the Milky Way,

the great fountain of Death

would never run dry, quasars

can go silent, Death never

will as long as there are

mortal beings dreaming

in fear and hope.

15.05.2024

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TO BE SWIFTLY ERASED

Only by reading we become able

to write the fading echoes of

our existence into flowing time,

but long before it runs dry

those echoes are gone, lost;

yet the feelings they carry

repeated in what has taken

their place; for most human

beings are in essence one and

the same, with superficial

variation. Like one ladybird

opening its wings, one human

reaching for failed immortality

is little different, from another

ladybird opening, closing its

wings, of another human

writing their name in flooding

time to be swiftly erased.

15.-16.05.2024

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BIOGRAPHIES FROM THE FRINGE INWARDS

There's always something new

to be found in a life unburdened

by the elaborate veils and shrouds

of excuses and justifications,

the loud authorial voice made

into a whisper, and the voices

on the side of the way from

the life-giving womb to

the grave listened to; lives

build up from their periphery,

from contacts made and forgotten,

unmoored encounters, passing

touches. A shape of life a bit

more real, perhaps, than what

the actor playing the role told,

although in the great hollow

inside echoes ring.

01.04.-15.05. 2024

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IN THE SILENCE OF THE SPRING AFTERNOON

The walls are thick enough

to silence the singing of birds,

the sound of the rising wind,

and I long to open the window;

but that would lead to the cat

leaping three meters into

the ground below when

I would be lost in thought,

and I'm not entirely sure

his old legs would take it,

or he find his way back

home again in the blue-green

vastness of the world outside,

where the fox will be seeking

mice on the fallow fields.

15.05.2024

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TRANSLATING 'THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES'

In the afternoon light, I'm sitting

in the cool dimness of the living room,

translating the lines of Auden falling

in rhythm more consistent than

the hammer of my father on nails &

making objects out of carved pieces

of wood; discarding that rhythm of

an alien language, I take the languid

language of the landscape outside

the tall windows, its blue stillness,

the slow movement in the breeze of

the branches of the fir tree we planted 

fourty years ago, and try to give

something of that to replace the alien

rythm, a movement that doesn't try

to hammer the world into a metal

shield. A wooden one will do.

15.05.2024

#Poem Poem Poems #Poems Poetry #Poetry #Verse Verse