pointed hat in pointed Ville
answered to no one on the hill
whisked into the town on the top of a pointed nose
what happened after that no one knows
Halloween gremlins three arrived at eight
Are we late? They asked. Are we late?
I knew they were ready to go trick-or-treating.
Right on time I told them, in the way of greeting
They got lots of cheers going house to house as three
inhabitants thought they were in costume; oh my, oh, me
I knew they were from wicked Ville way down under
But I said nothing, not wanting to steal anyone’s thunder
Never wrote type of wind.
Hurts with glowing dust hurt.
Her sawdust glare.
And gleaming mental action.
Never dreamt spinning tops.
And empty leaf piles.
Jump up like tunnel vision.
So much scarf leftover.
Never hurt iris seeping.
Into the never-grass.
Just like lawn sparkles.
And candy patterns.
A nonsense poem takes me to Orchid Ville.
Where a mental tolls pay for fortunes from a mysterious machine.
I never wrote anything more twitchy.
Than a trampoline ache.
Nothing in Rose Land either.
Dichotomy.
Grows old.
And static runs through.
I dedicate my obsequiously fawning poem
to our own Wonder Woman, Ms. Kristi Noem
To refugees and puppies she's oh so mean
But, alas, she's our Homeland Security queen
Demonstrations abhor our sexy fashionista cop
of her cowboy garb and fancy shades they chant STOP!
Others applaud her iron implacable will
along with her cousin, Ms. Cruella De Ville
Just mention her name and MAGA eyes grow misty
As they march in step to the orders of goosesteppin' Kristie
Crush ICE! they shout, this is our home
you're the alien invader, Ms. Kristi Noem
Têtes
Je vois, Aristo, que tu les as mis à l'épreuve
Alors qu'ils se battaient entre eux dans les rues
Tu t'es gavé de gâteaux somptueux et de pains raffinés
Alors que les enfants de cette ville n'ont pas à manger
Tu peux acheter leurs âmes malades avec une pièce d'or
Mais tes richesses ne suffiront pas à te purifier de tes péchés
Et ne pense pas pouvoir échapper à la justice
Quand la révolution en marche commencera
Ta corruption s'est propagée comme un cancer
De la Nef jusqu'à la Reine
Alors tu peux compter sur ton rendez-vous
Quand viendra le temps de rencontrer notre Madame Guillotine
HEADS
I see, Aristo, you have put them to the test
As they fight among themselves in the streets
Gorged yourself on lavish cakes and fancy breads
While the children of this city, have not to eat
You can buy their sicken souls with a gold piece
But your riches aren't enough to clear your sin
And don't think you can run a hide from justice
When the revolution on it's way, begins
Your corruption, has spread just like a cancer
From a Nave all the way up to The Queen
So you may count on keeping your appointment
When it's time to meet our Madame Guillotine
Et si c’était la dernière ? 2025
Je n’ai pu m’empêcher de pleurer
en t’embrassant sur Times Square,
Dans la ville qui ne dort jamais,
Et si c’était la dernière ? 2025
Je vous souhaite une très belle année
What if it was the last? 2025
I couldn’t help but cry
By kissing you on Times Square,
In the city that never sleeps,
What if it was the last? 2025
I wish you a happy new year.
Government voodoo policies
that fan the fangs of poverty
to forecast economic growth
Are yet unimaginable
Like one should go to hell to burn
And be there to dream of heaven
Is the government renewed hope
For its citizens doomed to hades
Citizens in misery lament
For a government of change
To bring that change that could not change
Their ill economic fortune
And in feigned triumphal entry
to aso ville, the rulers
Always hatched policies
Against overburdened citizens
Rather than expand production
reduce cost of goods and service
They ban subsidies, increase tax
Devalue the poor currency
Only to bask in extravagance
Against the rising tide of debt
And austerity drowning in
The masses in vanishing hope!
Was it the Longfellow Bridge? Massachusetts?
One night we crossed a bridge on foot,
Dominique, my travel friend this summer 1989,
And seated we contemplated Boston at night,
Summer was hot, the city friendly and joyful,
We talked two hours about this new country,
The lights of Boston were full of Promises,
There was something soothing about America.
Était-ce le pont de Longfellow ? Massachussetts ?
Une nuit nous avons franchi un pont à pied,
Dominique, mon amie de voyage cet été 1989,
Et assis nous avons contemplé Boston la nuit,
L’été était chaud, la ville amicale et joyeuse,
Nous avons parlé deux heures de ce nouveau pays,
Les lumières de Boston étaient pleines de Promesses,
Il y avait quelque chose d’apaisant en Amérique.
