Cafe London in Strzegom

“The Traveler”

November 25, 2010

A poem by Frank

There’s an old man who lives down my street

Who leads a very drab and boring existence

He’ll sit on his door step all the live long day

Watching all the passers-by for instance.

He seldom speaks, and never has any visitors

And with me he just exchanges daily pleasantries

When he is out and about in his garden

Tending to his plants or even pruning his trees.

Last week I plucked up the courage to ask him

To talk to me about his experiences, his life

Curiosity had finally got the better of me

I didn’t even know if he’d ever had a wife.

“Oh my you’re a nosey one,” was his initial reply,

But then I noticed his eyes glazing over fast

His lips formed a faintly ironic little smile

He was traveling backwards into his past.

“Son, I’ve lived long enough for two people,

For I am over a hundred years old,

This happens when you outlive those you know and love

The curse of a long life, if the truth be told.”

I was shocked and saddened by his frankness

And urged him to tell me about the places he’d seen

People he’d known, things he’d done,

His expression became sunny, a little younger and clean.

“I’ve seen the sun rise over Tokyo, in the land of the rising sun,

I crossed the jungles of Sumatra, stopped in Bangkok just for fun.

I watched sharks feeding off Bondi Beach, swam in the Dead Sea,

Struggled in the wastes of Antarctica, and sunbathed on Waikiki.

I once hunted lions in Africa, and once lived on board a whaler

Hunting Orcas off Newfoundland, though I was never a good sailor.

In New York I saw them erecting the Empire State Building

Watched cricket in England and even understood fielding.

I traveled the cattle trails of America, and Angel Falls in Venezuela

And once while in South Africa, I met and spoke to Nelson Mandela.

I visited Ayer’s Rock in Australia, Standing there like a big red dome,

And when I started to get old, I packed up and came back home.”

His face became sad, his lips formed a grimace

As a tear rolled slowly down his rugged cheek,

I felt guilty for pressing him so much

Me and my stupid curiosity, caused him pain,

He looked so old, so frail, so weak.

But then his expression lightened again

And he continued to speak.

“When I got back here, there was no one I knew left alive,

The whole place had become much busier, almost like a beehive.

So I just sit and watch as the world goes by, but I never forget

The experiences I had under a different sky.


“Glimpse into another world”

November 25, 2010

A poem by Frank

For Gerard and all the artists of the world

He sat there alone, staring into emptiness

Memories flooding his senses, accentuating his distress

Reflected in the water of the small pond

Was a glimpse into another world, of which he’d been so fond,

Two sisters playing in the yard, an image from the here after,

A golden sunny afternoon, full of innocent carefree laughter.

Bees buzzing around the daffodils, gathering pollen for their honey,

A gaily dressed little lepr...

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“The legend of the almond blossoms”

July 31, 2010

A poem by Frank Letras 14th July 2010. Based on the legend “lenda das amendoeiras”

Long ago and far away

In a kingdom to the west

Lived a handsome Moorish king

Who endeavoured to do his best.

He ruled a province strange to him

Though this he did not choose

To rule the land of the Al-garve

In the west of Al-Andaluz.

He was a fair and wise ruler

Ensuring his land was free of strife

The only thing missing said the courtiers

Was the presence of a wife.

And so it came to pass


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“Saltimbancos and Troubadors”

July 31, 2010

Stilt walkers and clowns

Approach as the circus tours

Ragtags in glad rags

Saltimbacos and troubadors.

Musicians from a bygone age

Poets of a different class

Fat ladies with beards

Stare at me as they pass.

History’s story tellers

Muscle bound town criers

Organ grinders and chimps

Handing out their fliers.

Carts carrying food

And wagons carrying stores

Stilt walkers and freaks

Saltimbancos and troubadors.

Ring masters in sequins

Trapeze artists and a unicorn


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“ Any Poet Worth his Salt”

July 24, 2010

“ Any Poet Worth his Salt”

A poem by Frank Letras, 24th July 2010


Any poet worth his salt,

Can bring emotions to a halt,

With a stroke of the pen.

Self critical, analytical, but only now and then.

A poet strives to make you laugh or cry,

Understanding the reasons why,

The readers feel as they do,

He writes, steady and true,

With only the briefest of pauses,

His effects preceding his causes,

And his mind in utter turbulence,

He paints without pretence,

And draws withou...

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If you could utter just one phrase

July 24, 2010

“If you could utter just one phrase”

A poem by Frank Letras 16th July 2010

Should the world end tomorrow

What on this Earth would you do?

Would you wallow in misery and sorrow?

Or leave a testament strong and true?

If you could utter just one phrase

That the whole world could hear

Would you start another craze?

Or fill humanity with fear?

If you could change the Earth

What would be your legacy?

Would you leave something of worth?

Or would it be lost to history?

Would your ...

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July 24, 2010


A poem by Frank Letras

23rd July 2010



If I could find but one word

That would put your mind at ease,

I wouldn’t hesitate to use it,

You wouldn’t have to say please.

If could find a way to say;

I know exactly how you feel’

I would stand in the pews and pray,

I wouldn’t even have to kneel.

Life can be cruel sometimes,

And leave us smothered in sorrow,

Permit me to use an old cliché,

‘You know there’s always tomorrow’.

When things seem at...

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Sock Dimension

July 24, 2010

“Sock Dimension”

A poem by Frank Letras, 20th July 2010

It’s a well known fact,

That there is another dimension,

Where socks and gloves disappear to,

Just to cause a bit of tension.

I’ve never done some laundry

When I didn’t lose a sock.

No matter how often this happens

It’s always a bit of a shock.

Every time I do the washing,

I always take great care,

But the result is always the same,

A sock without a pair.

And socks are not the only problem.

“What of gloves?...

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“The Streets of London”

October 26, 2009

In a city of six million souls

How can anyone be alone?

Come and walk a while with me

To see how this can be done.

I bet you thought this poem

Was the old song by Ralph Mctell

But these are the ‘new’ streets of London

My personal kind of hell.

The forgotten hero has died

A long long time ago

No one cared and no one cried

Everyone here’s on the go.

Old ladies still carry their homes

In two old carrier bags

But nobody pays them any mind

Now they’re just old hags.

The a...

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“Train Commute”

October 26, 2009

On the train everybody reads

Avoiding each others eyes

So there are no uncomfortable moments

Like those when somebody lies



Personal space is very closed these days

Papers music and a book

Bags, rucksacks and luggage

Don’t even get a second look



Everybody has headphones on

Or is sending some one a text

I look around me and wonder

What ever will come next



Nobody hears the announcer

As he says ‘the train terminates here’

So we all sit the...

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