A PERFECT, HIDDEN ROSE

Here I have only memory

to draw on, yet my memory
has a perfect image
of your hidden rose
here in the dim morning
of the wintry waste
it blooms, enticing,
inviting. 

22.11.2025

HE WISHES

I'm so horny today, 

my dear muse,

that in my visions you have

dropped that pen a hundred times

and each time bending over

I have gripped yout waist firmly -

- just writing I feel my hands

on your flesh -

and slipped inside

(how I wish you could feel now

my thrusting flesh)...

22.11.2025

FITTING ONE OF THE GRACES

I haven't praised

your breasts enough

and here I have two hands

and a mouth eager

to worship them,

tools well adjusted.

to serve on their shrine

with kisses,

tender bites,

and fondling touches

fitting one

of the Graces.

22.11.2025

IT'S THE LUST THAT SAYS

Can't stop thinking about your pussy

today, the things - the acts - I've done

with you in my visions today

you might not belief but would -

I declare - would enjoy. It's not bragging

me who is talking, it's the confident lust

speaking, the lust that says

it would make you scream with pleasure.

22.11.2025

TO PLAY WITH

He will come 

to her sleep a curious,

satyr

and wake her

into another dream

within a dream,

she the nymph

from forest glade

awakening

to his amorous

wishes confirmed

by his offering

firm for her

to touch

and play with.

26.11.2025

THE SNOWS OF NOVEMBER

It ends in rain,

November,

in fine rain,

in fine rain

and silence.

Where are the snows

of yesteryear,

asked Villon,

and where

are the snows of November?

The snows of November

water,

water in the ditches

and the puddles,

water in the unfrozen ground,

on the soaked dead grass

and fallen leaves

drenched

in the snows of November.

30.11.2025

EXCEPT HERE

You are hard

you wait the touch

of your muse

on your flesh

as on your mind

that brings

this response

from the flesh

yearning

what must be denied

except here.

26.11.2025

STILL THERE

I fell asleep as bright morning

bloomed sunshine behind curtains,

awoke after seven hours in darkness

into darkness, opened

the eyes' closed curtains to the world

but left those on the windows unopened,

imagined the bright sunlight

to shine still there.

30.11.2025

ON POLITICAL WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

One has to wonder why one

would write a sonnet to lament

the subjugation of Switzerland

when applaud would have been

quite enough, followed by Rejoice!

18.11.2025

WELCOMING LIFE

Each carnal poem

is of life, 

                welcoming

life as it comes rushing

to capture

                  for nature 

some place

devastated and lacking,

barren 

             until its green tide

makes it all wild exuberance

and no one calls it sin

but life restored,

       life redeemed,

and so with carnal

poems 

            restoring,

            redeeming 

for life

these existences.

26.11.2025

AFTER RAISING CAMP

The site of your camp

shown by the lack of fallen leaves;

here were summer days

and warm autumn hours

well spent,

                  now the nomad

in you can winter

raising their tent

by the memories

of those summer days,

those warm

                     autumn hours.

26.11.2025

THE GRAUNIAD AND GENOCIDES

Ukrainian sumo wrestler

Danulo Yavhysishyn's success in Japan

is bigger news to the liberal The Guardian

than Israel's murder of over 50 Palestinians

in Gaza 

              and Sudan...

Well, you can't find new news about Sudan

but there's an eulogy for a "slow food" chef

on the frontpage.

(And half a dozen other news about Ukraine

dominating the frontpage.)

24.11.-30.11.2025

NOVEMBER WEATHER

Yesterday, cold brightness

under a vast and biting

sky,

soaring thoughts

clear light,

today a watery realm

under a low and grey

sky,

slippery ice

under thoughts.

23.11.2025

LAKESHORE

Framed by the bare-branched

trees on the shore

reaching for

the azure November sky

and its white streaming clouds,

the waves on the lake

turn from dark blue

to green as your eyes

seek the horizon

and its single ship -

a frozen image

all movement.

