Thursday, December 17, 2009

एअर्थ TREMOR

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SG_beCkPhb8

Thursday, December 10, 2009

हाउ लॉन्ग इस शोर्ट time

How long or short is Time?

Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

वर्ल्ड record

World Record
The clouds on the sky, sheep wool of the whitest kind
ready to be made into jumpers and wooly winter socks.
The sun shone meekly in the background so the wonder
could be admired by those who cared to look up.
A gray, loose fleece came floating along it had belonged
to the world longest living sheep which had reached
the venerable age of twenty three, had had its own pen
and lived in air condition splendour. Yes, a ewe; and as
she got older others sheep’s dumb baaing annoyed her,
she had contempt for rams’ clumsy advances, thought
she was a human and trendy, had her own popular page
in facebook with photos and many bleats. As her fleece
drifted westward, dark clouds filled the sky, much colder
now and it began to rain.

Monday, December 7, 2009

इस roses

Ice Roses
Frost on windows? Not where I live now, but where
I grew up, winter windows had thick layers of ice.
And in mornings, before anyone got out of bed, I
carved landscape and faces and saw my work fade
slowly away, by noon I could see the landscape
I had carved through clear windows, the mountain’s
stream, frozen solid now, and trees; mother’s face
also as she was busy in the kitchen baking bread.
I do not miss the cold Nordic land I came from, but
wish windows here too have frost roses, or be as
blank as a new page I could write. “I love you on.”

Friday, December 4, 2009

footprints

Footprint in the Sky

From Paris to New York the biggest passenger plane in the world
flew 525 souls, including the crew, with clean passports, sharp press
in elegant suits and pride, no one mentioned the boring subject of
footprint in the sky. 525 bodies bobbing about in mid Atlantic and
where is the black box? Headline stuff for days a commission formed
to find out what happened, human error or technical faults, insurance
companies want to know, while a river of tears floods the runway.
It has not occurred yet, but it is a benchmark. a crash less than that
number is not headline stuff anymore, only a two second bulletin in
the evening news.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

गर्देब implements

Garden Implements.

A rake and a fork, lean against a lemon tree,
Idle, as soft rain gently downs.
Their handler is indoors and yellow fruit are
beacon in misty blue.
Dowdy drops trickle down wooden shafts,
the lawn sighs to no one in particular.
The gardener too sighs as he listless leaves
through yesterday’s paper.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

थ्री नोर्डिक पोएम्स

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIIa0YemRWw

सुम्मेर इन Lisbon

Summer in Lisbon

In the gentle Lisboetic night the old Heavenly Basilica
shimmered above ground, a white mirage of satin.
Across the road, in the garden of a thousand stars,
park benches, under ancient trees, smoked cigarettes
that glowed as fireflies when lovers embraced.
Sweet scented murmur kissed the moon.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

ब्रोकेन love

Broken Love
My heart have lost the savour of your smile
and the sky has lost its heaven.
Blindly I trample on wild flowers, a rogue elephant
with no sense of beauty.
A mariner who sails on an enchanting ocean,
but only see his iron cage… prisoner of gloom.
Chains of love broken; a freedom not wanted.
life’s only purpose was you and I

Thursday, November 26, 2009

फ्राग्मेंट ऑफ़ अ दरें

Fragments of a Dream

Azure waves, white froth dries on sandy shore of
oblivion. Timeless whispering of fate, for no ears
but mine. A black hulled scallop, on nature’s canvas,
skull & cross bone banner. Pale is the sky, a vague
shimmer disappears behind the horizon of awareness
as transient kites flutter, held by weakening hands.
The breeze sighs of nothingness.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

फ्रॉम तस्मानिया विथ लव

From Tasmania with Love

The wind is a whisper, bell hard evergreen leaves
softly clank as shifting light caresses the landscape.
I saw a film clip of the last Tasmanian tiger, the film
was shot in 1936, the beast looked like a striped,
dog and it has now disappeared into the landscape
of dreams. But wait! A stirring amongst the bushes,
a golden streaked animal is watching me and it isn’t
a pussy cat. The sky darkens, light temporarily fades,
there is a deep silence, birds have stopped singing.
Portugal is very far from Tasmania, but I know what
I saw, or was it a sunbeam dancing on yellow straw?

