The bubble is bound to burst
before long; therefore at least
A gondola you should opt for
For letting loose your emotions
Loaded with almost all oceans
Curved currents and foams
Potential fear amidst delight
and excitement; your sights
blurred by beauty that roams
along the edges of the figure
Flooding your whole existence
Mopping off all distance
Of time and space in braincase
Only the embrace, you write
and replace, the lips and face
In cloud base and fireplace
In cold case and in a horse race
Mewing wooing cooing
Howling, growling, prowling.
Doing, undoing and redoing
Life is never a straight line
Bland canned and flatland
It's waist band and dreamland
Fascinating woodland
Crescent and fluorescent
Incessantly effervescent
So no monochrome of woe
No saying always not and no
Instead, the bugle of gusto
In the meadow with a rainbow
Always the wonderful gun
In your lovely hair-bun
___________________
18 September 2025
On October the 7th, the precarious peace
of the disputed ancient lands began to cease.
The enraged avengers brought the Al-Aqsa flood
that deluged the Re'im music festival with blood.
Then very swiftly came the lopsided response
that decimated women and children at once.
The zionists' war machine sweeps the Gazan land,
rendering its closely compacted earth to flatland.
The Mosques, churches, schools, and hospitals are all gone.
Scores wail uncontrollably aloud as they mourn.
Having no point of refuge, refugees take flight
as they seek for bombshelters with no hopes in sight.
Hamas belligerents their explosive arrows throw
at overwhelmed defenses of an ageold foe.
Zionists with torrential explosives respond
with offensive operations within and beyond.
Oh that the Gaza strip might tranquility know!
Oh that the blood in the West bank would cease to flow!
Oh that Israel would flourish and as a nation grow!
Oh that the warring factions would the seed of peace sow!
Oh that the two warring factions would merry and dance!
Oh that the two state solution was given a chance!
Work with me sisters lead a seance,
I can feel myself on both of my legs;
It may be hard but I must master this,
If I don’t fight I’ve given up on me;
I can feel myself on both of my legs,
stronger and smiling even brighter;
I’m a fireball and this is just a wall;
It may be hard but I must master this,
growth is never a flatland or simple;
I must become what I’m capable of;
If I don’t fight I’ve given up on me;
With the aid of all my confidantes,
you will see me as a comeback kid.
Driving across country give me that soul,
all the stars and stripes of freedom;
Rock n’ roll and a grill filled with charcoal,
so sweet American hum drum;
From mountains to sea to flatland country
we can explore what we want to;
Maples back up a palm tree symphony
the song of the red, white, and blue;
There is nothing about me you can tame,
you can try but you’ll always miss;
I will not forget I can change the game,
I was brought up on that promise;
Turn up the volume on the radio,
anywhere you want is where you can go.
The schooner
On the flatland between the vales, I could see the sea
I had walked uphill for a long time, after the downhill
and the way to the coast, it was easy, but it was
getting cold, I wore a light navy uniform (Furlough)
I saw a protest house of worship on its own no other
Houses nearby this place would do.
I fell asleep, awoke and heard organ music, the church
full of matelotes singing psalms; the paster spoke
of redemption and the glory of God.
I saw a superb sunrise continued my walk to the coast.
In the morning an open café, I told the girl behind the
counter, where I had slept, she looked confused as far
as she knew the church had been torn down, it was
built of planks when of a schooner ran aground with
the loss of all hands.
My Serengeti
I have neglected to visit my “Africa”, the flatland between
two hills that appear like a young mother`s breasts.
I know the trees and bushes, used to drive there to say hello.
Time changes I have no motorbike.
On the road driving to the shop, I can see the valley, yellow digger
And blue tractors near the wadi where I once saw a brown crocodile
waiting for rain.
Once I saw a tiger leisurely walking across the lane.
A hyena laughed and said it was not here.
They are building a new Algarve type village with swimming pools
and an ambitious golf course.
But not for you and me.
No, I will not look at how work progress let my dream be intact.
But I do wish a tsunami would come and wash it all away.
Alas, nothing stays the same like the olive tree at the entrance of my driveway.
I have lost my kaleidoscope
The forest we planted
In the flatland of western Norway
where the wind has no hesitation rolling sheep into a woolly ball
horses turned their rump to the wind hung their heads
Refusing to plough, something had to be done.
Trees were planted and to our surprise survived but crooked and
strong because the soil was fertile.
When the trees grew strong the shielded fields, the land was plough-able
again and no chicken was carried away by the wind
except for ducklings but as we know, they are brainless.
People began erecting small cabins in the woods it was not legal
but the moist hands of the law lived in the towns, and there was a beach
nearby so white it blinded you.
