I hurry blindly along the wall,
Feel in the dark, grasp, stumble, and fall.
The bird flies into window glass.
I circle in restless search. I’m so
Tired, but there is a door, I know,
And through it I’ll dance onto the grass.
Libertango is a tango by Astor Piazzolla.
(A hullabaloo in hotel Astor)
My wife was flat-chested I named her Monotony
Went to the hotel Astor with friend Polyphony
Polyphony was a singer
Strung up a stringer-a swinger
A hullabaloo with Polyphony's symphony
A hullabaloo in hotel Astor: Limerick©RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
14 November, 2014 Silchar, Assam, India
Monday Morning
When I opened the kitchen door the fridge
had an attack of the shakes then feel into
dejected stillness which bayed in my ears.
To break this force of nothingness I spoke
and sounded like a wounded duck and
the beer bottle held in a clammy hand fell
with a foamy splash on the floor; wordless
fear. Why me?
The fridge rattled again but there was
nothing of worth on its shelves other than
bacon, eggs, cheese. Stop, I feel sick.
Turned on the tap and fat maggots dripped
into my glass, that too ended on the floor;
fled, outside people starred at me because
I was dressed in a red bathrobe with Hotel
Astor stamped on the back.
Copyright © Jan Oskar Hansen
Titanic Traveler
I’ve a job on the mighty Titanic
Rearranging the deck chairs each day
If I put them where rich people want them
I understand, they’ll gladly pay
And then I met John Jacob Astor
As he was descending the stairs
He asked me what I did on the Titanic
I said rearranging the chairs
He said I should have more ambition
A salesman, designer, mechanic
He said my job won’t get me no where
Rearranging chairs on the Titanic
But I had the last laugh, not Astor
My job is now known world wide
For I was the first one to have it
Worthless? No – I say with pride
Make fun of my job if you want to
No job, if done right, is a waste
When the lifeboats were full, even those with some pull
Didn’t find themselves better well placed
It mattered not where e’re I put them
No chairs from the boat have been found
Except for those I tied together
And floated on as it went down
Mdailey 3/31/12
Home, James
By Elton Camp
The usual hallmark of the one percent
Is that by chauffeured limo they went
If Astor, Rockefeller or Vanderbilt
You knew they were loaded to the hilt
When they were ready to leave the scene
They loaded into a waiting limousine
“Home, James,” is what they would say
It must be such fun to get to do that way
Limos now are nicer with different name
But those who ride in the back are the same
They have more money than they can spend
And only to other millionaires are they friend
I just wonder how much income tax they pay
Or if they get out of most of it by some way
President Obama seems to think they do
And, as far as I can know, it might be true
< Hey Vern !
This is Ernest P Worrell
Coming your way as
Auntie Nelda
Doctor Otto
Sgt. Glory
Baby Ernest
Astor Clement
Now doesn't that just bust yer bubble
Hey Vern !
Through The Fog
Read My Lips
Entry For
Deborah Guzzi's
Catch Phrase
GL All
Winter on Astor Street
The Gold Coast, Chicago
Beneath the canopy,
a doorman holds
a cast-iron door that lets
an ancient duchess issue.
Swathed in a silver gown
she tugs her sable cape
tight around a tumor
that nice young doctor
will announce tomorrow.
Donal Mahoney