27.11.2025

MAKING COFFEE

The world is a white waste

and in the gloom

of the early afternoon

you make your coffee,

pour two mugs full,

add milk from a carton

that was on discount yesterday,

take them to the table

where the computer awaits

hungry, its belly full

of sleeping words,

putting them down

on the wooden surface

beside the piled books,

sitting down before the assemblage,

drinking the pale brown

liquid for warmth to course

through your sluggish form,

and the computer's maw opening

start to put in some

order the poems holding

parts of the departed days

of the last week, water

in all its forms shaping

the world you reflect.

26.11.2025

WHAT IS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE IS GOOD FOR THE GANDER

When the United Nations supports genocide

and hands control of Gaza

to United States and, effectively, Israel

the genocidaire,

then all occupied areas of Ukraine

should be handed to North Korea and China,

and, effectively, Russia,

because what's good for the goose

is good for the gander - right?

18.11.2025

BE WARY OF THEM WHO POSTPONE JUSTICE

Be wary of men of faith,

be wary of them who postpone

justice beyond this world

like a 'pragmatic' diplomat

in the United Nations

buys more years for brutal occupation

and tells how freedom

is for an another generation,

perhaps, if the victims 'behave'

and for now the genocidaire

must win and the victims lose.

18.11.2025

AS THE TEMPERATURE DROPS TO -5 CELSIUS

With a quick stroke of brush the sky

above the landscape in November white

and black goes from grey clouds to bare

soft hue of blue, second stroke bringing

the Sun in cold gold; quick wonders shaping

perception bringing memories flooding

with a touch of the dead present, hovering

at the edge, just out of sight, in unmoored

silent memories of you gazing through same

windows this landscape on dormant days

like this, merging experience - the old

gaining from the young fragmented

in them, like the genes of extinct species

in our hybrid flesh among all the troubles

of the world and life we have made.

18.11.2025

SUDDENLY LIKE THIS NIGHT

Sixth Walcott, took two hours

to finish an existing raw translation

and denied a walk in the last light.-

Raising my head, it done,

it's completely dark, black

depths like an ocean trench

outside the windows,

and I could go and walk

in the darkness and perhaps

I will, but it will be a walk

devoid of all light except

artificial and only natural light

will reach beyond the eyes

and come rest in the mind,

flooding the lungs with more

than air. The relief of getting

it done less now when thinking

of that gray, pallid light, inviting

now gone, the roads recovered

by fine snow that came

after the rain, suddenly

like this night.

17.11.2025

15:24 PM

Chill day grows

darker, light streams

away into

unreachable past,

becomes memory

to seed

the distant dawn

when it cracks

open in a soaked

nest under bare branches -

as the old memory

of the night arrives triumphant

in a rising tide,

carrying you, 

until at the height of heaven

it washes over you

struggling there

at the dusk,

without an ark

beyond sleep.

So you drowning drift

down, detritus

of the abyssal ocean,

into crushing depths

where ghosts swimming

into existence,

changed by death,

welcome you. They

are not unkind,

companions

of the long darkness,

whose dreams

and hopes skeletons

littering the ocean floor

are your shared life.

17.11.2025

FOOLS

Every fool

no matter how high

his laughing

master

and how low

his status

is still

a man

which is a very

little thing indeed.

A little being

and a big fool

humiliating himself

before a greater fool.

16.11.2025

LET THERE BE PATIENT SAINTS

We must be angry

and full of rage

to break the binding

chains and with them

to strangle injustice

and cast its broken

form down. Let

there be patient saints

when the world is just.

16.11.2025

NOT ONE

In the occupied West Bank

Israel has killed this year

49 children.

And none of those so vocally

upset about imaginary

"40 beheaded babies" care.

Not one.

16.11.2025

AND NOW SLEEP

Wrote hours would fly away

in anger, and they did,

nine of them, jackdaws

rising from the barren branches,

but still but enough

to fill a modest grail

from the fountain of bood

and offer for the world's lips

which had tasted the butchers'

wine from stolen orchards.

