Bagatelle
You see the old olive tree at the entrance of the village
take it for granted until you see the tree is dying
still, it has about it a non-communicative dignity
an acceptance of life`s unplanned cosmic shortness.
Dying slowly, a botanist is trying new soil around
to get more mileage, but in the plant is
too old, cow dung or artificial fertilizer can stop the tree
bark goes wrinkled, 300 years is enough
To be dead is to be unborn
there is no second coming
Not even for a 300-year-old tree.
The morning wakes us up with a dance of sunlight
thought of buying a pair of shoes, bagatelles are
the sum of our existence.
Buy a Donkey
The Sunday papers had nothing to tell
except for the usual trivia and endless
wars somewhere on the planet
As I get older and older, nothing much
is of importance, novels are good only
for taking our mind off the ennui
I used to write poetry and hoped to
publish until I realized it was of no
importance for anyone or me
Very few things in our lives are important
it does not stop wars; we are as stupid
as before the wheel.
Yesterday, I visited a donkey ranch and
thought these animals are important
when fleeing from tribal wars
We spend a set number of years here
much of it on bagatelles like work and
pay negotiations and pension reforms
When of years are over, nothing changes
except who got what of our lot, what
I can do for the future is to buy a donkey
New driving license
Going to the doctor make me nervous
I was renewing my driving license and feared they would say
no, you are too old and have many illnesses.
It was not so bad
I had to read the letters from a chart on the wall
the doc whispered something I had to repeat, And that was all.
Except I can´t drive faster than 90, that was no problem. as
I'm a slow driver at the best of times.
If stopped by the police, I will ask them for their tattoos a new rule today is that police have a tattoo that can be construed
as being of a racist nature( one wonders if this also include
naked women) have six months to remove them.
I have in my life at sea, never had a tattoo done this is because I'm not too fond of needles.
Now that I have diabetes, I use a needle every morning one gets used to what one dislikes.
We live at a time when everyone takes offence for bagatelles,
like throwing statues into the sea, it will not erase history which
when all is said is not flattering for the white man, if we keep
a narrow historical view on these things.
Bagatelle
You see a thing like the old olive tree
At the entrance of the village and take it for granted
Until you suddenly see the tree is dying
Yet, it has about it a none communitive dignity
And acceptance that life`s unplanned cosmic shortness.
Dying slowly, the medical profession are trying
To get more mileage but in the end the car mechanics
Of the body see the case as hopeless, but are bound by
The Hippocratic Oath and let us live passed our sell by date.
To be dead is to be unborn there is no second coming
Not even for a 300 years old tree.
Yet, the morning wakes us up with a dance on the duvet
And small thoughts take over buying, a pair of shoes
All those little bagatelles are the sum of our existence.
Voyagers, convene thyselves to return, among us...
Caesura, crown nigh clod, a sylph unwept,
elision thy silhouette, meno thy minuet...
Thine late occurence on thee, wake of cerise sand
Thou belief, like a billow, upon your whitish cheek,
'Twas marina bay, her twaddle a garb of mer,
A henchman docks, thy quay, girdles stymie ebbs,
but he cannot dream aloft a dream she confers...
O'er to woo hand in hand, thou overture unto Sirocco,
Plagues thy pirate ships, quakes men with mar,
His and his only demand, an aegis for lagoons amidst...
Once deluged, sun askew above, one abyss of bagatelles
Deters a tocsin, feign mooting mammals, thy kin a boon,
Aquatica, thee damsel for diminuendos, spurns thy sire,
Her gentle mettle, calls thee, His fervor season calentures...
Aloof thy celestial kisser, nay thy nine, vim domiciles solitary
Doomed skulls ravish, an age id by ice, culls thee, for chastity,
Some may not know, we died to have our love live, over and again,
Amity vows posy littoral seaflowers, buoys colonnades of adventure...
thence, cradles await upon matins, sail thy Oceanus genesis, amen.
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