playful prancing pixie Petula Penelope
prancing in a parade beside Patty and me
preventing platitudes from distracting playboys three
privately pestering both Patty and me
To want something strongly felt
is to admit how the fire is burning...
until it suddenly explodes inside;
and if it leaves one hanging,
express it without thinking twice:
could it always remain silent?
From one lover to another
my enthusiasm has turned sour,
not showing my charm to smother,
to deceit and have fun;
I fed my ego of mad fool,
taking all and breaking every rule...
while my true intention
wasn't to be faithful to only one!
I hate this refrain sung to me,
" Silly, silly man this is hilarious,
a satire is not written for someone free
who sees himself as invincible as Eddie:
a person far from kind and generous!
From one lover to another,
the circle has gotten smaller,
nobody trusts me, they think I'm Othello;
they avoid me, they don't say a single hello!
Don't threat women the selfish way I did,
don't leave a trail of undesirable regrets;
romance stories aren't written by pretty playboys,
by cheaters who build their castles in sea sand!
EASTER BUNNIES
Maybe at their Easter celebrations
Monks may wear them, never me
I am not one for a religious habit
Long ears and fluff go down well
Playboys all like them, I can tell
Like a cute and furry little rabbit
But at all times of year, you see
Just walk in without reservations
But without a chocolate egg, no joy
One of the more popular traditions
But Pagan, Oestre’s festival and fair
The Goddess of Spring and fertility
And a rabbit’s reproductive ability
German tales of an egg-laying hare
Leaving gifts as one of its missions
The Easter Bunny, more than a toy
Children once thrilled to brilliant musicians
Hayden and Mozart, Shubert and Shuman
My generation grew up on playboys and madmen
Hugh Hefner and Alfred E. Newman
The musicians gave brilliant exhibitions
My generation shed its inhibitions
Alabaster staircase framing chandeliers
Picassos, Renoirs, Van Goghs lining the walls
Marble floors, dazzling in the starlight
Polished perfection staging the Night
Dainties, delicacies, tray after tray
Sweetmeats, exotic fruits, more on the way
Debonair men in their tuxes emerge from limousines
Women goddesses wear sequined gowns, leggy queens
Playboys, playgirls of the Riviera making the scene
Jealousy left wondering what it all means
Haven't you stolen enough kisses
and broken too many girls' hearts?
Haven't you played crazy games
with beautiful and rich dames?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
Charm lasts through youth,
then it fades from the eyes
and becomes bitter untruth
as age is shown on the faces!
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
What can happen to a playboy
who still chases after women?
Will he be satisfied completely
and settle down with one woman?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
After a playboy has fun with a lady,
he searches for more, he will ignore
the one who loves him and waits at home;
and betraying her, he hurts her deeply!
The chook house was found in disarray;
eggs were broken in a manic affray,
there were playboys galore;
drunk chooks on the floor -
the police are suspecting foul play.
You may of held me down
And pull my teeth
With your silly string on the door
Slammed it and made me bleed
You are still my brother I adore
You can get mad about your playboys
I burnt out doors
You can tell mom about the antis
I shook upon your bed
You can take my toys and smash them
Or, eat my Halloween candy
You are still my brother I adore
The day you went to war, I wept
The day you got shot I cried
I will never tell mom
About that day
My soul went away
When you died
For you are now next to her
A grave you share together
Tell her what you may
For my brother "Tony May"
I also died that day
Cantankerous celibate husband
long time since male member did expand
overdosed viagra
bulge rivaled Niagara
exciting playboys in grandstand
anybody anywhere on earth
she hooks with broken smiles
arms dressed in smooth gloves
those hateful of toothpaste
beings with sweet mouths
the ones with loose belts
impostors of world wealth
individuals with dirty hands
holy and honest persons
even the playboys of streets
all persuade and elope her
into their huts she goes
and you see her resting
in their beds, lounges
cooking delicious meals
for the nobodies to feast
as darkness eats her up
and she smiles due to that
strange powers within
and everybody wonders
Travelling in your dreams or dreaming in your travels
You want to be seen or you want to be hidden
Selfies are better or nature is bigger
You love the sky or you hate the land
Like a lazy night or a hyperactive bang
Partying hard or driving through the dark
Silent hood or a dog that barks
Love yourself or the playboys
Getting married or become a loner
Eating to live or living to eat?
Using your hands or thighs that spreads
Whatever it is, doesn't make any sense
Originally a Russian someone else's poem I translated
I’m doing great and thanks a lot for asking.
Melancholy's groundless in my case,
The loneliness I feel results from faces ‘round;
For apathy, one man to blame – myself.
I weighted every ounce and every pound,
I’m nauseous now, I pondered every plan.
What’s haunting me is like some tiny nails
of losses, errors driven into me.
No more ‘playboys’, enough of ‘lady killers’
who paint the town, prodigally, red.
What price to pay for simply being happy?
To end the life to which I had been led?
Assume it’s not unheard of to be erring,
to foul things up with no intention to,
to laugh my head off when I’m feeling like it,
to know I’m right and, off the hip, to shoot.
I must believe the Happy End is near,
forget the plans and hazard for a bliss
by reaching up for stars to get my own,
A happy life’s the greatest thing there is.
Pretty smile, sincere eyes.
An honest voice that told no lies.
Likeable one from every sense,
Pure beauty’s true essence.
An Angel’s face, that was you
Before your cohorts turned you blue.
Today your brows, two lines drawn down,
Reminiscent of a circus clown,
Tell sad tales about your fall
From Angels’ grace, two steps from sheol.
A piece of cake, the playboys’ toy,
The MDs buy from you their joy.
A feather in the wind, you know no rest,
They work you hard then beat their chest.
Your aura fades, your beauty wanes,
Beneath your laugh I hear your pains.
Teary eyed, I watch you waste,
Each passing day losing your taste.
I saw you float in scanty wear,
A mere shadow of who you were.
A sultry beauty dressed to thrill,
Her hair and make up without flaw,
Dull parties swing as she arrives,
Intriguing, captivating all.
She knows the famous and the rich,
And sips champagne with Royalty,
A girl that playboys want to date,
She has a secret: she’s a he…
Sun-faded cardboard photographs
of 1970’s hairstyles
were tacked to
the brown paneled walls.
His counter was cluttered with
the shiny tools of his trade,
a chipped glass bowl
laden with lollypops,
and a jar of combs
in blue liquid.
National Geographic,
Sports Illustrated,
and Life
were spread out
like Chinese fans
on the coffee table.
On the shelf,
above the coat hooks with
forgotten umbrellas
and orphaned scarves,
and smelling faintly of cigarettes
and of mystery,
lay a stack of glossy Playboys.
I was tall enough,
but not brave enough,
and that brass ring
was never grabbed.
I sat in Gino’s cold
metal and pleather chair
and thought about
warm flesh and silky hair.
I pictured a model
on a bearskin rug
in front of a crackling fire,
clutching a champagne flute,
or a long-stemmed rose,
or another pointless prop.
Images cavorted as
Gino’s quick hands
floated around
my teenaged head
and his silver
and snipping scissors
danced the Barber’s Waltz.
Comb, snip, snip
comb, snip, snip.
Puckered red lips
blew kisses and
high heels clicked
through my head
between clouds of talcum
and splashes of hair tonic.
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