I put up walls – a poem

The walls erected,
defending me
to the cruelty of life,
it’s unforgiving character.

They come tumbling down,
completely overrun,
the end of my fun
and deep belief of safety.

I don’t dream anymore.
Slavery has nestled in my mind,
I turn blind,
I don’t have hopes.

The captors laugh it of,
one more innocent to humiliate,
sins that inflate,
I prey to my God it’s not too late.&

Group of sparrows

You’ll always have the dominant ones,
highest in the pecking order.
Eating first,
chasing away competition.
It’s the law of nature,
strength gives right to many things.
The females are impregnated with seed many times,
not knowing from who will be the hatch-lings.
It’s a hard, unforgiving world,
devoid of mercy.
They need food and water,
even in times of major drought.
That’s why they are always in a hurry,
they have to cater to their needs,
there meal isn’t store-bought.


So the desert rats crawled from under their rocks,
sending shocks
trough the civilized world.
No future anymore for a woman to behold,
the freedom was short-lived.
Maybe we could have them sniffed,
out like a candle.
If we leave the governing to them,
they’ll make a mess of it;
The real question is when,
and how many people are going to end up in shit.
Food prices exploding,
jobs hard to find.
The system is imploding,
that can even see a blind.
Nobody acknowledges them as true rulers,
aid stays put,
a bunch of foolers,
making us believe their evil operation is shut.

Sleeping peaceful – a poem

Snoring peaceful in your embrace,
feeling the delicate lace
of your underwear,
I swear, it’s heaven.
Every night is when,
I do get to visit it.
The place makes me horny as shit.
But the tiredness envelopes my body,
making me see,
you are in bed with me
to rest, honey.
I nestle myself under your arm,
smelling your perfume.
We keeping each other warm,
the night singing a romantic tune.

Wine and dine – a poem

We chose to wine and dine,
in that little bar where we met.
We were getting in line,
waiting for our table to get set.
Nobody thought of reservations,
life and it’s serious complications.
We were young,
in love with each other deeply.
We have way to our emotions freely.
You laughed at my silly joke,
I rescued you when the hamburger made you choke.
We were there for each other,
it’s a wonder this place is still here.
After fifty years I hardly did even bother,
but what are fifty years mere,
just some random number,
awakened from our slumber
of marital bliss.
With a kiss we wake up to this.

Abbey – a poem

The age old abbey was threatened,
by the vegetation drying up.
The cows seek in vain for some grass to eat.
Even water to give to the animals to drink grew scarce.
Wars would be fought over water,
plunging the world in an ever darker hole.
But the abbot prayed for a miracle,
“make it rain, dear Lord.”
Then came the heatwave which lasted a couple of weeks.
Records were broken,
cattle died.
There are seven prosperous years and seven poor ones, the bible teaches us.
we have had the prosperous already.

President of the society – a poem

She was only made president of the society,
because she couldn’t whistle with her toes.
She loved to held speeches,
everybody got bored
tried to caught a nap.
Her cakes she baked for the annual event were crap,
nobody wanted the position.
Too much responsibility and hard work.
The people attending barely knew how to use a fork.
So, she was voted president,
for her it was a present.
But it was just an empty box with cheap wrapping paper.

A sample of your love – a poem

It’s just something I can’t get enough of,
the sample of your love.
You taking care of the turmoil in my soul,
making me whole.
It can’t be it’s just coincidence,
I see the tears condense.
When I am crying on your shoulder,
you make me push that boulder
upon that steep hill,
love me you always will.
I am so glad we have met
and wed,
I’ll like to spent the rest of my life with you,
a magic spell
that no one can undo.

Divorce – a poem

I didn’t mean to leave you,
the woman that I screw,
She is just entertainment.
It doesn’t mean anything,
just a way to release stress.
Please don’t take the children; you’ll soften them up.
They’ll get as brittle as a teacup.
I’ll pay alimony, but I want something in return.
Weekly visits, just having fun.
Don’t listen to your attorney.
That fat pig is an atrocity.
If you ignore my letters,
I’ll settle the affairs in my own way.
It will be perfect for none of us,
but the die is cast.
Without delay, without making a fuzz,
I’ll outlast you such.

Firm belief – a poem

We had to reassure the firm,
we were successful employees.
Entitled to bonuses.
Nobody came close at the figures we were making,
like acid on a steel plate,
we eroded the opposition
to the idea of something new.
If we want you to go out and by a smartphone,
we will force you to.
The old ones won’t be updated anymore,
soon they’ll be parts of ancient lore.
A new Windows arrives on you computer,
nobody asked for it,
we don’t give a shit.
We are sellers of scams,
of distorted dreams.
Constantly maxing out your credit card,
sending the collecting agencies to your doorstep.
Yes we are the pick of the crop,
people with a firm belief in the American Dream.

