Showing posts with label spring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spring. Show all posts

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Alone With My Monsters

(picture posed by models)


Slow down: Don't fuck with my high
I want be left alone here with my monsters
And say: now it's time
To ride to see lonely girls
And to not put the moves on them

All them tremendous brunettes around
All them tremendous brunettes
All them tremendous brunettes around

Praise now the baby genius
She skips in the shade
Of the lonely sour apple tree
While she snaps on her gum
Her gleaming teeth bared
And the shine that she shows to me

Tremendous brunettes around
All them tremendous brunttes around
Tremendous brunettes around
All them tremendous brunttes around

All of your ill-gotten games
That you have wipped up to a rich, foamy lather, girl
Nameless gnaw off my pains
Like three hundred trumpets and just one is out of tune

All them tremendous brunettes around
All them tremendous brunettes
All them tremendous brunettes around
MIKE DOUGHTY

Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most.


Once I was a sentimental thing,
Threw my heart away each spring;
Now a spring romance hasn't got a chance
Promised my first dance to winter;
All I've got to shows a splinter for my little fling!

Spring is here there's no mistaking
Robins building nests from coast to coast
My heart tries to sing
so they won't hear it breaking
Spring can really hang you up the most!

Mornings kiss wakes trees and flowers,
And to them I'd like to drink a toast;
I walk in the park just to kill lonely hours,
Spring can really hang you up the most.

Love came my way, I hope it would last;
We had our day, now that's all in the past!
Spring came along a season of song,
Full of sweet promise but something went wrong!

Doctors once prescribed a tonic,
Sulphur and molasses was the dose;
Didn't help a bit, my condition must be chronic,
Spring can really hang you up the most!

All alone, the party's over,
Old man winter was a gracious host;
But when you keep praying for snow to hide the clover
Spring can really hang you up the most!

Sung By: ELLA FITZGERALD

Saturday, 13 March 2010

Too Much Caffeine


Video on YouTube

Hangin' round
Downtown by myself
And I had too much time
To sit and think about myself

And then there she was
Like double cherry pie
Yeah there she was
Like disco superfly

I smell sex and candy here
Who's that lounging in my chair
Who's that casting
Devious stares in my direction
Mama this surely is a dream
Yeah mama this surely is a dream

Hangin' round
Downtown by myself
And I had too much caffeine
And I was thinkin' 'bout myself

And then there she was
In platform double suede
Yeah there she was
Like disco lemonade

I smell sex and candy here
Who's that lounging in my chair
Who's that casting
Devious stares in my direction
Mama this surely is a dream
Yeah mama this surely is a dream
Yeah mama this must be my dream.

Words and Music: JOHN WOZNIAK
Performed by: MARCY PLAYGROUND

Video on YouTube

Sunday, 7 March 2010

Spring In My Heart


It's spring in my heart.
Time to begin again.

Thursday, 1 May 2008

First of May

Many thanks to The Second Rate Poet for reminding me of this ditty:

Hooray! Hooray!
The first of May,
Outdoor fucking
Begins today


Good luck to you, if that is your sort of thing.

I must admit, my current frame of mind is more in keeping with this piece of mediaeval plainsong:


dum torpescit ver a solo
while spring lies hard in the earth
tepet amor pecorum
the lust of the cattle is cold
Numquam amans sequi volo
But as a lover I will never follow
vices temporum
the changes of the season
bestiali more
in the manner of beasts

Thursday, 17 April 2008

A Subaltern's Love Song


Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

-- John Betjeman

Saturday, 29 March 2008

When A Man Hasn't Been Kissed

When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I walk behind well-dressed women
on cold, December mornings and shovel
the steamy exhalations pluming from their lips
down my throat with both hands, hoping
a single molecule will cling to my lungs.




When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I sneak into the ladies room of a fancy restaurant,
dig into the trashcan for a napkin
where a woman checked her lipstick,
then go home, light candles, put on Barry White,
and press the napkin all over my body.




When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I start thinking leeches are the most romantic
creatures, cause all they want to do is kiss.
If only someone invented a kinder, gentler leech,
I'd paint it bright pink and pretend
Winona Ryder's lips crawled off her face,
up my thigh, and were sucking on my swollen




bicep. When I haven't been kissed
in a long time, I create civil disturbances,
then insult the cops who show up,
till one of them grabs me by the collar
and hurls me up against the squad car,
so I can remember, at least for a moment,
what it's like to be touched.


Jeffrey McDaniel