our lad in europe/belize, "The Bleed!"
no need to hook,
no blow, no cook
the world in which we bleed
no sweet romance
u fucking prance
a world, s-where we bleed
u got ya blood
u own our soul,
but we don't care anymore
Singing: Death & Taxes U Sweetheart?
Please stick it UP YA ASS!
I aint Bleeding for U no more!
no need to look, catch my book,
we aint there any more
gotta GAL I wanna score, etc.
check ya Book
U outta luck: GO BLEED!!!
I aint Giggin for ya Gig no more!
c.2025 dd, whoosits.
Our Man in Europe/dave delacroix: "Rimbaud A'la Carte!"
(dedicato: Steven Johnson)
"RIMBAUD A'la Carte!"
...(Singing:) Wine & Cheese, maybe some groovy prosciutto
wine & cheese,
a decent Chianti or Bordeaux
can we groove again
Bela, mademoiselle, tonight?
Wine & cheese, perhaps
a bouillabaisse, a candlelight
a dinner in Cassis
by the bay?
Wine & cheese
a Rimbaud poem comes
to mind,
birds wings fly, soundless,
my love resounds!
Wine & cheese,
Cheri, sing my Baudelaire
hail Apollinaire,
oysters in Normandy
a le recherche!
c.2025 davedelacroix. (always keep sentimental poem real short)
Our Man in Europe. Dave Delacroix, "Night Train!"
(dedicato, U.K. fellow rockstar, Marc Pierson)
..../WHOA! Who knows the pop song hook-line of ya Soul? -that CHORUS-orchestration turning ya Balls (Test-Tackles), that - in pain/soprano - sings out your Tomorrow or Yesterdays-gilded in gold OR that Silver of your Lifes-song, a song of U?
Who KNOWS the dynamic, that sleet & snow, dem battles U won or lost, GIGS, your days in Hell, a tragedy resting in a corner, a mantel, a Winter wear, somehow a kiss of Life, still to savor natures concubine, the YOU? The Fan's ROAR or a lonely dressing room? (Sweet-Lordy!)
Who knows your HOOK, that Song, sinew, haunting the devil in your fate... as all our yesterdays, like ghosts, stalking, a conscience, a role in our Play? Cosmetics, a hairdo, a costume change, skipping a rental, that World Tour in your brain? (Stand-Up Comedians, R they happier?)
WHOA! St. Crispins Day! An Agincourt! A Night Train, your Life? .... let the "Te Deum" be sung. The Night Train "Arriba" always on time. Welsh Harps, Guitar Six-string complainers or weekend Rockstars, alas can never...warble...compensate? The Night Train is finite - tough break -but your song-belongs?
c.davedelacroix, 2025.
our lad in europe/belize, dave delacroix, lonely the hunter
dedicato, greg perez.
lonely the hunter
his love alone in its own
heart, lonely, hunting
that yesterday, without a tomorrow.
lonely the sinew that coils a souvenir,
habitue of your reminiscence
fates after-thought
lonely is those pigtails, go frick ya-self kid,
the brat on gods shelf,
heavens hit or miss, the hunter.
lonely is your super-dome
the lonely fills just what u own,
as the lonely will come to u,
millions, a roar of silence
to confound your footprints in the sand.
lonely is the hunter
lonesome love alone in its own heart
that jaded prism, a rainbow,
nothing ends or starts,
a guitar strums, crows caw
the hunter's heart, screaming blood raw.
c.2025, dd copyright stuff, davidmichaeloxley.
Our Man in BOOGALOO, dave delacroix, "The Song Guy/IL Mariachi, still on Patrol-2025."
"IL MAESTRO-MARIACHI!" (A Hot Cup of Joe!)