Moody – a poem

The truth was I wasn’t in the best of moods,
something broods in the back of my skull.
My relationship was on the ropes,
prepared to be knocked out.
You can maintain your hopes,
shout out to clean the opponents clock.
But eventually it has to stop,
all resistance should be made to drop.
I have it my all,
it wasn’t good enough.
We had a ball,
we had it rough.
We laughed,
we cried.
Someone coughed,
we caught each other’s virus
luckily nobody died.
We can’t cut the dog in two,
I’ll miss him.
It will be lonely without you,
makes my desire to swim,
and drown in an endless pool
just dying too on a whim without losing my cool.

Revenge- a poem

We are sharks,
the leaders in internet advertisement.
we cause resentment and a couple of larks.
We flock the sheep,
making them leap in ever bigger debt.
We are enthusiastic entrepreneurs,
living for the world’s grandeur’s.
Dining in a expensive restaurant,
with a waiting list as big as my fist.
Hanging with beautiful, unintelligent women,
go powdering there nose with that white stuff.
Protecting our semen,
taking a little snuff just for kicks,
kicking her out before breakfast.
And then he comes along,
a man lean and strong.
He says that the game is finished,
I felt my strength diminished.
He pulled out a gun,
shot me trough the head.
He had his moment of fun,
and I joined the legion of the dead.

Don’t – a poem

Don’t step on the broken glass,
you really made a mess.
Infuriated by alcohol,
you lost control.
It’s the new way of life,
constant turmoil,
beating up your wife.
Feeling like a real man,
the man with the plan.
It’s all just one big scam.
You drown your sorrows,
live like there are no tomorrows,
without any worries,
no hurries.
Relax in the bar,
letting it slip out of your grasp, going to far.
And then you will end up all alone,
with many sins to atone.
A busted liver,
and at last death to deliver,
the tombstone.

The wrong approach – a poem

On our freedom they encroach,
with tanks and ballistic missiles.
We are the exiles,
fleeing for our lives.
Because they mean so little for the enemy.
We sent our children and wives to other countries.
Take up arms to remedy,
the act of war beset upon us, never ending hostilities.
And if the last pint of blood is spilled,
the last innocent is killed,
people will come with crayons,
trillions of them,
to redraw the boundaries.
And say this is peace.

Big man – a poem

He was a financial specialist,
the guy companies in debt hire in.
He got frequent flyer miles,
was a tourist to the world.
He didn’t care about where he was born.
This cosmopolitan,
the world his oyster to pick clean.
And their were the girls to banish the loneliness,
he had rough sex.
Every five star hotel,
served him well.
That’s why nobody understood,
why they found him hanged in his room.
Maybe he saw past the illusions,
not the perfect life.
But an existence on the run,
for himself.
He could have bought a gun,
but rope was cheaper.
He minded his money till the bitter end.

Till the end – a poem

Let’s all cash in,
wicked from sin.
We go for a sure win,
the cheapest price,
food for the wise.
Commercials want us too,
consuming the best we can do.
To fill the void in our lives,
order by capitalism
but they still sell knifes.
Seeing life through a prism,
no clear view of the effect,
the golden calf we erect,
while the flood is coming.
Nobody is caring,
after us the deluge.
Our grandchildren will have to seek refuge.
But we will be resting in our cold grave,
we have witnessed the first wave.
The last of our species,
shall see increases
in calamities
fatalities that are under way.
This world will fall to decay,
but within two hundred years,
after the final footprint of homo sapiens is set,
nature will thrive without regret.
That will be the end to all our fears.

Staircase to heaven – a poem

Glittering light,
pouring delight.
The end of the night,
no more fright.

While I descend the stairs,
how well it fairs,
sorrow left behind,
the darkness around me blind.

It won’t catch me,
I am free,
I have lived for thee,
the moment has come to ascend.

I won’t relent,
the travel is long,
but it’s the place where I belong.
A virtuous life indeed.

I lived by my creed,
I helped people in need,
let free out of this earthly cage.
It’s the final stage.

Tiny village

She always loved the countryside,
living in a tiny village
a long ride,
no great city to pillage.
But she noticed she was met as a stranger,
the constant nosing about of neighbors fed her anger.
One day she exploded,
is privacy over here so eroded,
you can’t have a minute to yourself?
Honey, put that idea on a shelf,
in these parts nothing stays hidden.
The wife said winking:’we now this night you have had the bed ridden.’
next week the moving van appeared,
they craved the anonymity of the city they had always feared.

