Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BOW-WOW!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix" "BOW_WOW!"

Daddy won't buy me a BOW-WOW; Daddy won't buy me a whoosists. I had a little Cat & I'm very fond of that, but I'd rather have that WOOFIE-Tail!

Daddy won't make me spaghetti. Daddy won't make me some Pasta. He says: VERBOTEN, linguini-minestrone, I DON'T CARE if it's yesterday's macaroni, but I still want a BOW-WOW-WOW!

Daddy, obviously not a MICHELIN Chef (the mysteries of frying an egg or cooking pasta?) never brought me a BOW-WOW. (Makes ya wonder?)

 And I was very fond - the CAT - of THAT till I - Vietnamese street market - saw the disabled BOW-WOWS for EATING in a cage!!!!???

Daddy don't U buy me a BOW-WOW. Let's forget this for NOW-NOW. I got a little Cat & I'm very fond of that, still there's a BOW-WOW in my dreams.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize: "Penny Lane."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize: "Penny Lane."

(dedicato: Cathy/Liverpool F.C. fan.)

"PENNY LANE."

WHO GETS LOST on memory lane? Some Space Cadet? Someone U know? Who gets stalked in a graveyard, that romance U forgot or forgave?

 Who shadows your shadows, who got lost on Penny Lane, someone U could have saved?

(Gimmie a whisky!) 

WHO gets lost in MEMORY STREET to sting U before your grave? Who can haunt U... in Paris or Rome or SINGAPORE, in old SIAM, that global wax-of-works

to spin the spokes of Tomorrow's "feng-sui"?

U tell me where all Love has gone. And we'll go walk together in Liverpool down a street called Penny Lane.

c.2025. dave delacroix.

OUR MAN in EUROPE/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Make it Blue!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix" "Make it Blue."

(Song, foot-tapping/up-tempo)

...MAKE IT BLUE! MAKE it blue. I love U. Let's make it blue. Let's make it blue. Bring me my whisky bring me your blues; we'll strap on a guitar or 2. And make it blue like we used to do.

 Bring me your "crisis", we'll make it blue. Bring me your sunshine, we'll make sure its U. Bring me some whisky, your Credit Cards too. We'll have some fun. U know Me. (AHAH!!) My old TUX-EE-A-DORE, put your red dress on!

(Baritone:) We'll throw our cares onto the fire, our troubles into the sea. (Ladies-singing:) Bring me your COMEDIA, a "Stand-Up" just for U & just for little Ol' Me. (Tra-la-la!) & "Dobbie-Dobbie-twee-twee-twee!" That feeling we R free?

Bring me some whisky, your "one-liners" of GOLD. Bring your "le je ne c'est quoi?", that style U brew. Not forgetting!!! -Yesterday's GLORY - Don't forget the whisky! - bring me your AURA & bring me love. Make it blue. Let's make it Love.

Let's make a Paris-rendezvous. I'll see U soon. We'll make it blue. Let's make it sunshine, make it groove-moody, make it like we used to do.

Make it blue. Make it Blue. Make it blue.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A gambit of Light."

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A gambit of Light."

...The CAT IN THE SHADE, doin' nuttin' sitting in the shade. Ain't purring. Just doing her JOB: Genetics of Memory. Still. That CAT in the shade, wotchagonnado? INTERVIEW?...

Obviously, U CAN'T ask about QUEEN CLEO/Egyptian gal, Julius Ceasar's/Marc Anthony's squeeze. DID she actually - smart gal - commit suicide or piss-off to the SUDAN, maybe another plan? Somebody later go N' try to Sue!? (Is ALIMONY on the table U brutal Roman fucks!?)

(I think I SAW HER years later. Market place, Lebanon. She was wearing blue. Handbags at 20 paces. Old Courtiers she didn't want to know.)

The CAT in the SHADE has witnessed good & evil ALL MEN have made. S-why she gets to PURR. A gambit of light. That spinal retina that cuts out the light. As for the PURR -I'm not there. maybe the CAT will tell U if Cleo's still there.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "The Day of our Night."

 

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "The Day of our Night." 

THE DAY OF OUR NIGHT that comes all too soon. No Guinivere, no Eloise, and no Brigadoon to bagpipe you're passing nor ferry cross U O-er the river Styx? And no coins on your eyes, no whisky on your lips.

 That day of your night no Nightingale sings. Divested of your glory your Hummingbird wings that solvent bestowed, yet a swallow's flight, now a murder of crows, night eternal. (DANG!!!)

The day of our night, the kernel of our mortal plight. The jagged THROAT CANCER that steals all my might. Wishful thinking at the 11th hour, a last great aspire? No KISSES for sure!

 Yet no rage nor distemper for that day of my night. Multitudes, some in battle, some in PEACE now all un-raveled in resistance distemper? 

 A dismember. Yet an echo. Acclaimed? Or a joke! All worries like DEBTS - mine? -  U can put EM in the Post. Guitars & souvenirs of all MY Yesterday's reign. A sound & the fury - Upstairs/Downstairs - we might meet again. (Ya never know?)

The day of our night. Tomorrow>day after? Maybe tomorrow looks like rain? (I hate to be pessimistic...) Sunday BBQ coming up. Guess I'll wear me olde Tuxedo!

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Yankee Gal!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Yankee Gal."

"YANKEE GAL!"

That Yankee Gal, probably from PHILLY or New York City, mornings, she hits the ground running, runs rings round around Me. Always second guesses my epiphanies, gotta LAW-SUIT for my ideas, & dresses to the "nine-o-pins" knows what to order when we dine.

That Yankee Gal got a chauffeur always on hand. In London, Paris or Rome, a Matre'd at hand to tell me which knife or fork, Claret or Burgundy to drink? Sometimes I think my Yankee Gal tells me what to think.

