A new nightclub opened up this week on kitty cat lane
the dismal alley and ugly parking lot will never be the same
the kitty cats there are gorgeous, they strut their stuff
I have been there six times already, it will never be enough
My relatives call, but my phone goes right to voice mail
I am busy watching the kitty cats climb up a pole said Dale
They have the sweetest expressions, and tails that swerve
Best of all, they have tiny waists and a marvelous curve.
My Way
I saw the three tenors sing “I did it my way,” mind, the fat one died,
and the two others hate each other and never appear in public if
They can avoid it. Of the two, one looks like an aging matinée idol
The other suffers from being mobbed at school and looks scared
has nightmares and takes to tears before going on stage.
I still like Frank Sinatra`s rendition of that song better; he sang
It was so relaxed with a clear diction, and made me think of a man
With six a pack ambling on his way home, he too is dead to
“My Way” is about human hubris; we believe we are masters of our
destiny when we are leaves blowing along a wet asphalt road
in the autumnal half-light.
Thinking back, I can afford to, I never got a thing my way, which, when
Young caused me bitterness, the highest prize eluded me, kismet knew
I could not handle illustriousness; it would have made me look absurd
a swaggering fool hated by colleagues, at the stage of life. Yet, when
dancing the tango at a nightclub in Buenos Aires, 54 years ago
The applause I received still rings sweetly in my ears.
The island of Gili Meno
is a best-kept secret, they say.
Where all the fashionistas go;
until it becomes a tad passé.
I read it in a glossy mag
while waiting for my root canal;
with where to go to see a stag;
the secret life of Marc Chagall.
Some other best-kept secrets were;
where you can buy THAT wedding dress,
or should you tip your dad’s chauffeur?
And are there monsters in Loch Ness?
I found an ‘unknown Cotswold pub’
the secret to a perfect pie’
a secret door to a nightclub’
and that it’s cool to grow bonsai.
That Lady X once dated HIM;
that he collects his navel fluff;
quite why that singer’s rather slim
(and she was photo’d in the buff!)
A best-kept-secret hideaway,
the booking details right below.
Where is the best all-day buffet,
in France they call their water eau.
Best-kept secrets are all around.
Shush, don’t let everybody know
exactly where it was you found
how to book that French chateau.
Brooding River
This winter saw a lot of rain in the river
Near the houses, it is still running clear and lucid
giving its soul to the ocean
On the old Roman Bridge, I asked the river to stop wasting
It's precious sweet water to the salty sea,
One cannot let thirsty horses drink brackish liquid
after having hauled a cart full of dead sheep
up to a mountain top,
offerings to a god that only exists in the mind of an
idiot savant.
The river hears me not; its job is to run dry during
the summer and when fall arrives, be reborn.
But beware of a river that has no fish
Those who haughtily laugh will be turned into frogs,
The banks are full of them.
Only a princess can make them into humans again.
But they will still have frog souls.
Alas, due to a hard time, the princess is a dancer in
A Spanish nightclub knows nothing about emails
And she is not on Facebook.
Because of the holiday the Lourve was closed.
Mary was impressed with the French pastry
that tasted just as good as it looked.
Horrible coffee, good chocolate & delicious thick soups.
Beautiful clothes with prohibitive prices.
We boarded the Albert Express for Switzerland
with a bottle of wine and a big bag of pastries.
Take me back to Paris, I can’t stand the fresh air and healthy people of Switzerland
Arrived in Lucerne with time to enjoy the fountains in all the squares —
they were boarded up a couple days later.
Delicious cheese fondue, murals painted on the old houses,
a quaint town for William Tell, with his bow and barefooted boy.
A Train from The Alps to Venice.
Train to Florence, Hotel Majestic,
whole city is an art Gallery.
Michelangelo square, mosaic jewelry, leather goods.
Flores Hotel in Rome, Vatican, Parthenon.
St. Paul without the walls, St. Peters in chains,
Nightclub tour of the city, Old Appian way,
Capuchin Church with all the bones...
I have bought in boutiques
on Carnaby street,
stopped in stores galore
on the Champs-Élysées,
shopped 'til I dropped
on Madison Avenue,
and, what's more,
I've been seen to arrive,
fashionably late, on Rodeo Drive,
but one thing I hate,
and doubt I'll see, or there'll ever be,
as there's not much call,
for a linear row of shops downtown,
in a small Möbius strip mall.
Tho' Johann B. Listing (1808 – 1882),
rediscovered the non-orientable surface first,
Mr. August F.Möbius (1790 – 1868)
published his findings earlier and, well-versed,
Euclidean geometry taught he,
while, his wife, Dorothea, danced provocatively,
in pole position, at a nightclub naughty,
and, where out at night, on a fun day trip,
paying punters paid to ogle and view,
the ever-arousing Mrs. Möbius strip.
Just one pint in a cosy warm pub
Keep us away from the family we love
Just one more pint - the evening won’t end
The time you have a laugh with a friend
Just one more pint, a pint between mates
Talking about all our trophies and mistakes
Just one more pint, A pint for the road.