16.11.2025

UNTIL JUSTICE IS A LIMITLESS QUANTITY

Justice that doesn't reach

all is no justice

&

people who say

justice for some

is better

than no justice at all

should be those

who their imperfect

justice

doesn't reach

until justice

is a limitless quantity

16.11.2025

ON THIS NOVEMBER MORNING

your mind just another

tree

in the landscape

dark

embraced

by the grey light

16.11.2025

PALLID LIGHT

An iron dawn melts

out of the night's black ice,

you gaze at those grey clouds,

that grey fog in the distance

where the world ends

and you turn the music

a bit louder as you turn

to make another pot of coffee,

and pouring water into the decanter

it's like pouring pallid light

that envelopes your every thought,

your mind just another

tree

in the landscape.

16.11.2025

THE SNOW NOW

The snow

that stayed for two days

as white powder

on roads

and on trees

is now

water

on the ground

and clouds

above

16.11.2025

BEFORE SUNSET

On the bushes

bright red

leaves 

unfallen

at the end

of autumn

like a hundred

suns

before sunset.

15.-16.11.2025

THE HOURS WILL FLY PAST IN ANGER

I have sacrificed four

out of five last days

to poetry

and avoided

the killings

which people murdered

in them couldn't,

I closed my eyes

to the world that is

and comforted myself

with the wordls we create

with words

in poetry,

no true secondary creations,

just moments floating

like enduring soap bubbles

made of cast iron,

just stages to act a single scene,

small pocket universes

to hide into

while the world screams.

I have the poetry itch

again on this bleak morning,

I've copied poems

from the web to translate,

I've read a ten or dozen.

I could just play with words

while children play with booby-trapped

toys left by adored genocidaires.

But this day will be

for the world's pain,

and when I open that first news

article and start sharing

on social media, the hours

will fly past in anger.

16.11.2025

08:47 AM

Get yourself moving,

get up,

you have had your morning

ascension to

fleeting pleasure, her gift,

now get up,

put on the coffee,

take the meds with juice,

make cucumber sandwiches

while waiting for the coffee to drop,

eat the last of the salad

with them, drinking the coffee

mug by hasty mug,

but before eating,

put on some music

without an interrupting human voice,

just instrumental

like the drizzle and fog

outside.

16.11.2025

SAINTS AND MONSTERS ON THE STAGE

there are different people

in us

with different dreams

and different faults

and different masks

for them to wear

and sometimes they forget

which mask they have on

or who they are

on that moment

misleading themselves

as much as others

some which may be

innocent enough to think

that the mask they see

and the mask on their own face

are two different persons

interacting directly

instead of taking part

in an elaborate theater

where the actor under the mask

changes and actor changes masks

to manage relations

and avoid revealing

that there is no permanent

truth underneath

just shifting personalities

hiding under masks

managing the social environment

to the continuation of the being

as which they appear

to outside observers

an illusion of unity

and continuity

to illusions of unity

and continuity

16.11.2025

THE ABSENCE OF THE STARS

Nothing but darkness

the night sky

above,

even the clouds

are hidden,

you only know

they are there

by the absence of the stars.

15.11.2025

HUNDREDS OF REFUGEES MISSING IN THE INDIAN OCEAN

Hundreds of Rohingya refugees

missing after another shipwreck,

two boats went down

in the Bay of Bengal,

thousands 

                    dead

in the Indian Ocean

in the last decade

in dozens of shipwrecks,

in deliberate mass murder

by coast guards and navies

leaving boats adrift

after sabotaging engines,

more drowned

                          than killed

                          in some of the wars

fought in the same years,

and it barely registers.

I almost missed the news,

hundreds of deaths

barely newsworthy.

15.11.2025

AN EXCUSE

Not all of us have the courtesy of years

to hone our craft; each day

feels like the end of all that came

and not the first to come,

so you write what you can

and let them leave the nest

and hope one might survive,

like an infant dinosaur hatching,

the jaws of all the things

that erase what our minds create.

15.11.2025

15:30 AM

Back from my short,

short walk in the fading light,

leaving footprints in the snow

to be buried by the night

now falling fast,

and to be swept aside

by rain tomorrow brings

to wash the infant winter away

from the dead autumn,

and my footprints on the snow

will last half a day

and the footprints on the Moon

a hundred thousand years.

