The Italian language
I would like to immigrate from Portugal to Italy
After ten o'clock at night, I switch on the TV
and watch an Italian soap opera
I don't understand a word of what the actors
say, but it is the way they say it, no hard
Consonant, no one is asked to stand to attention
For a comma, a full stop is a mere bagatelle
Not understanding what actors say is not
important, it is about facial expression and screams
So many pleasant surprises, last night's program
about a man who looked scruffy, he looked like
an evil character, but as it turned out, he is a police
inspector and arrested the man who looked like
matinee idol for the murder of the girl
All this happened in a modulated language where
crass consonants, dare not enter
Another hallowed arrow from his quivers
One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers
Coursing down your spine like rivers
Fine line..never dithers as slivers
Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers
Tipples tickle our livers
The latest tropes of how
Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow
Postman Pat delivers
Matinee idol looks tease
Record books hooks please
Finds batters crannies &
Nooks with such ease
Impeccable length…metronomic
Chin music chagrin
Such strength..astronomic
Gift of getting the ball to lift
Chronic bounce…hedonic
With his swag bag of quicks tricks
Name on the adored hall of fame
Lords boards with six..another Cummins elite fix
Beat Bob Willis’s record tome of the best
Test figures for a captain at cricket’s home..
Yep..yet another done like a kipper
By this chipper ripper skipper
Who’s not found wanting
His chiselled jaw..up there for sure
With the mean hardcore
Ponting or Waugh
As the best Test baggie green
Top draw Captain (not woke...just a better bloke) seen on screen
Or that’s maybe ever been
My way (edited)
the three famous tenors sang, MY-Way
the fat one died, and the two others
hates each other
never appear in public together
One looks like an aging matinee idol
the other
suffers from being mobbed at school, looks
scared, has nightmares, and often takes to tears
I still like Frank Sinatra's version looks
relaxed, sings with clear diction
like a man going home after a night in a bar
Alas, he is also dead
My- Way is about human hubris,
we think we are masters of our destiny
but we blow along
where the wind, like autumn, leaves on an asphalt
of fortune takes us.
Thinking back (can afford to)
I never got a thing
my way just as good, I could not handle winning
the highest price, it would make me feel absurd
Yet, I dance tango in Buenos Aires
54 years ago, the applause still rings,
in my ears
(Montgomery Clift was almost 40 years old
when he appeared in "The Misfits". Four
years earlier, he had badly damaged his
face in a car accident, symbolically ending
his matinee idol status. By this picture,
he was confused and abusing alcohol and
drugs. He died six years later, without
completing another major picture.)
The Longest Suicide
My face is fine. It's all healed up.
Nothing's important now.
But what is Tusker's game,
with this mother stuff?
He's asking me to do Freud
on his next one. Absolutely not!
Miller's losing it. And badly.
Pushing rewrites in her face,
on her case, catching her eye.
Then he wonders why.
She's a child. Don't chase her.
Don't buzz around. Just stand still.
Children come for love.
The old boy - he's the man.
He's something I can't understand.
A matinee idol is nothing
when he's got no youth.
I ought to know.
But somehow, this fellow's got truth.
He doesn't fake it, he just is.
I can't memorise this. Go.
Just leave me alone.
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