Zombie Apocalypse – a poem

It had been sixteen days the zombies first attacked,
the place had been ransacked.
The numbered in the thousand already,
the plague was deadly.
People where shred to pieces,
I lost both my nieces.
Litter covered the abandoned streets,
humanity had accepted lot’s of defeats.
But none so final as this one,
they were working on a vaccine in bunkers,
they were the stars now, to a normal world one hunkers.
But time was running out,
the growling and moaning became loud.
Rifle fire more rare,
they send me out on a dare.
The food supply needed to be replenished.
Two miles through hostile terrain,
to a shopping mall probably plundered.
My duty couldn’t be relinquished,
I moved fast like a train,
the zombies numbered in the hundred.
I evaded them,
but at the store it was mayhem.
Some people had decided to make their last stand,
gun in hand firing away.
I joined in the fray.
Firing my semi automatic.
Things became frantic.
Eventually a small pack was scared off,
there were preys enough.
I found in the mall just one pack of moldy cheese,
and a carton of sour milk.
They thanked me and I left in peace.
I dreamed of a cozy bed made up with silk.
All to drown out the fury my friends would show,
spirits were already low.
Maybe we got food poisoning,
that would make us go a couple of days without food.
Rationing would be senseless,
my fellow companions were a bunch that were up to no good.

Lecture – a poem

The lecture about the dangers of smoking,
about people croaking
from a cancerous tumor,
was brought with zero humor.
In an old, moldy, cold auditorium,
where you could catch a pneumonia.
The lecturer lighted a cigarette during recess,
a hypocrite, I must confess.
It’s so hard to quit he said in his defense,
don’t go around talking about it then I mumbled to his offense.

Sitting – a poem

Sitting is the new smoking, I read.
It made me sad,
because it is my favorite pass time.
I wouldn’t budge for a bottle of whine,
and I am an alcoholic,
it’s all nice to be active and frolic.
But it all just gets you sweat,
a quick-beating heart.
Movement I dread,
from the very start.
Madam, your child is fat.
But, doctor, he is eating like a cat.
Well, then he must catch an awful lot of mouses.
My mother left in anger, you know how that goes with overprotective spouses.
I read another thing. We all gave a limited supply of oxygen.
It made me sing, being lazy was very healthy then.
And all that time my veins got clogged up,
belly grew to enormous size,
I continued to fill to the brim with sugar my teacup,
I got head lice,
but I did let hem fester,
I wouldn’t seek treatment, doctors that would pester me,
to get in shape, wanted a sports subscription to see.
I died at 48, a nice age,
life is nothing as being trapped in a meaty cage.

Manifesto – a poem

He had written it,
live by it he did.
A manifesto,
telling what to do.
He was strictly vegan,
remained in the same region
travel was out of the question,
flying just pollution.
He wore long, uncut hair,
the beard formed with it a pair.
He didn’t held jobs,
those things where for bourgeois snobs.
He would take his guitar and sing songs,
on the street corner he said he belongs.
People would pay him to stop to play,
in the evening he was on his way
to the pub,
having himself a beer or ten.
When the booze hit him with a club,
he staggered out,
about eleven o’ clock,
he slept in a cardboard box on the dock.

Pretty in pink – a poem

She was one of these girls that wanted to live in a pink house.
All colors had to be pink according to his spouse.
She did a job to arouse,
so he couldn’t refuse.
After him the deluge,
who cares which freaking color his house had.
The reactions of his neighbors turned him mad.
They snickered and whispered,
saying he was properly whipped.
It was jealousy,
his wife was drop-dead gorgeous, a fallacy to a regular Joe,
he decided they had to go.
Life in the city would be better,
she didn’t budge,
he wrote her a letter.
Have her a gentle nudge,
about respecting his feelings.
After that he was more careful with his dealings,
the opposite sex,
it reminded him of his pink-loving ex.

The house of dastardly Tom – a poem

Tom was a villain,
evil not to describe with a pen.
He sold his wife to the highest bidder,
lost it all to the poker’s game winner.
He shot him dead.
He proud himself he was well-read,
but I never saw him form a coherent sentence,
as for prison,
he was a welcome son
going in and out,
taken back in for a drunken bout.
He couldn’t stay out of trouble,
prison time would double.
The strike three rule didn’t apply,
not that he was aware of it,
most of the time he was high.
Age tempered him a bit,
then the shit got hit by a fan.
In an unmarked van,
he decided to kidnap the presidents daughter.
I still here his insane laughter.
The score of a lifetime, brother.
You won’t make it, just don’t bother.
They showed his bullet-riddled corpse,
and that’s how I inherited Tom’s house and working horse.
I tried to make something of the farm,
it became a tradition I polished Tom’s firearm
waiting for his return.
Not getting the clue he was in hell to burn.