Long Man about town Poems
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I'm checking the post daily
Can't tell you how exciting this is for me
Since I called the 1-800 number
From that mail order magazine
While one day sitting at the dentist
I picked up said magazine
A full page ad which made me gasp
A colorful array of personalities
I've never really had much of one on my own
So I ordered a couple dozen
Sitting here anxious for my order
And so far I've seen nothing
I'm wearing a path to the mailbox
It should have been here by now
When it does arrive I'm first taking out Impatient
Then placing a call to tell them about themselves
I hope I remembered to order one Romantic
Cause I'd sure like to impress Mary Lou
As it now stands I feel less a man
Around her I don't know what to say or do
Imagine my surprise when the box finally arrives!
I open it up with a slight giggle
Just like that the personalities fall into my lap
For a moment I felt just like Sybil
Lets see there's one that's Strong, one that's Flirty, one that's Shy, one that's Quirky
One that looks like it's Mighty Proud
A personality that's Fun, Debonair, a Serious one
All I know is I want to try them all out
These days when you see me around...AKA "The Man About Town"
The one that has the large following of friends
Everyone loves the tales that I tell, now that I tell them so well
The way I weave them from beginning to end
They all want to hang out with me, there's something special they see
Looks like I've come out of my shell
Now I don't think twice as I jump into life
Since things have been going so well
And all those personalities I own, I now leave those all home...
I keep the box locked high up on a shelf
I found the best personality I have is the one I was born with
And that people tend to like me for myself
He sat, open shirt, milking the good from the last
few drops of that hot beer.
Waiting on a three legged bar stool
for something to develop, but nothing was near.
A bead of sweat rolled down ever so slowly
past his navel, an outie, he hated that.
It traversed a most beautiful six pack to rest
before sliding under blue jeans hiding no fat.
She licked her curvaceous lips unknowingly.
Just wanting to relax from the night before,
she stared blankly ahead at a drop of sweat.
As it stopped, and curved, and moved, she swore.
Something moved him, he knew not what.
Coming back down to earth, he slowly looked about.
She was no more than four feet away.
So surprised was he, his first thought was a way out.
Silently laughing to herself, the first round was hers.
She could afford to let him win one or two,
to let him think he was the man about town,
before she scored the coup.
They played cat and mouse for the rest of the night.
It was steamy. Summer love developed in spite of all.
Continuing far past summer and even grad school.
Far reaching into the depths of everlasting soul.
He sat, open shirt, milking the good from the last
few drops of that hot beer.
A drop of sweat rolled ever so slowly down and
over that horrendous exposed sphere.
She licked her curvaceous lips unknowingly.
Still loving that fat, jelly belly who adored her.
Still playing cat and mouse with her hon.
Easier now, for him to recognize the purr.
© Jul 12 2010 for Linda’s "Steamy Love" contest
Club nocturnal
In Bilbao, on a warm evening, he walked past a nightclub
walked in and had a beer; he could have gone to
a Guggenheim Museum and be culturally minded, absorb
and mention it later in a passing conversation, “the other
day at the Guggenheim.”
At the club, a group of people sat drinking affluent bubbly
wine, thinking it was champagne, the group laughed a lot
and apparently had a fine time, although, he thought they
were a bit frenzied about the fun
The people around the table didn’t look prosperous and
the women looked like office tarts, with too much lipstick and
mascara, flashing eyes and giggles.
He knew (had been there) that the one footing the bill
would feel dreadful in the morning, sensing the futility
an ice cap on sagging shoulders of hopelessness.
No, it was not the drinking, real drinkers do not frequent
nightclubs, but drinking at modest places, was about feeling swanky
a man about town.
He paid for his beer and complained about the price
the waiter pointed to a pricelist hanging high on a wall, so there!
Along the boulevard, he bought newspapers went to a café,
had some wine and spent hours enjoying himself.
Young Again***
The true story tells of a boy
Whose near-death experience
Took him on a tour of heaven.
The movie trailer shows the boy
Unable to recognize a photo of his
Elderly, deceased grandfather...
Until he sees a photo of grandpa as
A young man-about-town of which
The boy says, “Oh, I everyone
Is young in heaven!” And,
Like most, I felt joy at the idea —
Mostly the idea of joint pain relief
To be found in a heavenly re-gained
youth;
But then, I got to thinking:
How young is young-again in
heaven?
Perhaps, one should be old enough
To read or use a telescope?
Do our souls become legal at 21?
Is 40 too old to let me reunite
With my husband for eternity?
What of the souls who did not
Find their love for Jesus until 60?
Is the peak of life definable by age?
Is it the distance or the depth
Of the soul that is sought? And,
When is the how that is measured?
