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A Warped Tree

Today, when not arguing with Walter the Jew
on Facebook or Twitter
 the ambiance in the house was surprisingly calm since I got a key to my study in peace to read my latest collection 
and found, at times, the poems had an internal rhyme and were little stories 
The pity is, I have to write without a publisher and 
can't afford to hire one, those I dare to ask run a thousand miles, one of them a poor man, is a lecturer in Udevalla
Last year, I visited a crooked tree so shy its roots curled in bashfulness, and its leaves took an autumnal color. I wanted to know if there was a way for me to help get her more gracious and straight 
She took offense and said she was 105.
I felt like pointing out the tree by the drive into our village -an olive tree-is so old there is a possibility Jesus sat under it reporting protest notes to 
the priests in the service of the Roman church
One day the came, the uncouth people from the traffic division chopped down ancient history and threw the remains down a drain.
Angrily, I protested to my doctor about the vandals 
with my fist hit the table so hard a stethoscope fell to the floor, and then the porter came,
 and I was made to leave.
When I came to Portugal, the natural thing was to study and learn the language, but at the time I was wrapped up learning English 
The Portuguese language is superbly fitted to Fado 
but as a "lingo" for conversation, I fail, but 
I knew enough to get married.
The Norwegian vocality sounds like a Dane 
trying to talk Swedish and is like wet cement being poured down a ditch dug by Lusitanos, spitting tobacco. 
Ach, mein lieber Gott, I have lost many 
friends in the last sixty years.

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