Balls and Balls...sonnet

Balls and Balls...Sonnet At the posh supermarket in Albufeira it sells Icelandic fishballs harvested from ten- year-old cods. They are white, and round just like other balls in size, say, meatballs, but they taste salty and tangy, perfect with chilled wine, almost like eating the Portuguese dish baccallao de nata the way they make it in Alentejo. The wine at this supermarket is overpriced, but some of them have fancy names on colourful labels as to make them more appetizing like we were going to eat the labels too. 99% of the shoppers are British and struts around patronizing us locals who came to gaze at the wonderful frozen food one can buy here as the English housewife cannot cook and take great pride in her incompetence.... men are hopeless too, that is why they go to British restaurants to eat pie with chips and mushy peas. I had friends, British – can you believe it- who lived here for years, when they needed cancer surgery they went to Britain to have it done, the waiting list was so long that both died; the Brits do not like being prodded by foreigner. So what was I doing here at this posh place? I had been told they sold smoked ox testicles here it was good for my flagging potency when I asked around the shop fell silent. No one knew. Insipid fishballs, but I saw men putting on their reading glasses for a closer look at shelves that sold foreign food.

after Ingmar Bergman

After Ingmar Bergman And now that it is dawn And the sun will soon come over the mountain My wife’s warmth keeps me warm My screams of fear is now a murmur She dries spittle from my beard and speaks softly Soon she will get up and make coffee I let the aroma envelope me The terror of the night and death subsides and I will try to be kind and Believe in a god that will lift me up to his heaven And let me live forever. But who will publish my poetry collections?

consunerisn

Consumerism We are getting old my wife and I we do not consume much. The washing machine is old and our car is going on fifteen, yet it starts but of course we no longer use it as often as before. This makes us poor consumers the ads on TV are not aimed at us. Today we bought a new TV, this pleased my wife it made her feel important and the shop staff called her madam. Assist death, the ultimate triumph of capitalism as those who cannot consume are redundant. The last expense is the casket, even here capitalism is pressuring relatives to buy an expensive one, no one will see unless attend the funeral. But as for now we are safe the new TV will keep us safe.

the Serb general

The Serb General I used to be a general, drank plum booze with the best now I sit in a jail in Haag waiting for their verdict. This that I should sit here in this country with cowardly soldiers who would not fight when my army came, but gave me the key to the town I find this deeply disgusting.

Small Hill.

In a landscape with many hills there is a flat part

that has a small hillock by the road.

Two olive trees and four flat boulders arranged like

furniture in a living room and a carpet of soft grass.

Is it an abandoned movie set where the moon is

a balloon? How many takes did the scene take?

In life there is no retake we are expected to get it right                

reading from a script not yet written

When building the road they put stones in a heap,

dust and bird droppings made it into a small knoll.

That´s the way it goes. 

whales

Whales.


What can I say about whales? I’ve seen them blow geysers of hot water

on the coast of Canada and Norway. Great innocent beings with small

brains living in peace, but for man. So much meat and fat; have you ever

tasted whale meat, it is dark and tender but it has to be soaked overnight

in vinegar or it will taste like cod liver oil. In the old days its fat made liquid

was good to lit lamps. We have got electricity now, so if you want a steak

kill a cow, they are plentiful, mind they are innocent too, graze and do not

know they are targeted to end up as burgers. The whales have a complex

language marine biologists say I don’t think it is hard at all, they are saying

in surprisingly feminine voice … where are you? I’m here two miles away

from you and watch out for boats, with propellers”. “Ok, thank you”

Sven Foyn, the whale murderer, nearly hunted them to extinction with his

exploding harpoon gun, but thanks to a few nature lovers this cruel practice

ended… Today there are many whales in the ocean sooner or later someone

will say there are too many of them, we have to cull them and make a little

money on the side. And unseen by us, but known by whales, a dark hulled

ship with a captain Ahab onboard is still hunting for an illusory white whale.

frogs or trolls - "Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography

frogs or trolls - "Cracks in the Mirror" Poetry & photography