विडियो ग्रीन leaves

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpaaEJQPrCM

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0PRHIxIVeg

हेअर्त ache

The Heartache

You have gone to a jungle of sadness, into the wilderness
of confused love. Where tigers’ claws are poisoned, snakes
twist the truth and scorpions have stings of envy.
I can’t follow you, I have no machete, or an armoured suit
to protect myself against devious tongues.

My world is naïve sunlight, the open plain, where nothing
is hidden in dark corners of my mind. Come to my world
and I’ll meet you in the glade where Spanish bluebells chime
and we will go to the mountain’s sweet fountain and see
the birth of rainbows.

Monday, November 23, 2009

थे सिरें ऑफ़ sighs

The Siren of Sighs.

How mystic the Caribbean ocean is, ebony sea with white
crests slapping the hull of the ship; and the mermaid’s voice
is a sweet wordless whisper, but I do understand her well.
Alone on wooden deck, on a ship of yore, she invites me to
embrace her and she will bring me to an island, in the middle
of Saragossa Sea, meet old friends and talk about the days
when ship had more shapely wood than hard unbending iron,
to make them beautiful. But the moon is full and stars fill
the heavens with wonder, tomorrow we will dock in Kingston,
Jamaica, so my old friends, on the island of dreams, will have
to wait a little longer

Sunday, November 22, 2009

थे sight

थे सिरें ऑफ़ sighs

विडियो

थे सिरें ऑफ़ मुर्मौर

The Siren of Murmour

How mystic the Caribbean ocean is, ebony sea with white
crests slapping the hull of the ship; and the mermaid’s voice
is a sweet wordless murmour, but I do understand her well.
Alone on wooden deck, on a ship of yore, she invites me to
embrace her and she will bring me to an island, in the middle
of Saragossa Sea, meet old friends and talk about the days
when ship had more shapely wood than hard unbending iron,
to make them beautiful. But the moon is full and stars fill
the heavens with wonder, tomorrow we will dock in Kingston,
Jamaica, so my old friends, on the island of dreams, will have
to wait a little longer

इस roses

Ice Roses
Frost on windows? Not where I live now, but where
I grew up, winter windows had thick layers of ice.
And in mornings, before anyone got out of bed, I
carved landscape and faces and saw my work fade
slowly away, by noon I could see the landscape
I had carved through clear windows, the mountain’s
stream, frozen solid now, and trees; mother’s face
also as she was busy in the kitchen baking bread.
I do not miss the cold Nordic land I came from, but
wish windows here too have frost roses, or be as
blank as a new page I could write. “I love you on.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C33F-MhgKis

Friday, November 20, 2009

देअथ ऑफ़ अ अ प्रिंसेस

Death of a Princess

Transparent, on top of a knoll
she stood the most famous woman
in the western world.

She tried to get down, could not
addicted to fame she had become.
Lightning struck, a torn newspaper
creation.

Ten million flowers sacrificed.

Her brother built her a shrine, in
the middle of a man-made lake,
pay the entrance fee and you just
might, on a clear day, see her shadow
walk on water.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ladt2wySRs

थे तेर्रोर

The Terror

Looking out the day was dazzling with deep shadows
in corners and under dead street lamps.
Reticent lips exploded, gave birth to a scream which
shattered the forenoon, only white heat remained.
Window glass dripped, became a petrified lake where
fish eyes glared as the day was pushed down the abyss
of night. Black, shiny boots trampled all to fragments,
but the fiend’s eye was forever glued to the inside of
my mind.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

डांस नोक्टुरने

Dance Nocturne

August night is an abyss hotter than the day
and the wind that blows was born in hell.
From open windows and their dark interiors
the primal scream of lovemaking,
wriggling bodies trying to produce a child
that like them soon will die, but first it has to
go to the ritual called love, which is but a primitive
urge to copulate the planting of a seed before
sinking back underground, spent, forgotten in
mass graves of boredom, decorated with flowers
that radiates deaths to come.
The Tasmanian tiger howls to the moon and
forever vanishes into an ancient forest while werewolves
sway to a Mexican dirge.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

हाउ मिल्ड फल इस

How mild the fall is?