.,...Lifestyles of the destitute & IN-famous... where to GET ON UP is to get on DOWN, where your mattress is cardboard, a guitar case for a pillow, where your Gal is the NAME of just another "RE-al California" Monastary/Nunnery/Transgender/hospitale for Social Fuck-Ups and your Mariachi's reputation resounds in Tavern's, Bars from hell, some busy-bodies Clown goes "BOO!!!" - where iconic DIVAS love Ya till rich-pappas say "NEIN!" whilst their "Mommies" eye U with (great) sexual expectations, kids & Fan's, siblings RECITE your latest Poem/Canzone: Kids of course, U/WE always get along, poetry's Minestrone and moonlit nights, sunset dreams, the rhymes U have found, a dance in some Strangers mind, the "WHISTLER" fucker in the wind; a SOAP, TV media show, a "Tempesta-Amore", Lifestyles of the destitute & In-famous: "WotchagonnaDO?" Like a Song for Ever more: The loneliness of a Mariachi, some LIFE twix Casa Mexicano, a long Texas (?) highway, this heaven on earth, that grand illusion. IL Mariachi plucks his tune, leaving your desert Soul, cold, alone, hitch-hiking to a roadhouse in the morning for bacon, toast, eggs over easy like Hamlet, Shakespear's Prince of Denmark or YOU... for a hot cup of Joe!
c. 2024, dave delacroix./david michael oxley.
Our LAD in EUROPE/Belize, Dave Delacroix: "My Fave Lullaby."
(dedicato: Lady Caroline.)
...My fave Lullaby, I keep for U, my favorite nighttime song, a star, a moon, I save only for U, when the world-asleep, my fave, for your sleep's dreams, a tune.
My fave-Song, kept in my heart, composed for so long, beginnings I forget. a song of nowhere, a song going nowhere all around in my heart, around and around, classics do!
My fave lullaby, my favorite Child, that burnished concept, defying the wild of a day's eternity, a lingering kiss, now gone, alas remiss, yet tomorrow's lullaby, a song for U.
c. DD. Copyrights stuff. 2025.
Our LAD in Europe/Belize, dave delavroix/david michael oxley esq.: "PINOT NOIR!"
(dedicato: Lady Caroline)
Do I love U?
Of course.
Do U need me?
Absolutely!
Will U still want me when I'm 64?
Pinot Noir?
Will U kiss me?...Evermore?
No need to ask!
Pinot Noir!
Will U bring flowers to my Grave?
I know the Florist, no worries!
Yo. But how can I be sure?
Pinot Noir!
....We kiss for ever more!
c.dave delacroix, feb. 2025
Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix: "A Murder of Blues."
Dark-dangst-nite! Red shoes, torn red dress, alley stinking of piss, one hand clapping, a SMACK of a kiss and SCARS don't fade; Love, HEARTS, a stolen Guitar resounds, a haunting to throng dreams that REFUSE to FWD to leave U in Silence, the murder of U?
Dark, dangst, and night-eyebrows that curl like Cats-Arch, ready to die or pounce, a reckless highway, a Grindhouse TruckStop, that whore-ish moment, by choice, we all choose, yet lament, plights sorrow, a conscious SILENCE, that silence, the murder of your Blues.
Dark, dangest night, a lily in a Pre-Raphaelite, sublime in time, UN-without, a harvest for WHA!? GODS dancing. Puppet Masters prancing. Illusory Icons, Imans, Rabis, Priests savoring your fall; a GYPSY tune, perhaps, quite Pagan, yet still ....a murder of Blues.
c.feb, 2025. Dave copright stuff. Got cancer.
Our Man in Europe/dave delacroix, "Last Tea Bag to Avalon."
lonesome, whadya expect, dr Charles declining patient Helene's-caress, her hubby, L.A. patrolman, rocky, in the b/w, stalking the clinic, the homicide un-winds.
just who shot the victim, who witnessed the crime, just who had an alibi when the whoopsies went down and who stood to gain or lose faith deranged, who would the detective's peek-a-boo in this frame.
who was da man, who was the gal. and the other frail, or was it handbags at 40 paces, an whose bank account left sitting to rank; times like these, u suspect the one sitting behind u.
it maybe your wife, your dysfunctional kid or his twisted sister, they all got a lisp. the plumber, the ghost of a milkman, that handyman john, whistling, smiling the last tea bag to Avalon
a-come tumbling down, family & friends in a purview-loop, no one could devise, HOLLYWOOD-conceptualize, a maverick-drive-by, out-of-Pasadena, a punk, who simply let bullets fly. A chronic Non-smoker!
c.2025. dave delacroix.
Our Dude in Europe/Dave Delacroix: "Bel-Air/Beverly Hills Blues."
