We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly dirty naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
from a distance, on a train, the street, in a store, or a concert.
Captivated by someone we will most likely never see again.
Enchanted for but a moment? And yet unable to forget.
For me it was this past week at a concert.
what they call a heart, my every anchor chained
what the pages make my story, every loss explained
like words in letters, as if they retain it, like they make it better
as if the knowing of it loosed or broke these fetters
eight ways the shapes of my only alphabet spells s-u-r-v-i-v-o-r
infinitely too short a word and leaving me to wander again if I'm alive in her
they think it breeds strength to outlive the beatings
they think it makes a great chase never retreating in the pursuit of what's fleeting
just once couldn't I rest and feel safe like it could all get clearer?
in the haze of aging when I'm sure it isn't my real smile in any mirror
in the crowded, faceless streets of having to stand on my own two feet alone
with all the hurtful, hateful, squalls this living condones
everyone thinking they know me because they know my name
know the face that's a mask over what's hollowed out by the aches I don't explain
and someone asks me to come near, to be dear, to love again
and they give like gifts and they mend the rifts and they care and then
the cycle of costs begins again, the loss of the friends again breathes
and makes every swallowed wine taste less like escape and reminds that it never relieves
and every candle on a cake burns another year I waited to start over
and every green field yields beauty unnoticed in my frantic search for a lucky clover
the pages pile with words wasted on hoping for better
and my few days waste away with so much time lost in trying to understand "forever"
so if you think that you know what made me then you haven't been listening to the words I didn't say
and if you've ask me for love then you've never felt what I already gave away
so put the times you've felt greatness on one side and see if they outweigh the hurt
or if the scales tip in favor of the ways you've failed and it still hurts
and trudge the horrible roads to the edges of the maps and see if you outrun the hurt
and see if any hand held or risk taken or affection given dispels the way you hurt
all the slivered glass pieces of my heart just cut me to blood as I try to pick them up
and all that my view of what could have been does, is lend tears as I watch those doors shut
and all another line will explain
is how it will never be the last line if I'm trying to write out the pains
I can never explain the hurt
And we're purging to be pretty,
and smoking to stay thin.
Starving until our bones feel light as air.
Wearing make-up like a mask,
using clothes to advertise the goods, to
make the boys want us
Mistaking life lessons for soul mates.
Physically putting out and
emotionally shutting down.
And we're dumber ourselves down.
Acting stupid because it's cute.
Hiding our wit because it's unattractive.
They want lady in the streets and
freak in the sheets.
But on their schedule, not yours.
But the lady has to be a tramp
And the tramp has to be domestic.
It's a trap.
And we're used up
We're twenty something and giving up on the world.
We're twenty something and dead inside.
And taking it all in stride.
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
In Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around eight or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.
She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the worlds
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.
Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.
She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded to the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was pre-chilled as if
It had been waiting for her.
She pounded the first down,
Another stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed.
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed rim.
Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I could not tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A Sniper just back from Nam, a scary guy
Of few words.
She opened her fur trimmed coat and exposed
Two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better view.
She announced her name,
like we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.
Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.
She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We did not have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days then long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so? I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big blue eyes,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a hand lettered sign.
I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.
Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she looked,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers,
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.
Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosie goosy outfit.
Once in a while I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film noir stuff,
And there she is, a much Younger her,
Looking pretty damn good,
Not real big roles,
Playing some damsel in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll,
Or unhappy Play Girl.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
one or twice, looking for Hutch. He told us to tell her that he had been
Shipped Out, when he actually hadn't. She no doubt found someone
else to tell her story to.
I saw that woman the other day on TV, an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what ever happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out. Some information you don't need or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write however.
Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were both out of the Corps. He was
headed to the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard some pipe line
operation. Have no idea what became of him after that. Hutch was
a real hard case, I hope he made out all right.
As emotion rolls out those close around can see the pain deep inside of me. The nights when I lay awake in vain, haunted. It's the fact that your presence keeps sweeping over me. I can see you just like before, your old pickup truck and your flannel jacket torn. Your eyes so bright, so full of beautiful life. little did you know your major role and impact on life. Gone but not forgotten my memories play, I'll never forget that day, when I was forced to give you away. With the echoes of my hurt heart beating everyday I remember you, and all that you used to do. There is never a more true statement then the one that Last i Heard come from you, when you had said "son I love you". I've laid awake these countless nights dreaming about you and your wonderful life. But it hurts, my heart hurts! It yearns for you, it's like a massive hole that's just ripping me into two. I just hope that you miss me to. And I promise I'll hold that moment, that last moment that I got to see you.