I followed a track between tall, pale green cactuses, in this harsh landscape
where even the smallest plant has thorns, where bark and leaves, of even
regular trees, like carob and olive, are tough and will not softens to human
touch. Yet this is a landscape that once was tilled and now abandoned, does
this landscape’s common soul feels rancorous of being left to fend for itself?
I found a ruin. More than a ruin, a pile of stones only its outline told me that
once this had been a home where children had been born, lived and died
for generations, till someone said: enough! And left for pastures green, (most
likely USA or Canada,) poverty is only romantic in movies. Half of November
gone, I’m walking about in shirt sleeves the ground is rock hard and dusty,
the local paper tells us that 14 years ago the weather was mild too till January,
then it snowed and it was cold till May. Feel I’m being watched in the bushes
I see a boar watching me it is a wily old boar it sees I carry no gun, yet keeps
its distance; and high above me circles eagles; the landscape is teaming with
rabbits which used to be food for the people, who lived in the ruin (when
they could snare one) now business men, who have paid for a license to kill,
come here to unwind. To kill seems to satisfy a base desire in mankind; yet, it
is better a rabbit is scarified, then to see a dead Afghan child with eyes that
reflect the grey mountains, poppy fields and the blue unfeeling sky.

Monday, November 16, 2009

youtube

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XU-2MR50X_E

अ उसेफुल poet

A Useful Poet
This is a new document I don’t know what to write, should I be soft spoken
(I do feel like shouting) or should I try to rhyme? Like never mind the truth
As long as it sounds good. I could write about cats, dog, birds and butterflies,
people like that and there is a perception that poetry should exude peace
and tranquility and we must know by now that that is not true. My king is
going to war again and have asked me to write a poem that makes people
jingoistic ready to fight a wrong war, (all wars are wrong) and since I have
been given a medal. as a man for all seasons I must comply, but I do feel like
spitting on my own grave for it is not possible to be a poet and not defending
those who starve and needs a voice to speak and defend their cause.

#p/a/u/0/XU-2MR50X_E

#p/a/u/0/XU-2MR50X_E

Sunday, November 15, 2009

नोट alone

Not Alone.

Live next door to a street lamp, full

moon every night .

On an enormous heavenly canvas,

A lone star shines.

The rest have turned their back on

Earth and light up a galaxy that’s

Not of my concern, when I watch

Ads for Martini Bianca on TV.

Fine by me I don’t need to be smart

In a bar , but I do pity the lone star,
It must be cold up there. Wave,

It winks back and fire flies dance.

Friday, November 13, 2009

immortality

Immortality

Every morning an old man, with a jute
sack slung over his bent back,
leaves his cottage.

His mother’s ancient shadow sits by
the fire keeps ember alive. She is older
than the oldest olive tree in the grove.

She came here when the earth was new,
stars not yet born and the moon was
a pale outline on black canvas.

Her son is gathering roses’ dream
and bird songs in the outer field to sustain
her in a life of perpetuity.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

YouTube - Broadcast Yourself.

YouTube - Broadcast Yourself.: "Google"

अ न्यू beginning

New beginning



Her kiss tasted of iron railing a frost bitten dawn…. My lips bled.
Her eyes were frozen stars in a deadly
galaxy of tranquillity.
A beauty flawless. Her body…unbending, unwilling, an ice maiden in a winter forest.
Her blue lips had spots of cardinal crystal, futile my attempt of resurrection.
My love I laid by her feet, struck a match in the vast night of silence
Ash and ember …I’m free.
In the glade, amongst roses of gold,
my new love waited…hand in hand
we walked to where the day begins

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

वेटिंग फॉर रैन

Waiting for Rain.


Most days on my way to the café or to the grocer,
I walk past an old man who sits in the garden, on
a sofa that has lost its place in the living room where
It once had been an object of pride for a newlywed
couple and placed under an oak that was blind to
such details. I often stop and talk to him, he can’t
remember me from one day to the next and tells me
about his parents it’s like they are still alive, and how
wonderful life was in the old days.

He isn’t here today, the mantle he wrapped around
his bony shoulders when there was a chill in the air,
is flung carelessly on the sofa, a zephyr whispers he
will not be back.“ Will I be that old? I ask the fading
sun. I sit on an old sofa on the terrace, scan the sky
a blanker wrapped around my shoulders to keep out
the chill, here in the vale where I was born and my
parents lived before me. We wait for September rain
and remember how wonderful life used to be.

Monday, November 9, 2009

थे वनिशिंग voice

The Vanishing Voice

October in Gaza is still warm but evenings are
cooling and days are shorter, few birds sit on
shell damaged trees, and the airspace above us
is often filled with helicopter clatter.


