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Click here“Dear Miss Brooks,” I would begin
in answer to her Delphic letters
on ochre paper, in purple ink.
Well what do you say to a movie star?
She was not your regular movie beauty--
Kansas stock, hard-working dancer,
small tits, broad hips and shoulders that
could carry coal or speed the plough—
but those mischievous eyes and those
plump lips beckoned from beneath
that patent-black bob that bears her name,
bewitching men and confusing her.
“I couldn’t unbuckle the Bible Belt,” she said,
though she fucked like a stoat, trying.
Intelligent, well-read, sharp-tongued—
the Moguls, smelling trouble,
gladly shipped her to Europe,
so she cut her hair, became Lulu,
hurried into History.
Going home she found herself forgotten,
shrugged those shoulders, went to work:
days, she sold scent in Macy’s;
nights, she drank with Bogey and friends
and met men who worshipped beauty but knew
nothing of a woman.
Eastman (of Kodak) took her to Rochester,
immured her under the Falls and the crowds,
and she shrugged and wrote, magically,
short memoirs in short-lived magazines which I found
in dusty stacks in London.
I fell in love with mind and beauty,
talked so much of her I one day
got a call, a lunch, an invitation
to rewrite what she’d burnt
and a letter on my dull doormat
on ochre paper
in purple ink.
yes it is.
what did i love about it? everything. from the pictures you paint to the deliciousness of sounds with phrases such as:
took her to Rochester,
immured her under the Falls
and:
the Moguls, smelling trouble,
gladly shipped her to Europe,
hurried into History.
here, i only find myself looking for a different way for you to say 'which I found':
short memoirs in short-lived magazines which I found
in dusty stacks in London.
this is definitely one of my favourites of yours, friday. fantastic :D
anything, I say, would be a reprise. LOVED it. Some of the parts reminded me of some of the crap (excuse me, fine poetry(actually humour)) I would write (I just would have been more vicious). Here I think the British timing works better.
I gave it a 100, gleefully, regretfully I couldn't give it more.
I love the fucked like a stoat, bible belt thing. I dam wish I'd though of them. I don't know the actress but I don't think it's necessary to enjoy this. Getting a recommend.
“I couldn’t unbuckle the Bible Belt,” she said,
though she fucked like a stoat, trying.
Sir friday, this is my ending poem on this friday cuz I be sleepy, but I must say, you do have a knack for coming up with totally-coolio-smartical-blow-my-tits-away lines.
Poet Guy does not understand the ochre paper, purple ink theme that the author considers important enough to reprise at the end of the poem. Generally, he considers this a pretty good elegy for an interesting actress that fridayam obviously has a Jones for.
This is OK. Poet Guy has several iconic female figures he has Jonesyness for. So join the club.
Nice poem.