My Yankee Gal as bright as paint decorates my Soul. One day I know she'll move on OUT and be someone else's Scout! It's no tragedy, it's no despair. My Yankee-brilliant Gal. I'm glad that U were there.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Calvary on your Crucifix." ...in 3 parts, naturally.

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Calvary on your Crucifix."...in 3 parts, naturally.

(dedicato: For Albdem Forte! on the occasion of the birth of his BELIZIAN SON "AZEILLE"!

'The Calvary in your Crucifix" (1 to 3)

PART 1) 

"BLOODY MARY!"

SOMEBODY GOT NOBODY on a Saturday night including "O sole Mio." An eclipse of the moon? Somebody out there u know too well, out there living in hell. 

Somebody got Nobody, no Christmas (Tiny Tim?) -alone with their isolation, a soliloquy of despair, guilty of nuttin just not knowing HOW TO BE THERE? Poverty's 1,000-yard stare!

Somebody got Nobody, no Christmas tree. Why NOT GO VISIT, a cigar or box of candy, remind them they R finally free? Leastways BE a REFUGEE! U can Vote with ya feet?

MUDLARKS on the riverbanks of the TIBER, THAMES or SEINE. It doesn't cost much KINDNESS-Cheri to say "Bonjour!" again: Somebody gets LONELY on a Saturday-Blue? Better hope it don't come, "ALLORE!", "mon Dieu!" to U?

-WORCESTER-Sauce, VODKA of course. Tomato-juice, lemon juice, black pepper, oregano, cilantro, an hour later your hangover will feel much better or maybe much worse. "Com-se-com-ca!/Ce sera-sera!/whatever. Drink up and Be SOMEBODY!"

Sing a Song of Sixpence. A pocket full of Rye. 4 X 20 Blackbirds baked in a Pie! Yet SOME KID, girl OR boy GOT NOBODY on a Saturday night. Where's our god dammed moon? Where's our god dammed plight? No kisses on Calvary on Friday or a Saturday night.

YUP! It's a little bit lonesome. Boys shave or just look groovy. BELAS, bitchin leather-MINI or floral silk skirt "en-suite"? We launch our passion INTO the unpredictable human Seven Seas? To love or die, a BLOODY MARY s-what we might drink. A Calvary moment for YOU & for me. 

Somebody got Ya Christmas. No XMAS night Gift-bag spangled!!! No "LONELY HEARTS" no souvenir to wipe. No cuddle in your soul. SOMEBODY got NODBODY. Nobody got a song. I wish that I was with U too. We might just get along.

c.2025. dave delacroix.

PART 2:  "The LIGHT of the MOON!" (DICKENS: FAGIN & Bill Sykes Song.)

"SHUT UP KIDS: Don't ask too many questions bout where we begin? & or WHERE DO WE START in a pregnant fart, a song of hope & glory! Drink ya GIN! (Mammy-depart!)

Shut-up kids, GIMMIE A'BREAK, I can't find my Whisky, where'd MOTHER hide it? I love her-I hate her, the only ONE I'd stop a Bullet for; but!!! There R times!!!? (Too late now.) Mommy Dearest?

Shut UP U KIDS & drink ya GIN. Breakfast ain't till tomorrow. Porridge of course. Then get out here. Go Shoplifting/Credit Card FRAUDING and bring me some ICON, some Silverware to reflect the light of the moon or a day in the Sun.

SHUT_UP KIDS! Better gimmie some of dat Gin! Just don't tell ya "MA!" -After working all day, laundering neighbors' clothes, maybe Whisky in the JARO? And in the light of the moon where YOU & ME maybe come too soon, an epiphany. Yet ya Mamma-gone. She ain't here! 

Did U brush your teeth, did U Shower today, were u more honest than yesterday? Did u run-rampant in stolen clothes? Do U a Ballerina, do U become Lawyer or a Copper! What's to become of us ALL under the light of the moon...?

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

PART 3:  "GOIN' SOUTH!"

Goin' South, going South...with sweet Louise. Goin' South! -I'm her Squeeze. And no way of knowing with sweet Louise. Goin' South. A Summers breeze.

Goin' South? Written in the stars. Goin' South. S-who we R. Always "G.S>" S-ats who we R.

Goin' South, bacon & eggs. A side of buttered toast, ketchup U-bet! ...MARTINIS at "happy hour", an Olive for Louise! Her hairstyle-delightful in the fair sunlight. (WotchagonnaDO?)

Goin' South, going nowhere; a compass all-awry. Ask me in a couple of whiskies? I'll tell U where I'm bound. Goin' South. Goin' South? S-where I need to BE? Goin' South, Louise & Me. Our needing to be free.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

(HIDDEN TRAX:) PART 4: "The Walls of Jericho."

(dedicato: boys & gals presently engaged in the RUSSO-UKRAINE war.)

..."The Walls of Jericho."

Where does your CASUALTY go? That INNER-U. Do U leave an arm or a leg over barbed wire in WW1 rotten trenches?

 Thank GOD we weren't there. Who'd wanna go? ROW on ROW. Corpses & Corpses...killed in the mud for WHA!!!?

Where does your casualty lie? in some Seigfried Sassoon Poem, a ragged-survivors heart, some kick-ass wonder, never got passed START, a minuet, a prance, a lace dressed maiden who beckoned U into the dark, albeit a butcher's broil/cannon-fodder stark?

When did your Casualty die? Did U kill the thing U loved or horrified by what U saw? Did U want to hide your face when ordered to shoot by the walls of Jericho a fellow COWARD in the face?

And when U come home? Eye-contact? Forgeddabout it! And never answer the ringing of the telephone!

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.