So much have been destroyed, ruble and dust
winter will be cold for many, and our hearts
hardens we fear for the children who play war
games amongst ruins.


Our leaders are hard men, but we voted for
them since our former leaders were corrupt.
We long for a sovereign nation called Palestine,
But most of all we long for lasting peace.

Friday, October 30, 2009

अक्टूबर mood

video

थे गुअर्दियन ऑफ़ क्लास

The Guardian of Class


Odd thing with waiters they can see your suit
is rack bought, not tailor made, wordlessly look
further down the menu recommend something
you might be able to afford. Wine list, forget it,
they have house wine served in a jug.

Regal when serving, doing you a favour letting
you mingle with, what they consider the upper
crust. Then they will go home to a flat they share
with ten other people and sleep on a sweat
stained mattress on a dirty floor.

थे ब्रोव्निंग

The Browning

Hard times, awoke in a bed with a woman I hadn’t
seen before, she snored. Running down to the docks,
gone the ship, my home. The scorn in dockers faces,
it is a great shame for a sailor to be left behind.
In my pockets coins for a beer to steady my nerves
and remember I had fifty dollar in the watch pocket,
A motor boat idling gave its driver the money, down
the river we caught up with my ship, the captain took
take me onboard with a scowling face.

Hard times, had me working nights, but wanted a full
breakfast in the morning. 14 hours a day, the crew liked
my cooking, it didn’t help what the crew thought.
In Hull a new cook came one, as the captain said, that was
reliable, the crew said:”we are sorry to see you go”, but not
one of them spoke out for me. So the lesson is, forget
the crew, be a friend of the boss and he will understand
your flaws smile and say:” don’t do it again. He will like
you because he think he has got the power over you

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

the termination

The Termination




In Pakistan bombs fall, explode and artillery

shells whizz through the air, burning building

and dead children, all this happen when I sit

listening to a program about abortion.



It strikes me that those who are anti-abortion,

often are for capital penalty and do not dither

to drop rockets on villages in the mountains of

Pakistan or Afghanistan.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

sex and the medical profession

Sex and the Medical Profession


I’m sitting in my car waiting for my wife who is at mass
I find it impossible to believe in any religion, but I say
nothing it is important for my wife to believe in a merciful
god. Paris, and agony, my wife prayed but did call
an ambulance. Battling doctors, how young they are, I felt
like a low paid, reluctant actor in a hospital drama, one
who has to play the nurse when he really wanted to be
the famous heart transplant surgeon.

The doc asked if I smoked. No! She looked sullen since
I didn’t, it is so easy to blame the fag. I said I had smoked
15 years ago, she looked relieved and told me to keep up
the good, work: she removed the catheter a lovely pee
Is better than sex, if temporarily, now I feel like making
love, my wife tells I’m deluded, I say nothing but bid my
time, keep a blanket in my car in case I should meet
someone who is equally barmy.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

a poem

Poem


Mighty Amazon flood
Flows strongly towards the sea
Pauses by the delta
But now it is all too late
Reduced to melancholy
Sweet water blending with sea
And history is forgotten

Monday, October 19, 2009

unheaard music

Unheard Music (Mozart)

The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and
tries trough, me to play his latest masterpiece.
video

Saturday, October 17, 2009

tanka...amazon

video





Poem


Mighty Amazon flood
Flows strongly towards the sea
Pauses by the delta
But now it is all too late
Reduced to melancholy
Sweet water blending with sea
And history is forgotten




spoken poetry. A Housewife in Alexandria

video

a housewife in alexandria

A housewife in Alexandria

The woman in Alexandria Egypt in her black chador
which mercifully hides a thin, body, lines up outside
a bakery she has walked six miles to buy bread for
the day. Her body could have fitted a Dior’s creation
snugly but as it is she has to haste home and feed
her children. She has been to the fruit market too
where rib cage showing mules with open sores wait,
their starvation have lasted so long that they are no
longer hungry but eat when fed. A rich woman, who
has never starved wanders about, tells mule drivers
off for not taking care of their beasts and dispenses
salve on animals’ sores. The woman, with a model’s
body, is poor and blind to this, empathy with animals
are for the wealthy, those with time to care.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Partnership (the payoff)

video

Partnership (the payoff)

It is our job to control this stony, dusty landscape you
claim as yours (my god you’re welcome to it), we’ll
drive 20 miles along a rough lane with our armoured
cars. We don’t want any trouble, but we are members
of NATO doing a job. Behind the ten mile-stone you
will find cigarettes and money in a plastic bag. We can
live in peace, we like to come home in one piece, receive
medals and be admired by the girls. Three months hence
we will go home, someone else will take over they may
be more serious than us and actually take their job
sober; think they are winning a war that was lost years
ago when NATO (US’s foreign legion) declared war on
the wrong enemy.

losing ones mates

Losing your Mates.

