Wednesday, 25 March 2015

The question


The question
Was nailed
To the tree.

The leaves trembled.

And the fox
Ran
Out of its hole.










Saturday, 21 March 2015

Don't believe anything you read . . .


"Don't believe anything you read on the Internet just because there is a photo next to it."

Abraham Lincoln



Monday, 16 March 2015

Crusty or thin?



the peace prize

pizza with added olives noir
   after the selfie
   sprinkled with drones




Saturday, 14 March 2015

Folkshilfe - Who you are



Yesterday evening as we watched (on TV) the Austrian public, assisted by a smattering of European juries,  choose their entry for the Eurovision Song Contest 2015 we had more evidence, as if we needed it,  that some of the best entries in this contest often fail to win.

And so Folkshilfe will  not be representing Austria in the Eurovision Song Contest Final 2015. 


The boys must not be discouraged by the fact that only one European jury gave them maximum points.


On the contrary they should be consoled and encouraged because of the fact that it was a British jury which awarded the maximum points.

Brits know a good number as soon as they hear one.  I too awarded my twelve points to Folkshilfe via the phone-in. 

Boys be Who you are.


Friday, 13 March 2015

Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale (Caput IV)


Caput IV . . . draft in free translation

Late in the evening I came to Cologne,
I could hear the sound of the river,
And when I sensed the breeze from the Rhine,
I was suddenly swayed by its power -

To sharpen my jaded appetite. On a
Bacon omelette I then did dine,
But it tasted too much of salt, therfore
I ordered a carafe of Rheinwein.

The Rheinwein gleamed as it always does,
Like gold in its green Roman glass,
But if one should drink a second carafe
In the nose a prickling will come to pass.

Within the nose a tingling so sweet,
One cannot believe its delights!
To the echoing streets I drag myself out
And into the gloom of the night.

How strange the stony buildings look,
As if they could tell to me
The legends of bygone times, of
This holy city's history.

Long ago there were clerics
Full of tricks and dark secrets,
For men of darkness ruled here
As Ulrich von Hutten describes.

The cancan of the Middle Ages
Was danced here by the nuns
And monks;  and here too were
Poisonous denunciations.

Flames of the pyres licked books,
Devoured people betrayed;
Bells rang loudly and long,
And around them the Kyrie was prayed. 

Cruelty and folly were promiscuous too,
Those dogs running free and roaming;
Their descendants you can still see today,
You can see their religious loathing.

But look! up there in the moonlight,
The colossal unholy accomplice.
Upwardly towering, dark and condemned,
The Cathedral of Cologne, there it is.










(to be revised and continued . . . )