"Little Miss Marker". Damon Runyon

"Marky dance", she says. Then she begins hopping and skipping around among the tables,
holding her little short skirt up in her hands and showing a pair of white panties underneath.
Pretty soon Mindy himself comes along and starts putting up a beef about making a dance hall
of his joint, but a guy by the name of sleep-out who is watching Marky with much interest,
offers to bounce a sugar bowl off Mindy's sconce if he does not mind his own business.
So Mindy goes away, but he keeps muttering about the white panties being a most immodest
spectacle, which of course is great nonsense, as many dolls older than Marky are known to do
dance's in Mindy's, especially on the late watch, when they stop by for a snack on their way home
from the night clubs and the speaks, and I hear some of them do not always wear white panties either.

Damned old Graham Greene

The only love which has lasted is the love that has accepted everything, every disappointment, every failure and every betrayal, which has accepted evan the sad fact that in the end there is no desire so deep as the desire for companionship.

12 Bar Blues in C

I'm frightened of a dog that always barks, I'm frightened to be a lone in the dark.
I'm frightened of a envelope that is buff, I'm frightened of Aunt Mary she takes snuff.
We all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fright.
I'm frightened I'll get a nasty habit, I'm frightened I will meet a rabid rabbit.
I'm frightened if a sky is always blue, I'm frightened I'll buy an antique that is new.
We all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fright.
I'm frightened that I have no pot of gold, I'm frightened that I'll need it when I'm old.
I'm frightened if I look what will I see, I'm frightened what I see will not be me.
We all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fright.
I'm frightened when it's time to go to sleep, I'm frightened of an ocean that is deep.
I'm frightened that I might go into care, I'm frightened I will also lose my hair.
We all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fight.
I'm frightened to play the 12 bar blues, I'm frightened that my fingers just won't not move. I'm frightened there's no such thing a heaven, I'm frightened that there is and it's in Devon.
We all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fright.
I'm frightened that it's either flight or fight, I'm frightened that I might outlive my wife. I'm frightened this might be a Dylan song, I'm frightened because I think it's far too long.
we all know it's either flight or fight. Everybody must have a fright.

The Remorseful Day

God's started bowling in my lane
we're all skittles now,
as one by one we tumble from
the tree of life's bough.

The bowling ball is rolling more
we can't step out the way,
we're fixed in time in this space
until our fateful day.

A Drinking Song by William Butler Yeats

Wine comes in at the mouth.
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth,
before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

Scream

When I'm gone you'll be dust,
no longer needed, don't make a fuss,
I'm not here you won't be there
I know you love me but,  well,  let's be fair,
your not the one  in my care.
When I'm gone you'll be dust,
don't look like that,  don't make a fuss.

Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Pigs might fly

I'm hearing the light from the window, I'm seeing the sound of the sea. My feet have come loose from their moorings I'm feeling quite wonderfully free. And I think I will travel to Rio using the music for flight, there's nothing I know of in Rio, but it's something to do with the night. It's only a whimsical notion to fly down to Rio to-night, and I probably won't fly to Rio?
But then again I just might.

Senex

Oh, would I could  subdue the flesh.
Which sadly troubles me.
And then perhaps could view the flesh, as though I never knew the flesh, and merry misery.

poem from a friend

                                                                         

The child I was, I'm told I was, has faded now from view. With innocence and make believe and childhood friends I knew.

Teenage days (if they were) seemed not to long to last,

for such memories are cloudy in a distant, distant past.

A young man I'm sure I was for logic says its so.

But only through photographs and music do I know.

There was an age before this..............

nom-nom-nom

                                        A white cotton tablecloth, a silver tea spoon,
                                        a waitress in a uniform, a summer afternoon.
                                        From fruity Fat Rascals to moist sponge cakes,
                                        Cru Ganache chocolate and sweet Apple Bakes.
                                        Fondant fancies, Yorkshire curd tart, they're all
                                        on the menu I know it off by heart.
                                        Here in Betties it's never to late, for afternoon
                                        tea in old Harrogate.
                                     