I used to have many friends, but I was busy and time passed;
got a new phone number neglected to tell them, when I, one
day, rang few of them, they had moved on too and one had
died; now that I’m suddenly old I think of them all, we used
to have much fun and deep talks. I’ve met a few of them lately
but distance has made us passing ships in the night, blinking
lights and have a good voyage. A man who neglect his friends
will always lose, there will be no one to tell him when he errs
and make gentle fun of him when he gets a little pompous.
At an art exhibition I met on such friend he criticised my latest
collection of poetry, I answered by saying his work was too
commercial and made to fit a hotel foyer. Years ago we would
have had a shouting match, got drunk and made up, now we
parted in silence; my phone doesn’t ring, we are now passing
ships on a vast ocean of the friendless.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

late night poems



video


Autumnal Aura

The fall month of October, in upper Algarve,
is still warm but with cooling evenings and
sunlight begins to fade earlier every day.
The sky is still blue, if paler than yesterday’s
and has white strands of clouds near its
horizon. Windless is this day but birds on
the roof, have left their nests flown south,
Africa I think, for a few month. They will be
back in March have their chicks and make
a lot of noise. The man from the forest has
delivered winter wood, wrote him a check,
gave him a whisky; so I’m ready for winter
but secretly wish these peaceful days will
stretch well into November.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Unheard Music (Mozart)

The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and tries
trough me to play his latest masterpiece.
..............
Nightly Thoughts

I wonder why a quiet evening isn’t enough, the thinking
will not stop slow down and make sense; calming effect
the wine has but it’s always too much; ideas drown,
must catch them while they make sense, the night is
deep and silent while I wait for something to articulate.
Art speaks, but I have to nail down the words, they are
always inadequate and paler than those in my mind,
I have giving birth to ugly ducklings once again, but they
are mine, I will not send them into abyss’s of delete hell
just yet, but wait to see if they can learn to walk alone.

Emancipation

French Emancipation?

French women are free well-educated and elegant,
yet spend too much times striving to attract men and
open their legs for anyone. Later they call it freedom
of choice while frantically trying to get money out of
the man who knocked them up and left them hanging
there twisting in their own distressing liberation.
They will intellectualize their misery, see themselves
as a Sagan melancholic, yet yearning to be middle
class housewives worrying about the prices of onions.
Yes, they will be married, to the very best address, and
meet other wives and talk endlessly about equality.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

French emancipation

video



French Emancipation?

French women are free well-educated and elegant,
yet spend too much times striving to attract men and
open their legs for anyone. Later they call it freedom
of choice while frantically trying to get money out of
the man who knocked them up and left them hanging
there twisting in their own distressing liberation.
They will intellectualize their misery, see themselves
as a Sagan melancholic, yet yearning to be middle
class housewives worrying about the prices of onions.
Yes, they will be married, to the very best address, and
meet other wives and talk endlessly about equality.



A Day in the News (nepotism)

I was painting the hall but didn’t have enough
brown paint, mixed some yellow into it and it looked
like the walls of a French bakery. The young son of
the Gallic president has landed a top job, this is type
of nepotism that can only happen in France where people
still have fear of those in power, it takes a long time
before they dare protest and when they do, they tend
overreact. France reminds me of African nations,
they have not truly grasped the idea of democracy,
a leader tends to dispends favours to family and friends.
What about Norway? Several parties, yet the same
political families rule generation after generations.
Lazy electors, only vote for names they know, surely
Norway could not be like France or Gabon?


French emancipation



video


French Emancipation?

French women are free well-educated and elegant,
yet spend too much times striving to attract men and
open their legs for anyone. Later they call it freedom
of choice while frantically trying to get money out of
the man who knocked them up and left them hanging
there twisting in their own distressing liberation.
They will intellectualize their misery, see themselves
as a Sagan melancholic, yet yearning to be middle
class housewives worrying about the prices of onions.
Yes, they will be married, to the very best address, and
meet other wives and talk endlessly about equality.