15.11.025

BEFORE TAKING MY WALK

I drink the last

of my coffee,

never counted

how many pots

the gods of laurels

have demanded

in these hours

wasted on verse.

Now to the gathering

dark to leave footprints

for the night to bury.

and then back

to do more than set

ants marching

across a white

background

in different

formations

like mirrors

of footprints on snow.

15.11.2025

14:52 PM

The day is dying,

light is waning,

the shadows dancing

on the walls gone

with the setting Sun,

clouds gathering

hide the blue hollow

of the curving sky,

and here I sit

in the deepening dark

when words

have wearied me

and the white road

in fine snow still calls.

15.11.2025

THE MARCHING ANTS

Stuck with translating and writing

all the golden hours of the cold day,

again, sitting before the laptop, drinking

coffee, gazing briefly at the autumn

fields under the blue hollow,

and then back to the ants

marching endlessly on the screen.

15.11.2025

LONG STRUGGLES COME FIRST

Either show solidarity

or put your Slava Ukraini

where the Sun doesn't shine

as long as Burma, Chechnya,

Palestine, West Papua, Western Sahara

and Tibet aren't free.

Long struggles matter more

than being a pink Indo-European

and come first.

15.11.2025

"EUROPEAN VALUES" ARE WORTH LESS THAN MANURE

For the third time the European Union Commission

and the European Union Parliament

try to include occupied Western Sahara

in a trade agreement with the occupier Morocco,

claiming that they believe

that this time European Union courts

might side with the occupier

against the occupied.

The vaunted "European values" and "European virtues"

worth less than manure

for those who preach about them

for their political pulpets

as they seek to fertilize European fields

with stolen Saharawi resources

and power European AI centres

with stolen Saharawi energy,

and all those common Slava Ukraini! folks

are silent, don't care

or are telling that it doesn't matter

because Western Sahara is not in Europe.

15.11.2025

HOW QUICKLY CAN THE TASTE TURN SOUR

Gulping down

potato mash

and meatballs

reminded suddenly

- a flashing

thought -

of the famines

in Palestine's Gaza

and Sudan's Darfur -

how quickly

can the taste

turn sour.

15.11.2025

THEIR ABSENCE HAD GONE UNNOTICED BY ME

With sunlight,

shadows

dancing on the walls.

15.11.2025

DO WE NEED TO LIKE THE POET TO LIKE THEIR POEMS?

Do we need to like poets

to like their poems?

Art lives independent

of its creator,

many would say,

but that's like claiming

that wars exist separetely

from the rulers who start them,

or that the fire started

by an arsonist flickers independent,

that the abandoned child

found and abandoned again

by a famous poet on his

northward journey

exists separate

from those who abandoned them.

No man is an island,

remember? So how could

poem be considered separate

from the mind that crafted it,

anymore than a bomb dropped

on a United Nations school

turned shelter for refugees

can be considered separate

from the pilot who dropped it,

from the commander who gave the order

or the ruling politician

who ordered the genocide?

Artists are responsible,

even if they don't change

brush to Zyklon-B,

poems are chained

to those who begetted

and birthed them

by unbreakable link of steel,

until time erases all memory

of the bard who slouched

out of Stratford-upon-Avon

the song is crucified

to the troubadour.

15.11.2025

A FIFTH WALCOTT, WITH NO BOTANICAL PROBLEMS

Against my better judgment,

I have started a fifth Walcott translation

(not counting the three ancient

ones), and this day is going

as yesterday, the world's pain

and the sun's shine ignored,

and it's already in its raw form,

now I just need another pot

of coffee, a sandwish (when

children in Gaza and Darfur

go hungry), the medication

down with distilled juice

that has none of the fruits

the bottle's side promises

for the tongue to taste,

and then a quick sprint

(against what the poet

would have said, but he is dead

in marble and I

translate for an audience

of one, no less deserving

but more for that)

through the thickets

of the text and I panting

on the shore can pretend

something have been achieved

in this room during these golden

hours of cold sunlight

impaling the land made beautiful

again by their rays.

15.11.2025