                                     
                                       

Two wrongs don't make a right. But three rights make a left.

            A smile painted on a plaster face
            is sad as sad can be,
            she hides it well but I can tell
            she's doing it for me.

            The hurt inside can't be denied
             but no-one wants to see,
             the upset, the sadden look,
             the painted smile is on for me.

             The colourful smile only last awhile
             we see beneath the paint.
             It's not the same but who's can blame
             there is no plaster saint.

I just feel older than yesterday.

There is a cave in Kashmir ( Amarnath cave) the most sacred spot on earth to a worshipper of the Hindu god Siva. The pilgrims who journey there are old;

sometimes sick too. Many of them die on the high passes, their tiny tents swept away by the sudden rainstorms. Their relatives do not weep.

To them this does not matter, even the arrival- which must always be on a night of full moon is not more vital than the journey. 

Many know they will never arrive. It is the journey that is holy, and so it is to Existentialists; Life is more important than death.

What ever they do, men are too anxious to get to the end.

The sex act, eating a fine meal, playing golf, there is a temptation to rush, gobble or run.

That is foolish, for one should move at a relaxed pace through life doing the work one enjoys instead of chasing ambition helter-skelter, pursuing one's ultimate death.

Fake or Fortune? (I think it's a Constable)

                                  The art of growing a moustache has not been wasted on me.

                                   I've had a chevron or handlebar since I was twenty three.

                                  'staches are named after people,  Franz Joseph, Magnum, Dali,

                                   my wish is to be so famous that one would be named after me

                                  To be six foot tall and handsome, broad shouldered and narrow

                                   at the hip, and a little bit of hair that if shaped with care,

                                   works wonders above your top lip. 

                                   Somethings in life are not needed, gold rings satin and lace.

                                   But a moustache (oh, a moustache ) is vital to a manly face.

                                  

                                                 

                                   
                     
 
 

                                          

To dance beneath a diamond sky with one hand waving free

                                            Sitting on the beach in the gloaming,
                                            watching as the sea takes in the sun,
                                            thinking of the times and how l love you,
                                            knowing that you're the only one.
                       
                                            Bringing back a sense of happy childhood,
                                            something that is lost but not forgot,
                                            l saw you in my dreams before l knew you,
                                            love in mind and time is never lost.
                                           

We'll always have Paris

                       

  Paris, where businessmen
  become poet, poets become
  alcoholics, alcoholics become
  philosophers and philosophers
  realise it's better to be a
  businessman.

"diminished expectations"

        A Moment In Time

All those moments have passed.
Gone, lost in time.
A snap shot but no photograph.
Just an image in my mind.
Muted colours of what once was,
but is no more.

Winterdene (an old people's home)

                             
       ( E-mail from a friend. )  Forgot to tell you Jim, got a new car, very posh..... Peugeot  406.

                                                                 WINTERDENE.

                                                   I'm an old man in a posh car.
                                                   Pickled herring in a glass jar
                                                   And, all roads lead to Winterdene.

                                                   Now, here alone in evening shade,
                                                   the inside watching the outside fade.
                                                   The past gone, the future obscene.

                                                   I've had my chance now here's the night.
                                                   Why can't we just, switch off the light.
                                                   Or drive away to some where afar?

                                                   Like an old man in a posh car............
          

                                                               My Reply.
                                                   
                                                  Portside Out Starboard Side Home.
                                                  That's the way a man should roam.
                                                  An organ, and a monkey is all we really
                                                  need. Music and a quiet friend, the golden
                                                  life for for us to lead.

                                                  But, a posh car would do for me,
                                                  a myriad of eyes just to watch and see.
                                                  A green E type or a frog eyed sprite,
                                                  to drive around in my own spot light......
   

Every man desires to live long; but no man would be old.