Is 33 our cut-off? I think that is
When I began real life kindergarten.
———————————————————————
(C) sally young eslinger 4/21
He sure enjoys
his life of Reilly;
lavishly living it up!
A globe-trotter.
A man-about-town.
He's a big hit
with the ladies,
and he doesn't mind
all the attention.
He's a big spender.
Did I mention
he's got style, too?
An unlit Cuban cigar
is always seen dangling
from his mouth.
He's not a smoker,
it's for the look.
He's fashion-savvy,
collecting Rolex watches,
ray ban sunglasses,
fedora hats,
and Versace suits.
He loves his cars
costly and fast;
a Porsche here,
a Lamborghini there
On weekends,
he sets sail
on his fancy yacht,
flying high
on his private jet.
He kills time
on the golf course
hitting the links
with millionaire friends,
throwing parties,
and showing off
his trophy wife
His escargot dinners
are always served
on high-end china.
He swigs champagne
from crystal.
Oh, what a life!
(Free Verse)
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(20) any theme any form contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written and posted: 01/06/2019
date: Feb 15, 2017
Always the same little hash joint.
For lunch, the identical dish -
in Kremzer's, on Mott and Delancey,
potatoes and yiddisher fish.
His real name was Julius Henry,
but "Groucho" is how he was known.
His whim was to lunch in the corner,
unsmiling, unnoticed, alone.
So in comes a true-born impresser,
a back-slapping man about town.
He's towing some Princeton professor,
and eyeballs the vaudeville clown.
Finagling faux introductions,
the forte of showbusiness sharks:
he'll astonish the ecrivain manque ...
"I'll get you an entree with Marx!"
He gives it the big how's-it-going,
the Princeton prick shuffles his feet.
But Groucho, unseeing, unknowing,
uncaring, continues to eat.
"This man wrote 'The Vanderbilts', damn it!"
(incipient panic attack).
Without looking up, answers Groucho,
"The Vanderbilts - did they write back?"
Could it be? Not to sound too poetic
That I’m alone, unwanted and pathetic
Well if we sum all the facts in our hand
Then we may find near the answer we’ll land
Well I am as we speak writing poetry
Something that should be left to Pete Doherty
Or maybe a libertine of days gone by
For they understood romance would not die
Could it be? Was the question asked
Thus my self worth is diminishing fast
You see I feel a shadow of my forma
And I’ll try see if I can inform ya
My phone rarely bleeps or dose shudder
For my life has seen much more colour
It was much more red, yellow, green too
If I’m honest now it’s much more blue
They used to say I was “man about town”
Always a wink, a smile. No frown
The tail is classic, once a light burning bright
And now it has faded I give up the fight
Hang on! Bleep, bleep check inbox
Reads: Phil get to the party tonight rocks.
"An Apple Thought Rotten"
Trailing away from a path all to common
for the soul of this man about town
goes the way of the heart of an apple thought rotten
without so much as a sound.
Now all alone I reflect in a hush
not knowing whether I am happy or sad.
I am taking my time. Why should I rush?
There is still so much life to be had.
Once stuck in a world of limited ideals
always caring what others might say,
both Heaven and Hell right at my heals,
I finally got out of the way.
Though the path I have chosen has been rough and less traveled,
it has seldom been lonely or blue.
Some drink and some drugs I'll admit I have dabbled,
but good God I've had fun....Have you?
So as I stray from the path the common folk take
and your apalled at what you might see.
Remember my life is the one that I made
and I'm at the least....100 and 10% me.
The Rebellion of the Shadows
By Elton Camp
Shadows show the actual shape
Silhouettes that the person ape
For the elderly, defects duplicated
That advancing years have created
Stooped, lame, walking with a cane
Harsh realities to bring them pain
Shadows decided to rebel
What was once there to tell
Old lady dancing with glee
Letting all the onlookers see
Youthful beauty and grace
Instead of a wrinkled face
Old man in youthful days
With his talents did amaze
A real man about town was he
Just as exuberant as could be
Thus, the shadows could reveal
What the passing years did steal
Their bold revolt lasted only a day
Shadows reverted to the former way
White painted face
red lips of expression
face representing emotion,
infinite humor but poetry
behind every motion.
A youthful curiosity,
sparking imaginaton of it's occupancy.
A man behind the make-up
stoik and unaware,
from loneliness depression releases anger from drunken
confrontations and swears,
he's scared.
Only freedom is behind someone
elses character but feeling more
himself as if he
transformed into a new form.
Depression subsides,
joy and pleasure of
entertaining others for smiles,
his dedication
and all other problems are reconciled
Under his domain
not a man about town,
that's why they gave him the name,
a clown.