We start talking about secrets we’ve been told
Just one more pint relaxed and unaware
Of people were talking about standing right there
Just one more pint - We’ll put the world to right
Standing up for what we don’t really care about all through the night.
Just one more pint although the evening is young
We may try a nightclub too old for this fun.
Just one more pint and then the stumble home
Fingers too fat to type on the phone
Just one more pint- then we’ll call it a night
Stumbling back with fast food in sight
A temporary obstruction
A quiet despair, in a few weeks, I will be very
old, do I tell lies to myself, saying, I dance well
When no one looks, but why do I remember
the Buenos Aires tango in a nightclub in
In 1957, she was in her forties, but with a sleek
body, I was seventeen, so beat that Macron
Then, in the morning, shots were fired, soldiers
thronged the deck of the ship and running about
in the streets, looking for traitors, the name
The dictator gave those who disagreed with
His fascist ideology
To think that much water has run into the ocean
Yet it happens again, a new authoritarian
regime in Washington
a dark time for America
but I know the Americans will rise and be
free again
I’m like a chameleon
I don’t mean to be
Happy when with you
but also happy with just me
My colors change to match
The seasons and the breeze
I’m down for whatever
Happy go lucky at peace
I’m easygoing until you know
I’m needed to be hard and cold
You may or may not be bold
Enough to see my inner child grow
I’ll play the game until the end
Bounce with joy no matter who wins
For I know we will continue to blend
Making new rules new game new sin
I admit I’m a naughty neon girl
Born again but stuck in the world
It’s more what I do in my mind
Not what you see if you are kind
If I really was a truly free soul
I’d pawn my body and heart of gold
And become a body-less being
A Cupid of sorts with love so freeing
But here I am a chameleon soul
In my nightclub life dancing on a pole
Happy to glide in the music solo
In my eyes is a haunting you know
Sweden today
What happened to Sweden throwing off her neutrality like it was an old overcoat and to make matters worse joining old NATO, that is a moribund military organization.
I remember Ingrid Bergman, a great actress when I see her, I wonder, why Ricky had
a nightclub in Casablanca
There were many famous Swedes, such as Alfred Nobel, and Ingmar Bergman, and not forget Birgitte Nielsen married to an actor named Rocky Stalone, a screen hero
I remember Malmo where I bought coffee cups
With flowers on, now this town is full of angry belligerent Islamists wanting to enforce Shari law and run around with big knives
Of course, there is the forever teenager Greta Thunberg who wears a permanent scowl when marching in protest against the EU or if not something else; one wishes, she would fall in love, have sex with a young man, and go back to school
Day & Night
It was still dark morning when I left
the nightclub, a place where one can
be sure not to meet reality
I saw a river of people coming out of
the subway filling streets with heavy
steps and murmur
as daylight came, neon light shivered
and became ugly words on buildings
reality had blinded them
At the end of the day, as night sunk
like a blanket on towns, people were
going home from workplaces
The neon light came back on tell
a story of an alternative where all
is fake, like Ronaldo's scoring a goal
A lubricious lady from Kent
one night to a nightclub she went;
there, she spied a young guy
thought she'd give it a try;
turned out, given that up for Lent!
So she lingered around at the bar;
when soon entered a Jolly Jack Tar.
Hello sailor, she said,
will you take me and wed?
He shot off, in his getaway car!
Brooding River
This winter saw a lot of rain in the river near the houses, still running clear and lucid, giving its soul
to the ocean
On the old Roman bridge, I asked the river to stop wasting its precious sweet water on the salty sea
One cannot let thirsty horses drink brackish water
having hauled a cart full of dead sheep up to the mountain top as offering by an idiot savant, a gift
to a god that only exists in feverish minds
The river hears me not, its job is to run dry during the summer for at fall be reborn.
Beware of a river that has no fish!
Those who haughtily laugh will be turned into frogs banks, are full of them, petrified seeing nothing.
Only a princess can make them human again, but they will still retain the souls of frogs.
Alas, due to hard times, the princess is a dancer in a Spanish nightclub, knows nothing about emails, and is not on Facebook.
Their silver nightclub microphones were mega-big, giant size I’d say
Three sensuous singing goldfish stepped up to sing the night away
They started with Chattanooga Choo Choo which always makes me cry
Ending up with a hearts and flower song where some creepy guppies die.
Too young, they said
We get very upset and loudly condemn men who have
sex with women at seventeen or younger.
Our vehemence against men who sleep with under-aged girls, in our Western society is, quite frankly, not honest
Our ostracism is also fake, it is designed to show that men
side with women in this immoral matter.
Many men have also unwittingly slept with mere “girls”
especially in the bar and nightclub milieu, where women tend to, when tarted up, look older than their years.
In some cultures many young women get married at fifteen, (Romeo&Juliet were 15 and 14)
I think in these cases, say like Edward, the prince, we must forgive and not condemn men to forever be
excluded from polite society and not succumbing to the hatred that lacks charity towards the trespassers.
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