By: David W. Clare

Hollywood town has seen all kind of characters from infamous to bums!
The hippest of all, exclusive dive bar that's been there forever; will outlast us all...

Not your typical cowboy-trough or rag-joint hole-in-the-wall...

No dancing allowed as silent drifters, hipsters and ******: **** on olives then ask for more...

Dress-code strictly enforced; some meet there to get married, while others get divorced...

You'll be sure to meet up with Humphrey Bogart and Cecil B. Demille, young **** chicks and a fat-director over the hill...

Be sure and tell the bartender you'll be back, he will surely remember your tie, coat and hat...

Welcome to the Frolic Room...


(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks

Sometimes i just want
to disappear
and sometimes I just want
to be seen.

and sometimes
I'm too caught up
in the in between.

Forgiveness begged by the tongue
Beseech we of the sky
Yet no reply from among
Those with eyes now dry

What say you now, Sariel?
Who spoke of love eternal
Thine words now come to heel
Life wanders from times vernal

Best thing is
Wet petals
With Incident Light
Of dew

quiet darkness
so it covers them
the hills awash with soft onyx breath
wandering paths of frosted stardust
glittering like shards of tears; pearlescent
December , close your eyes
light of the perpetual dreamer
snowflake, gentle traveler
of the heavens you traipse down
barely a ripple on the laced, moonlit hills
star

I am a mutation,
an anomaly,
unique,
a rarity,
and other words,
that mean different,
and alone.

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.