Life is lived forwards but understood backwards. So I think instead of being born and moving towards death we should start at death and move backwards to birth.
We would come to life in an old people's home and stay there until we are thrown out for being too young. Then we would potter aimlessly around Town and slowly regain an interest in a hobby we are very good at only to find little-by-little we get moderately worse. Until you are given a gold watch and start work at job you know everything about. Over the next 50 years you will see your children grow younger, drive brand new cars into car showrooms and come out with an old wreck of a car which will get gradually better until it is perfect again, at which time you will go to the garage for another old car.
The holidays you love in the quiet sleepy Italian villages will slowly lose their appeal and you'll start to enjoy the noisy raucous holidays of the Greek Island.
Your wife who is a great comfort to you will start to become more and more desirable over the years,
until you are madly in love with her and marry her. Over the next 2 years you will make plans of all the things you've already done, then meet her for the first time and then,------ never think of her again.
You will be at college and learn how to do the job you have done for the last 45 years.
Then leave school not knowing what you want to do.  Over the next 15 years you will do a lot of playing, you'll be climbing trees play football and chasing butterflies. You'll end up sitting on your Mom's lap smiling at your older brothers and sisters. Soon you'll be a baby again and go back into the womb. Once there you float about in warm comfort for 9 months and finally come to an end in a orgasm.--------- So ends the jig of life.

In a Hospital Bed

                                                   She 'ad 'er skirt up over 'er 'ed
                                                   that's what Fat Elener said.
                                                   And now she's old and alone,
                                                   in a hospital that serves as 'er 'ome.

                                                   But she was once young
                                                   and with dreams,
                                                   And she once had fun?
                                                   so it seems.
                                                 
                                                   With young men she drank
                                                    in the bars.
                                                    And did things in the backs
                                                    of their cars.
                                                    So Fat Elener said!
                                                    With 'er skirt up over 'er 'ed.
                                                 
                                                 

juvenis ad senex senis

                              I've stopped believing in heaven, and I'm not afraid of hell,
                              and I'm crawling into old age as you can probably tell.
                              And musing of my youth spent in Manor Park, lying among
                              long grass and listening for the lark.
                              The cry of birds spiralling hight into the sky as years and
                              memories like clouds go flying by, and the light from long ago
                              was soft and filtered gold, now it seems a different  light it's
                              stark bright and cold. It shows the faults with hard contrast
                              there for all to see, and what was soft and filtered gold I no longer see.
                              Desire was the one thing that fuelled the way I lived, but now
                              it seems companionship is all I have to give.
                              Time is not a member of this club that I'm in now, in my heart
                               I'm still young but with frost upon my brow.

                             
                               


                           

I've never been to Carolina

                     

                              Another day to live through a day for me to waste,
                              time for me to dream and think of a better place.
                              I'll go to were I'm wanted, drift back to were I can,
                              to live a life to die for and be a better man.

                              In my mind I go to Week St Mary just to feel the sunshine
                              and to watch the moonrise to see the stars like diamonds
                              scattered in the sky, I go to Week St Mary in my mind.

                              I walk along the beach again with a lover by my side,
                              lie down among the sand dunes to watch a mackerel sky.
                              And leaving trails of foot prints along the waters edge,
                              like dreams they're quietly washed away with the wreckage
                              of the day.

                              From where I am now standing I can see the distanced past,
                              family, friends, and loved ones are fewer now alas,
                              and now I know my best times have all but been and gone,
                              but still I have a memory of their love that lingers on.

                              So in my mind I go to Week St Mary, just to feel the sunshine
                              and to watch the moonrise and see the stars like diamonds
                              scattered thought out the sky, I go to Week St Mary in my mind.

You in your small corner, me in mine

                                                                Things not Said.
                             
                              I dream about you now Dad when I lie abed at night,you look
                              to me as you always did not broken by that long hard fight.
                              I dream about you now Dad standing in the dark of night, alone in
                              thoughts we never did share of dreams and hopes, of love and despair.
                              Will my son dream when I'm gone and awake one morning to think,
                              we never did talk of what matters to us, afraid of regrets and hurt feelings:
                              I think________.
                              Will he see me alone in the dark and wonder along with this theme.
                              Will he grieve for a Dad long gone and only alive in a dream?
                           

