I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.

There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.

No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.

And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.

Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get *****, hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?

Let’s wax poetic..

Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.

If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.

I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.

I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.

That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM

Last night I dreamed about a man
I've never met before.
He held fresh flowers, smiled then,
Right there, at my door.

We spoke a bit, then I woke up,
The morning cut the scene.
But questions overflow my cup:
Who was that man I’d seen?

So, I am now pondering
The strangers in my dreams,
And why they are conquering
My thoughts - that's how it seems.

But are these strangers in my visions
Really strangers though?
Or did we have short collisions
A long, long time ago?

Maybe we have met before?
A passenger on the train?
A customer in a grocery store?
Profiles saved in my brain?

Does my mind perhaps contain
A secret store of faces?
Of people passing through my lane,
Leaving unseen traces?

What if we dreamed the same strange dream,
At once, in secret time?
He saw me drift upon the stream,
As I saw him in mine?

Neither of us will ever know,
‘Cause we have never met,
And we can’t talk about the show;
How interesting is that?

And one last question chills my mind,
The thought just makes me scream:
How often have I been assigned
A role in someone’s dream?

Suddenly, the 502s were back
those unexpected disconnects
that make posting whack
and my nerves a wreck

Like blank spots in time
that made me backtrack
unable to use rhymes
I felt trapped and  highjacked

Did the server choke on a bone?
Was 5G stalling me, wordless and postponed?
Did the firewall collapse, did DNS lapse?
Was it my laptop, was it my phone?

People watched me, on the metro,
as I frowned and moaned at my useless iPhone.
The issues seemed flagrant, I was becoming impatient
Was I some kind of nut? I was showing emotion.
We don’t DO that in Paris - have public implosions.

Did it happen to you?
Or was I one of a few.
What were the chances
that it only happened to poets in France?
.
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Song for this:
Alone Again (Naturally) by Gilbert O'Sullivan
La Vie en Rose by Allison Adams Tucker

I wrote a documentary
that would have won a BAFTA
But nobody would fund it
It was not what they were afta

I pitched the plot to Netflix
cuz they have a lot of money
They sent me packing, laughing
“Don’t call us, we’ll call you, Sonny”

I lastly pitched to Paramount
hoping they’d save the day
They took one look at me
shook their head and said, “No way!”

It’s such a shame that no one knows
your worth unless you’re famous
I always seek some solace from
those cookies made by Amos …

Famous (yummy)  Amos (yummy)
“Makes your eyes light up (and)
Your tummy say ‘Howdy.’”



© 2025 Mark Toney

The last three weeks have been a seemingly endless series of welcome parties, get-togethers, receptions, meet-and-greets and cocktail parties - every kind of cheesy or ostentatious soirée my Grandmère can throw together, she’s dragged me to. It’s hard to match her energy.

“You have to meet people,” she insists, “and they have to meet YOU.”
“And why?” I asked, eloquently, but there’s no use resisting - she’s tireless.

The Prime Minister of France - met him. The mayor of Paris, met him, the CEOs of Paribas, L’Oréal, TotalEnergies, AXA, met them, the ministers of the economy, interior and foreign affairs - met ‘em. The US ambassador to France, met him.

In the play “My Fair Lady,” Eliza, meeting people frantically at the races, repeats “How do you do,” over and over and over to great comedic effect. That’s how I feel at these parties, “Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté.” I say, turning in circles. I’ve met Emmanuel Macron before, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again soon. I haven’t met his wife though - I’d love to ask her about that slap.. hhmm.

At these events she’s made sure that I’ve met anyone who’s anyone at Université Paris Cité. Is that surprising? No, because that’s how crazy-lady operates. “You meet everyone, eye-to-eye,” she lectures, “you have to get out of your bubble, and experience the world as interesting,”

That’s her favorite saying these days. “I don’t HAVE a bubble,” I replied, defensively, but she’s left the room - she’s never still. She seems to know we’re on the clock, that once med-school starts, (in September) I’m going to be all about that.

It’s Monday morning. I’ve been at the Shangri-La hotel pool, where we have full privileges, and I’m coated, like a potato, head to foot, with SPF 50 sunscreen - when who shows up?
Peter (my bf). “You’re early!” I say, not at all displeased, but I’m SO conscious of my tacky skin and chemical smell that I face-palm him as he comes in for a snog.
EEuuww. I can’t make-out with a guy when I’m all greased up.
“5 minutes,” I assured him, heading for the shower.
“I’ll join you,” he offered.
“Well, ok,” I chuckle.
.
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Songs for this:
Better Days by NEIKED, Mae Muller & Polo G
This Girl by Kungs & Cookin' On 3 Burners
Cake By The Ocean by DNCE  [E]

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks in Paris settling in. My every appliance, gadget and charger have been bricked by the weird, French electricity, which bobs when it should weave or something - but you still can’t stick a fork in the sockets.