A DAY IN THE NEWS

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5MoNfxj4kE

A Day in the News (nepotism)

I was painting the hall but didn’t have enough
brown paint, mixed some yellow into it and it looked
like the walls of a French bakery. The young son of
the Gallic president has landed a top job, this is type
of nepotism that can only happen in France where people
still have fear of those in power, it takes a long time
before they dare protest and when they do, they tend
overreact. France reminds me of African nations,
they have not truly grasped the idea of democracy,
a leader tends to dispends favours to family and friends.
What about Norway? Several parties, yet the same
political families rule generation after generations.
Lazy electors, only vote for names they know, surely
Norway could not be like France or Gabon?

video

France is more than Paris


This dark, unfriendly French provincial town, only,
a pizza parlour open run by a gloomy, unshaven
person who looked like a reluctant refugee from
Kosovo I wouldn’t like to stay down-wind from.
Everything made of plastic tables, chairs that once
had been white, under the counter rested pieces
of pizzas that was going cold, I had two pieces one
with salami, the other with tuna, washed down with
soft drinks. Finished the meal, the man looked at me
as saying:” What are you still doing here? I left.
Turned, looked into dirty windows, and thought” If this
is hell I better start saying my prayer now.


more than paris

France is more than Paris


This dark, unfriendly French provincial town, only,
a pizza parlour open run by a gloomy, unshaven
person who looked like a reluctant refugee from
Kosovo I wouldn’t like to stay down-wind from.
Everything made of plastic tables, chairs that once
had been white, under the counter rested pieces
of pizzas that was going cold, I had two pieces one
with salami, the other with tuna, washed down with
soft drinks. Finished the meal, the man looked at me
as saying:” What are you still doing here? I left.
Turned, looked into dirty windows, and thought” If this
is hell I better start saying my prayer now.

evolution

Evolution


Some people have problems understanding
their ancestors were apes. They feel somehow
belittled not being unique, not created and
evolved like any other life-form.

Orang-utan is my favourite great, great, great
something ancestor, it slowly swing from tree
to tree, mind its own business, looks cute and
doesn’t dream of conquering the world.

Jesus, I’m sure, is the result of a long evolution,
up from the sea, shimming up a tree for safety,
down again walking about with two strong legs:
and I ask; is God a dignified orang-utan?

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

video

reading a poem

video

first published by Lapwing Publications

c/o 1, Ballysillan drive

Belfast BT14 8HQ

Monday, October 12, 2009

third reading of the collection Homecoming

video

this collection and many other collections

can be bought at www.cyberwit.net

or on amazon.

the resettlers

The Re –Settlers

Black is white yellow is green, war is peace and
everything is truth even if it is a lie when spoken
from an auto cue by a man who should receive
an Oscar for expression of horror about Afghan carnage,
a war he expanded and will keep on fighting till
he lose and declares victory. A lake of blood, will
the west ever be forgiven for trespassing into
the business of the Middle East. And in the end,
even though they don’t know it, yet Israel will pay
the heaviest price for being a Western transplant
that did not take root in Arabic soil.

oskar.hansen@sapo.pt

tanka

Tanka

For those who are dead
The planet doesn’t exist
And it never did
Must we for that reason think
Life is a lone planet’s dream?




Tanka

Writers and poets
Think they can be immortal
By ink a pen
But everything ever written
Will rot as autumn leaves do.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

video

second reading of the "homecoming "

video

this is a second reading of "the Homecoming"

published by www.cyberwit.net

where the boook can be purchased

the collection is a part of a triptych

the price of the collecttion of 140 pages

is 15 euros and there is a limited issue

readings from the Homecoming

http://oskar-poetryfromseastoshore.blogspot.com/2009/10/readings-from-homecoming.html

readings from the Homecoming

video

this is the third book of a triptych

www.cyberwit.net

or amazon

Friday, October 9, 2009

Thursday, October 8, 2009

losing ones chums

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUPZV7UDZsk

Cracks in the mirror

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r62OCjTLoSc

readings from one of my books "cracks in the mirror"

the book is published by cybewit and can be bought through
amazon bookshop

the collection has been reviewed by "The journal a respected
poetry magazine in England it's editro is the fabled Sam Smith