Every morning in the long process
of waking up to a youthful day a stern voice tells me that I'm
four. In the bathroom the tap was
running I turned it off but it still
dripped 85 times before it stopped.
When fully awake I wasn't sure
whether I had been dreaming or not.
The day though was real it had been
raining during the night the air was
clear, birds did their turn and my
garden looked new.
I'm looking at two photos one of
myself, one my look alike. One is
smiling broadly hasn't got a care
in the world, the other is serious
has long ears that listen to what
others say in the next room, but
which one am I?
There are four Saddam Hussein's
I read in a newspaper not famed
for being up market, no one knows
which is the real one, perhaps not
even himself. What will the new
warlords of Iraq do if they catch
all four of them alive?
My suitcase is packed the harbour pilot
is onboard and the ship will dock in
an hour or so. When custom officers
have done their duty I'm free to go
ashore and not look back to a life that
has become a burden now that I'm old.
I feel sad and know that I shall miss
the Caribbean Sea, nowhere else is
the sunset more captivating and I will
be a prisoner of a longing it stirred in
me and restless dream of a time not
retold but hidden as a jewel in my heart.
When I'm with you there is no peace
I'm tossed about in the choppy sea
of your ceaseless talk, and your abrupt
change of moods is like the shifting
wind that makes treacherous sailing near
a coast fraught with underwater reefs.
When not with you I'm becalmed and
drift abjectly in an ocean of boredom.
There are those who call this love, but
I rather think that I'm addicted to your
For The Love Of
The Greek coast guard arrested me off
the coast of Athens for frolicking with
a dolphin. The harbour master said my
behavior was a sin against god, but he
was wrong our love was innocent and
pure. The animal rights activists would
hear none of it said that I had exploited
a dolphin's good-natured trust in man.
In a sealed wagon that reeked of dried
codfish I was sent back to Norway
where sneering editors wrote and said
I had brought shame on their country.
The immigration refused to hand over
my passport so that I could seek milder,
friendlier shores. With a frostbitten soul
I walk in Oslo's slushy streets, my heart
pines for the love of a sweet dolphin