I’ve also been meandering the right bank* arrondissements for fashions. Students at Université Paris Cité, in the everyday, dress more chicly and elegantly than Yalies or nerdy Harvard ‘barneys.’

I’ve noticed a lot of Asian, selfie-taking tourists in Paris. They come in like waves of invaders as the river-cruises dock. Now, anyone that’s known me for some time, will tell you that my friends and I’ve been taking selfies for decades.

Just not in the middle of the street or with total strangers trying to relax on crisp, cool, early summer morning, while sipping an espresso hangover cure. Was COVID deadly? Well, it certainly killed off the last etiquettes that separated us from the animals.

I’m not anti-tourist - nope -  I just moved back here myself - but these smiling, terribly polite, middle-aged people, think nothing of stopping someone abruptly in the street to ask directions, in a foreign language - as if they’re at Tokyo-Disneyland where the locals are cast members simulating real life.

Would you expect anyone on a busy, work-a-day Manhattan street to happily stop and converse? Not a chance. Women would recoil like snakes and the men would dodge like O.J Simpson or shoulder you to the ground. Still, they call Parisians rude.

I am becoming more serpentine and evasive as I shop, as-if I were a spy in occupied territory. Charles and I form a one-man phalanx, with me following in his wake, like a dolphin trailing along a great ship.

They may need to put up signage, like, “Look (at the locals) but don’t touch,” but in what language?

Let’s wax free-versely… freever-ishly?

It’s a pleasure to walk the banks
of the dark, reflective Saine again.
and watch the warm, evenings for
the first cool stirrings of fall.

Once you’ve visited Paris, it stays with you.
Nothing’s simple here, not the moonlight,
the serene european atmosphere or
the better-than-you sense of right and wrong.

I’m young in a very old city.
I like dessert crawls, and “rock’n’roll clubs.”
Hemingway wrote, that
‘‘You receive in return what you bring to Paris.’

That’s probably not an exact quote.
but I think that’s where they got “What happens in Vegas.”
.
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Songs for this:
Come to Me by Koop
Leena by Caravan Palace
Right Now by The Creatures

Think about the hubba-hubba
Dancing on the sheets
Clean sheets lose grip
Quickly find my sock it to her cleats

Digging in, trying to reach the bottom
Only to just scruff up the sides
Even after all that pumping and *******
And the candy-apple moustache rides

My gun is old, it only shoots once
Foreplay is like my favorite thing
When it’s serious business, I like to play
I can do everything without getting in

I like it when we both finish strong
I did it all, like in my wildest dream
Hold on tight for one more minute
Oh, wait, I just creamed

P.S. this piece is still kind of raw
I should have used some slick words
That’s ok, it all turned up good
I got ***** and she chopped some wood

I’m a working man, I’m licensed
Working with all three of my vices
Ones got a grip, the other a squeeze
That last one gets me down to my knees

At 14 I learned to like the buzz
Trip out wildly, watch out for the fuzz
I never shot up, only smoked and blew my nose
Forget all the highs, felt all the lows

Now I know better, what can I say
All the things I let make me that way
Should’ve known back then it was a mistake
Remember that when you dance at my wake

Googled a bit, man I feel smarter
Spray can painting, operation of a lumber yarder
It showed everything, from shopping to the Walmart farter
How to be you, where to use cream of tarter

Google is so smart, it always answers back
Even us old folks don’t mind giving it a wack
Once we learn to point and click enough
We can actually remember a whole lots of stuff

Google got pictures, more shopping and life advice
All at our fingertips, isn’t that so nice
If you don’t get it, you can always ask twice
AI tightens its grip, now we’re in a smart vice

Google me this and search for all that
Sit in your chair and research why your fat
Learn to tie your shoes, how to wear a hat
Check out funny videos of some **** cat

Google didn’t help Papa talk to his friends
He didn’t need cell phones, dots and dashes he sends
Mamaw never used it to know how to make ends
Now we just all believe, whatever posts then trends

p.s. I” HAVE TO” use it all the time, that’s why I can write (*****) about it.