When the law, awoke from the task of checking driving licenses,
they came but could do little except given the cabins a permit which was a bonus for the middle -classes who bought the cottages.
Got permission to build them more significant with white painted fences property
is essential, and gates were set up, no authorized people here,
this proves that money takes preference.
Straight moves the locomotive train miles
Traveling over desert flatland forging ahead,
Coal steam engine Number 9 chug, chug, chug,
Sound waves rolls through, satisfying sensation is said.
Locomotive whistle sounds station steam rolling in,
Little one hears repeats ‘choo-choo’ rolls to stop,
All aboard! Rolls locomotion moving, snack on tasty
Peanut brittle, readying for dining car delicious hop.
Mom holds little son on her lap, with sounds
Cowboys and Indians along the train,
Surprise action wonder, heard of Hereford
Beef cattle is west trademark railroad vein.
Character western attitude locomotive fun
How the west was won whistle-stop rustic town,
Gold payload brought on of family and cousin
Forge ahead, chug along, Heaven brings us together joyous sound.
Mean Machine
The locomotive was an old mean machine
only used for carrying gods at local stations along
boring flatland. Once it had been a young and
the President of Portugal rode on it, not only him
but many other high up all the way to Lisbon.
And now? It wanted to go hiding somewhere dark,
but where does one conceal an iron horse?
The train passed near the parking lot in Faro
I was out with my dog, and there I could let her
run free. There was a hole in the fence were
the tracks. Naturally, she jumped through.
She saw the train that seemed to speed up
with murderous intent when she jumped clear it
was too late. I had her buried and the following
days were long and full of sadness.
Bloodthirstiness of ink's wickedness,
ruthlessly dripped upon parchment
blistering an already screeching sun,
no footprints apparently left in sand as
oceans's bluffs turned oases to flatland,
there was no urgency for brutal honesty
aside factually, it unquestionably delivers
To resist the op(press)ion
of the two (dement)sional flatland world of glossy magazines,
I have (ob)seen women
Mutilate their forearms with deep(er) strokes of a razor
So that they may prove with their b(lo)ody
To themselves and their (conf)users
That their image (has depth)
Has depth (their image
Has depth)
Clear blue bliss calmly gazing in tinted hazy summer charm,
Cars are moving, music playing.
Sudden dim, turns into shade the flatland horizon in fear I gaze
the wall of death that chaos unknown, mothers nature's touch
Well known.
The cold breeze shunt my view at hand
The recipe is right, when your in this land.
this honey-trap, this leap of faith has left these towns with much at stake
That twisted column of water and dust, of building, of people
Much loved in much trust.
these mobile beacons of unknown reason silhouette the sketch of death.
In it's path those temples of humanity, those monuments of duty passed,
sitting like a anchor of hope in the path of the giants choke.
The innocence of nature has executed it's instinct and shown reminder of
mankind's weakness.
And all is gone by a funnel of ash, siren ringing aloud in terror
Destruction ended....here comes another.
On the bleak street
not a blade of grass,
only dust
from the lorries,
the cement mixers.
A year later
I see a bud appearing,
by Autumn
this one golden blade
has grown tall.
The sound of a swishing oat seed
cheers me up
in grubby flatland.
The Love Affair
The road that leads to a smallish agricultural flatland has
two walls. One wall was built by a slob, just throwing
one stone on top of another.
The other wall was built by a craftsman where stones
fitted and he had used decorative and white painted
cement between them.
Every Sunday the meticulous man walks to his wall
and find great satisfaction to see his work again and
wishes the slob would rebuild his wall.
Every Sunday the layabout goes for a walk to,
first to the bar for a few beers with his mates; he walks
to the good man’s house and have sex with his wife.
Vanishing Line
In the two dimensional world of flatland life is a line
Distinguishing up from down is not the design of nature
Maneuvering left and right is possible
But not this time
Existence is of the straight and narrow realm
Excellence is defined in moving forward
Objects come and go without discernment
Vision of life is purely a blur of what is and what might become
As elements appear within that moment
Things pop in and out of sight from other world’s dimensions
Diagonalizing the matrix is not part of this equation or this discussion
Needs no explanation
It’s staying in this matter as a diversion just for reading pleasure
And because I said so and it sounds kinda cool
Someone from flat-land supports that view and said as much
Needs no permit from you
Who are from another dimension
The point is mute
So moving on
There is no sun and too few rules
In the dominion of two dimensions
Opinions vary on that point
There is no day
Things simply get in the way of understanding there
When going one way, which defines life in general
There is no light at the end of the tunnel
There is no tunnel
There is only straight ahead
Where abruptly all things end
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