Come, let us roam the night together singing

                Coming home early in the morning, or is it late from the night the before?
                There's someone watching, watching, watching, there's someone watching
                from the upper floor.
                O where have you been my loverly  in your bright red shoes, have you been
                out dancing, dancing, dancing, have you been out dancing, to the rhythm and blues.
                The night is for enjoyment the morning for regrets,  sleepy eyes and a head thats sore

                and things you'll soon forget. 
                But, is there someone watching, watching, watching, theres someone watching from
                the upper floor.
               

"C'est la vie," Say the old folks,

                 Aren't  they lovely "the Babbies,"  In their elegant clothes, as they sit
                 on a velvet banquette in their nonchalant pose.
                 Once the little angels  did  drawings, and painting of the moon and the stars.
                 But now it's fine wines and cigarettes, and whiling  away time in posh bars.
                 But why do I call them "the Babbies," young ladies they must surely be?
                 In my minds eye with delight they would cry when babies they bounced
                 on my knee.
             
               

Jealousy doth mock the meat it feed's on.

I sick with her. Sick with her beautiful brown eyes,  sick with the way she lighten's my life
sick that I idolize.

Sick with the way she swings her hips,
sick with her coffee skin, sick with her look that bewitches me so, sick with the love that I'm in.

Sick with oh so rosy red lips', sick with her beguiling smile, sick with pleasure of the touch of her hand, sick with her elegant style.

And as for kissing my troubles away
I'm really sick with that.
I'm sick with hope and I'm sick with love,
so sick it's hard to cope.

O for a beaker full of the warm South.

We greet the Barcelona day, and look in La Sagrada Familia,
Then to Gaudi's Park Guell, and off to see a Picasso.
As the day turns into night, sunset turns on the lamp lights.
Warm wind sway parm trees, fragrance's carried along on the breeze.
With a mouth stained purple by the fruit of the vine, and the look
from the lover I know is mine, with a touch so soft from her finger tips,
 I kiss my girl on her tender lips.

The world turns without you

It creeps up on you old age,
while your looking far ahead.
It taps your shoulder and  whisper,
it won't be long before your dead.

Sadness comes from the wish for happiness.

The heart is sad and full of sorrow, and I can do nothing,
to help you feel life's worth living, you know I would do anything. But I, I am just a man and you, you bring me to my knees. And I, I'm living in a winter, and you, you are my summer breeze.

The heart is sad and full of sorrow and all I have are memories, when times are good and full of loving there no  need for such reveries.  But I, I am just a man. And you, you are my everything.  And I, I am a lock without keys.
And you, you lift me from my knees.

She wrote a long letter on a short peace of paper

    Love lasts long.

         

    Love is lost.

          

    Love is sad.

          

    Love is hot.

          

    Love is care.

         

    Love's not fair.

    Love is old.

    When it's new.

     It makes you glad.

     And sometimes blue.

     

Some days are diamonds, some days are stone

                         



                                 November 61

Through the lamplight she is walking through the mist and frosty night, I was young and full of yearning for the first love of my life.
In the dark up by the old bridge oh so close and face to face. As the mist enfolds us peacefully this milieu our secret place.
Were young and for the first time saw our childhood was no more, gone for ever in that first time oh so soft we close that door.

It takes a great deal of life to get a happy memory.