The Frustration Is driving me insane
I thought I was Abel then turned out to be Cain
Sometimes I just want to step in front of a train but
that would be to easy these days seem so much the same
Patience is a virtue yet I'm frustrated and may hurt you
only to feel bad because the human in me hurts too
My quest for happiness is like a trek to find the end of a rainbow
I've lost my light and my path I don't know which way to go.
Seems a lot of people would like to see me fail and
well I've done just that since my boat has set sail
It's a wonder I'm still afloat seems it's not my time to die
I can't even control emotion at random moments I cry
Abused, abandoned, I wouldn't pay my own ransom
I'm damaged, unrepairable, yet somewhat handsome
Life threw me a fastball and I struck out every time
my days consist of nothing No wonder I learned to rhyme
trying to climb my way out of my hole hoping this may be my gold
I haven't accomplished much of anything at 23 years old
Yes, I've wrote a bunch of non sense
but to my name I have not one cents
I'm actually in debt for sharing my two cents.
College is my blueprint
My life is like a comedy I, myself laugh maniacally
at one point someone thought I was inspiring.
I write and smoke a lot hoping to ease this stress
as I feel the rope tightening around my neck
The lightning bolts my only hope the reason I log on
if you didn't give me strength there's no way I could write on...
Thank you to everyone for your support and love
it goes along way.
Help me open my heart.
I know what to wish for
All this time later.
She was in my arms last night,
And I had no wishes then,
Not a one,
And if there was a sky,
I could not have cared less.
Tonight I know what to wish for.
You are cold and clear
And the haze is gone
And I want
To fall into this love
Without fear lurking below me like a safety net of needles.
Please, help me give up that instinct
To turn to stone at the first sign of trouble.
Help me relinquish my misgivings and my doubts
That I clutch like weapons against the calm and joy I feel
In her arms,
Because we both know that if the end is coming
It will come whether or not I see it miles off.
Blind me with the light of her smile.
Let me see this moment,
Let me see what I have
And not what I could lose.
Help me unzip my skin and lay in the moonlight
Bare and honest
Exposed down to the weakest little corner of my soul.
Help me find the courage to believe the best of this world
With its barbed wire edges,
If I give my heart to these cold stars
And set aside the fear and doubt
If I show you courage
Will you show me comfort?
In the darkest of night they rise
without humanity in their eyes
rotting flesh and beastly bones
rising like blood thirsty clones
When they rise, the end is near
the world becomes full of fear
by that time, it's way too late
torture and death is your fate
The time to suffer is coming fast
then none of us are going to last
so much blood sure to be shed
on this night of the living dead.
These are everything I'd love to whisper
Looking into your eyes
And see surprise flicker there,
Watch you duck your head and smile,
Like you did yesterday when I told you
How beautiful you are.
I'd like to say those types of things all day
Just to see them hit you like soft rain,
To see you struggle not to grin that someone loves you
With such awe.
Because every little thing in my life reminds me of you. Everything. I see you in the books I read. And the songs I listen to. In the movies I watch. Every thought that goes through my head leads back to you. And I can’t help but think that you are the answer to my problems and the end to the pain. But thinking like this is a dangerous trap. Thinking like this gets me hurt. And I don’t think I can take any more hurt. Liking someone like you makes me realize that I will never be good enough. I will never be right and you will always deserve better. I know I can’t be that for you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m just a messed up, talentless, ADHD teenager who has no control over my feelings or words. I’m sorry that I’m not all you want, because that is all I want to be. But I know there’s no point because you’ll leave me anyway. Everyone does. Everyone just walks away with no goodbye. I am always the second choice, the back-up plan, the alternative until you find someone better. And I’m just tired you know? I’m tired of trying to put up with all this shit and telling myself that there are only 3 more years till I can leave this fucking state and leave all the pain behind. But a lot can happen in 3 years. And over any other emotion, I’m just scared and lonely in this nightmare that I call life.