The stranger song.
The stranger song Pretty lady asked her old lover. When did we become strangers?Once we talked, danced and sang the whole night through.Now we sit together. Your eyes had died and your hopeful… Continue reading
Free bird. The journey.
Free bird. The journey. We built our love upon straw and paper. We didn’t know love could be set on fire, burn and be forgotten when the straw and paper dispersed to the… Continue reading
The last time I saw your face. I remember.
The last time I saw your face, my kind friend. I remember. When we are blessed with youth and vinegar. We don’t know. We have few mentors and people who shall love us.Today,… Continue reading
I will paint a memory. Never to be forgotten.
The first time I saw your face-Two short poems. ———1- Paint me Elegant lady told me. Life is hard and the night is long my love.We must bathe in the kindness of the… Continue reading
Song of love.
Song of love. Drunkenness in a reckless love, knowing the true fragrant of love.The blackness of love, the whiteness of love.The dead love, the alive love.The desperate love and the forgotten love. He… Continue reading
Pretty words.
Pretty words. 1- Dangerous beautiful lady in her tight black dress and wearing chain of amethyst crystal upon her neck. Was my crystal once and she wanted it more than I did. She… Continue reading
Locked and loaded.
(War. What is it good for? Nothing.”) Edwin Starr. Locked and loaded. The old Soldiers knows. The madness of youth was the temptation of sweet wine and the fighting and dying for something… Continue reading
Soldier of fortune. An outstanding song by Sershen and Zaritskaya.
Soldier of fortune 1- Painted memories on my skin, my mind and my heart. Some pain and some sweet. I won more than I have lost. I have killed for money; I play… Continue reading
She told me. Love demand payment. And a wonderful Nick Cave and P.J Harvey song.
She told me. Love demand payment. Perfect beauty. Wearing Summer dress of white. Her soft shoulders showed tempting kiss and caress. She knew she had my attention. I watched her sun-kissed legs of… Continue reading
We had the month of May, once.
We had the month of May, once. Pretty gal from Italy told him by the Monterey Bay, the pipe dream poet, he isn’t poetry, he isn’t love, he is cursed, cursed to live… Continue reading