                                                  Ukulele chords for  The Family Face
C.... Dm.... G7.... C........ Dm.... G7....
G7.       C                      Dm               G7                      C                                Dm.            G7
It was at  a  garden  party  when  I  saw our  family  face  Susan's  one  possessor  of  this   our
               C.                                      Dm                            G7                     C
family  trait.  It's  there  on  Sarah  and  on  Emma  I  see  it  on    Louise too .
                                        Dm                    F               G7        C
It's  popped  up  over  centuries  from  Great  Grandma  to you.
         F.                                Fm                    C                                       F                                     Fm                        
And  time  is  the  main  member  of  this  club  we're  all  in  now.......we  keep  dancing  the  band
                                  C                             G7
keeps  playing  the  tune  we  know  so  well.
                C                         Dm            G7                         C                                          Dm              
Oh  I  wonder  who was  first  to  possess  this  family  face  some  great beauty  lost  in time  and
    G7                    C                                                Dm             G7                        C
in  some  other  place..   It's  survived  for  generations  it  always  leaves  it's  trace,
         Dm                        F                   G7                                  C
so  down  the  line  someone  will  inherit.........  our  family  face.
           F                                Fm                    C                                       F                                      Fm
And  time  is  the  main  member  of  this  club  we're  all  in  now.......we  keep  dancing  the  band
                                  C                              G7
keeps  playing  the  tune  we  know  so  well.
             C                        Dm            G7                         C               Dm                       F                
It's  survived  for  generations  it  always  leaves  it's  trace,  so  down  the  line  someone will
    G7                                     C.... Dm..... G7..... C........ Dm.... G7.... C.
inherit............ our  family  face.
                       

The bird of time has but a little way to fly.

At the age of 40 you automatically join the Over The Hill Club. 

Then it's downhill to ones death.


Coast downhill you can't see the bottom we all drop off before we get there.
The climb to the top takes us a long time, now we'er on our way down and no-one cares.

We are coasting downhill you can't see the bottom surround by contemporaries they're all old friends;
Some went before you they fell by the wayside, left far behind but I'm still holding on.

Rolling downhill things are going faster, not many left that's still in front of you, they're all hanging in there they've done it for a lifetime, some without their loved one's who are no longer there.

Racing downhill the day's are getting shorter, memories fade as future turns to past, you can't see the bottom you know it's somewhere down there, you hope there's something out there once you're out of view.



















                 

SHOWOFF

                               

                                Showoff braggart boast and fraud.
                             
                                Heartbreak heartache adrift and ignored.

                                Obtuse idiotic brainless and thick.

                                Witty unwise witless and sick.

                                Obtruder with friends and families alike.

                                Fumble fiddle not get things right.

                                Fruitless futile alone in the night.

Just people I Knew

A true friend is hard to find. And with eyes wide open you are still as blind.And you need a friend when your down and low.
And I,
I have no friends, just people I know.

Summer days on the river Cole, riding the rapids on a raft of wood, with friends I laughed at the world so new.
But now,
now I see they were just people I knew.

In the clubs on a Friday night, and at the football avoiding fights. Girls in short skirts the  Mary  'Q' look.  Friends were many,  or perhaps just a few? Eileen, Jenny, Cleo and Sue.
But now,
now I see they were just people I knew.

Then marriage and party's and time on the beach, you think he's a friend but he comes with deceit. Was he a lover as well as a friend? Then the suspicion and distrust grew.
But he,
he was no friend, just someone you knew.

No worries, no money, retirement is great!  Call in the old place to see your old mates!
Dinner times over they're ready to go.
And I'm,
I'm some old geezer they all use to know.

My days have crackled and gone up in smoke

                                                                                                   

                              

A drug that reverses ageing has come to late for me, "here by 2020" when I'll be 73.

Nicotinamide mononucleotide  might not sound very nice, but it's spruced the cells of an old mouse to that of very young mice.

Our cells have an innate capability to repair the damage we do, when we sit outside enjoying

ourselves,  sitting,  outside, in the sun.  Our ability declines the older we grow to repair the harm we've done, so although we are lost and addled, we still go looking for fun.

This anti-ageing elixir that will keep our dotage at bay, will not be on the market for 3 years so they say.  So in 5 years time I'll be in my prime fitter and stronger than now. Not looking at a future of going downhill as in the past like other men, because I am so much older now, but I'll be younger than that by then.