(dedicato: Malibu Swimm-Pool Tsar: John Scace)
Where have all the Critters gone, long time passing? Where have all the bushy-tailed varmints gone, long time ago? SHOT DEM BUGGERS everyone, see dem hanging on my lumber hall, more trophies to accrue, a Vivisect a/guy who stuffs dead varmints decorates my East wing! All Non-Smokers.
Where have all the trees begone, long time passing? Where's the bloody Trees, long gone, out of your World? Dem TREES, blocking my Sea-view and my Septic Tank & Swimming Pool; Charity Kids Swim-Pool Day, for BEL-AIR & Beverley Hills. Does the Landscaper/Pool Guy have a "Green Card"?
Where have all my NEIGHBORS gone, long time passing? Neighbors, where did WE go, short-yesterday? Got a gig, killed off a gig, lost all my money, WANDA ran off with her "Tennis-Pro", to "Vermouth" (probably VERMONT!) -s-where I begat this protest-songeroni, a morning barbers shave, maybe I still don't know?
c.2025. davedelacroix/oxley. copyright stuff.
OUr Dude in Europe/Belize, Dave Delacroix/BELIZE, "Sublime da Nite..."
Sublime the Night that capture your Kiss? Sublime, any-which-way, but not hit & miss, that ELECTRIC to shock & Soul to wretch the Devil from your Soul, to face the DEMON-within who'll sing song, who'll let you IN then charge U admission, read U your Rights, hand U a Condom, say: "Do it right!"?
Sublime the Night that CATS your twilight, who PURRS your downfall, who fixes your Shawl; wear THIS, trust me. U'll look divine. And IN the morning, lose my number. U'll be fine. Can ANYBODY best a Shrine? Cleopatra's kiss, a tragedy?
Sublime the Night, eloquence Un-bound that echoes, re-sounds, EGO, tra-la-la; a Delphi, monumental, Virginity on a spree or incense-sticks to perfume the kicks, Regazzi-tricks, a forest of Olive trees to oil History's wheels, sublime is the Night, that Kiss.
c. 2025/Copywright stuff.
OUR BLOKE in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Kit Marlowe Blues!!"
(dedicato: Sir John Waller. bart.)
Come live with me & be My Gig, that insecure. diabolical, that God-damned frenzy, that racing MENU, a cacophony of weekend rage, in-explicable, that dictates bad Mondays or sends them off to evermore!?
Come live with me & be my Gig, play a drum, bass guitar, be grounded to keep my feet/ head OFF the concert floor where imagination reigned, where sovereign dreams faltered, a Kit Marlowe swordplay?
Come live with me & BE: A role, a Play, a Gig, together, to inter-twine, in sinew, that cup of Vino to succor, an accounting, a whistles-echo... to savor the splendor of our ways?
Come LIVE, a YOU, ME intrinsic. ("I'm on Facebook!) Kit Marlowe & the Prince of Thieves! Resolved in Tavern-duels/death, the murky tidal-Thames, Poet & Poetry washed away.
c.2025.; dave....copyright stuff.
Our Man in Europe/Belize, Dave Delacroix, a.k.a. David Michael Oxley: "Home Sweet Home!"
(Dedicato: Rene at Corozal-Belize Tiki Bar: "Natural Mystic")
BARRACK ROOM Songsters, 6-String Complainers, Weekend Rockstars (Yoko's in tow), "Poetics" who MELT Narcissus-sotto-voce or protagonists with NON-musical agendas, as Roadies, self-promoted or male menopause bank clerks, to squirrel a tune, the Songbirds/Karaoke Blues, the YOKOS who deposed their DUDES! The sons OF "talents", daughters fresh out of Virgin Row, the neighbors "afeared" composer who drank his Dime, that HOBO icon in the local bar, dressed in NOIR who never left Brooklyn but (sigh): Highway Songs, the Breeze?...ALL THESE caricatures, WANNABEES I have MET in TOWN, in County, in Countrries, in this WORLD, in Sun, Heat, Tropics, Blizzards, Winter-frigid, in the WET. Still? Despite the "clutter" that SONG of SONGS keeps THIS sad sap in the Magic, the genre, MUSIC -God's GIFT, decade after decade S-where I belong: Home-sweet-home! A craft to Horne till the day I die.
c. 2025, davedelacroix.
