Friday, June 25, 2010

काचैस portugal

Cascais, Portugal.

First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust

While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.

I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography


A Poem from the Seas

I once saw, where the horizon ends, a ship plough the sky.
White tears on pale blue, and I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others, it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late, the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist for Dogger Banks, and take
onboard discarded dreams to plug the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea and red flying fish, my ship is
bound for the Saragossa Sea with a hold full of old sailors,
it’s here they come to stalk in the fog of the forgotten.

Friday, June 18, 2010

थे इंग्लिश Rose

The English Rose (end of a dream)

I once met an English rose, slightly frizzled at the edges.
Her eyes was as green as the Atlantic sea, this alone
should have been a warning, ‘cause I know how untrue
the sea can be. Her voice sounded like tinkling bells and
her artistic hands could to wonders. Embraced we slept in
the good tiredness of exhausted lovers. But in heaves of
love she often whispered another man’s name, it filled me
with foreboding. I rang and rang, no answer, went to her
house, she wasn’t there, her neighbor said she had gone
to Spain and she mentioned a name I had so often heard.
The good woman saw my tears, hugged me and whispered.
“She is not worthy of your love.” Years went by I saw her at
a supermarket’s check out. Her bloom had gone, no longer
a rose, just a woman with a bitter lined face carrying a bag
of grocery.

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography



On the food chain chicken score badly, millions of them are eaten every
year, I used like chicken wings; well they are not going to fly anywhere.
Soon chickens will lose their wings, not like sergeant loses his stripes, but
they have no need for them in a factory farm. All soldiers are brave- until
they are arrested for depravity- the bravest ones fight in Afghanistan, in
an army that has been mostly privatized. Soldiers kill people for us, even
If we protest, it is about duty and honour for them to do so. No one beats
the British in doing military funerals, they have such a long practice.
The Brits have a long warrior tradition, working class people are especially
proud of that. Like the chicken feed the masses, they feed the cannons.
I like chickens they put their heads on a block for us, chop, chop, chop.
The west fights war everywhere now, wants to make their presence felt,
but there is a quiet desperation in all this they are no longer in charge,
the Far East is the future and that is ok, when Europe is a byline, and US,
merits two lines, because its biggest industry is Wild West movies, Europe
can become a theme park, where Thailand’s single, or not or not so lone
men can come for a sex holiday

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

Monday, June 7, 2010

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography - A Rabbit's Tale

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography - A Rabbit's Tale



Today I saw the world’s biggest butterfly
when it flew overhead the day darkened.
the colour of it was of intense rainbow so
brilliant I helpless fell to the ground.

Slowly I woke up, trees were ashen and
the dell, so green had turned xanthous.
Too much beauty kills lesser loveliness,
It took days to find our natural stability.

Friday, June 4, 2010

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography - Calameo

"Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography - Calameo

अटलांटिक sea

The Atlantic

Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.

Thursday, June 3, 2010