PS, un souvenir qui est resté dans mon coeur,
bisous
(To be sang to the tune of Cruella De Ville)
Priscilla DeVille, Priscilla DeVille
If she doesnt marry you another one will
to date her is a costly bill
priscilla, priscilla
shes like an widow waiting for the will
look out for priscilla deville
at first you'll think priscilla is just fancy
but after shes got you to kiss and thank
you come to realize shes broken many guys
shes even cleaned you out at the bank!!!
This gold digger, this no good lying witch
thinks shes cool but shes realy just a
your life was good and calm until
priscilla, priscilla deville
I asked the owl:
“What is love?”
She said to me:
"Ask God."
I asked God:
“What is love?”
He said:
“Ask your wife.”
I asked my wife:
“What is love?”
She replied with a smile:
«Ask the owl»
I smoked a cigarette and left the city behind.
J’ai demandé à la chouette :
« Qu’est-ce que l’amour ? »
Elle m’a dit :
« Demande à Dieu. »
J’ai demandé à Dieu :
« Qu’est-ce que l’amour ? »
Il m’a répondu :
« Demande à ta femme. »
J’ai demandé à ma femme :
« Qu’est-ce que l’amour ? »
Elle m’a répondu en souriant :
« Demande à la chouette »
J’ai fumé une cigarette et ai laissé la ville derrière moi.
My lastest poem has one hundred and one words
Dalmations is where my mind naturally goes
But add ten to that, and I have 111, the angel number
The number that assures me that angels are here.
take away ten, and I am back at 101,
the famous spotted dog number
I used to love singing the Cruella de Ville song
I can still sing most of it
Weird that she and the angel number appear together
Cancelling each other out
On the tides of words,
The eyes too light,
In the running of zebras,
I’m looking for it,
Under the wool, night dreams,
On the precious jewels,
The faces without worries,
I’m still looking for it,
On the torn heart,
By the Mayan treasures,
On the sleeping sun,
I’m looking for it,
In my nervous city,
In the fields of olive trees,
On the softened glass,
I’m looking for it,
In the bed of sources,
On the stopped trains,
On the docile clocks,
In the riddles of heaven,
I find it,
The happiness you’re running from.
Sur les marées de mots,
Les yeux trop légers,
Dans la course des zèbres,
Je le cherche,
Sous la laine, rêves nocturnes,
Sur les bijoux précieux,
Les visages sans soucis,
Je le cherche encore,
Sur le cœur arraché,
Par les trésors mayas,
Sur le soleil qui dort,
Je le cherche,
Dans ma ville nerveuse,
Dans les champs d’oliviers,
Sur le verre adouci,
Je le cherche,
Dans le lit des sources,
Dans les trains arrêtés,
Sur les horloges dociles,
Dans les énigmes du ciel,,
Je le trouve,
Le bonheur que vous fuyez.
I hope my car starts tomorrow,
That I can leave my street Charles de Foucault,
That I can go write a poem, or almost,
I love walking an hour in the fresh countryside.
I hope that I can cross the bridge, the harbor,
To buy milk, port and natural fruits,
That I can leave my city for a few hours,
I love to think of you, in the silence of the countryside.
I hope my car starts tomorrow,
That I can go to the cinema to see a Romanian film,
That I can go flower Mom’s grave,
You see, I’m nothing without my car.
Pourvu que ma voiture démarre demain,
Que je puisse quitter ma rue Charles de Foucauld,
Que je puisse aller écrire un poème, ou presque
J’aime marcher une heure dans la fraiche campagne.
Que je puisse aller traverser le pont, la rade,
Pour acheter du lait, du porto et des fruits naturels,
Que je puisse quitter ma ville quelques heures,
j’aime penser à toi, dans le silence de la campagne.
Pourvu que ma voiture démarre demain,
Que je puisse aller au cinéma voir un film roumain,
Que je puisse aller fleurir la tombe de maman,
Voyez-vous, je ne suis rien sans ma voiture.
Joyful green elf from merry Irish Ville
Caught dancing on the hill
Sang us a song, while riding wolf named Bill.
His ditty was fabulous, joined by wren’s trill.
Excited green elf from Irish ville
Dancing away from our hidden still.
Our happy hearts promised him no ill.
But we stayed a bit wary of the wolf named Bill.
Editor edits
News Gazette called " Elephant "
In Helen ville.
Written for poetry contest sponsored
by Constance la France
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