Bitter sweet music of my childhood .
Merry-go-round in my head .
Old france watched the tour
go by in summer
and drinking a big red wine ,
girls in light dresses were so pretty ...
Funny ritornello !
Well behaved generation
at the Marbella campsite
where little bikinis in warm waters
made me dream of games
that were still forbidden ...
Four of us crammed in the oldsmobile,
my sister's warm tigh troubling me .
I didn't think I was made of iron yet
in search of the deep state mystery...
I smoked men's cigies that torn out my throat,
mimocking John wayne !
In those days, films escaped from blank and night
but the faces were still sepia-toned ,
Marylin's chanel 5 haunted the Brooklyn bridge.
So confused time machine ...
The taste of memories is always true
and a little invented .
Lunatic soul merry melody !
I evoke kathmandu with an old retired rucksack
I no longer believe in immortality ...
They all long gone and the tour is over.
Where are you little Marbella's bikinis ?
And the oldsmobile has a parking spot in paradise...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: December 5th, 2024 08:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Online)
Comments2
This evoked many old memories and resurrected some old emotions. That is good enough for a poem. Thank you for writing.
To know a story you need to know what time it was .
Memory is the diary we all carry with us.
Is'nt this diary sometimes a bit of a liar ?
I noticed. Memories that balance reality and imagination? Why not?😊
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