"hepburn" poems
I met Joan Baez in my sleep.
She whispered her poems and
sang her songs. I fell in love
with her instantly. DIAMONDS
AND RUST she sang in my
dreams. Linda Ronstadt sang
LONG, LONG TIME to me.
I cried in her hair, so fair was
she. We made love for eternity.
Ingrid Bergman came into my
life a long time ago. I was
mesmerized by her luminescent
beauty. She walked into my
life 20 minutes into CASA-
BLANCA. I was transfixed.
But it was Audrey Hepburn
who stole my heart. Tiny and
radiant, Audrey saw and
held and fed starving
children around the globe.
She entered my heart and
kissed my soul and never
left my life. Bless you, Audrey.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 3:57 PM UTC
"Elegance is the only beauty that never fades.... -Audrey Hepburn
I beg to differ...
there are many beauties.....
such as...
the intensely knowing glance
of someone who has known you... intrinsically...
The glance that let's you know
that there are things deep inside of you,
that have never changed.
It's the look that identifies
the links in your histories,
and that reveal your very core.
The look that says I still see you...
with acceptance and understanding...
That fleeting momentary look ...
whether seen throughout a lifetime.
... or a lifetime ago....
That look, acknowledges a basic truth of who you really are.
Acknowledges, that you are truly known...outside of yourself.
It transcends decades
and inspires
both fear and awe in me....
and I think that is beautiful!
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
*Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.*
Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your condom'd *****
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****
could have been more.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
It’s true what they say,
we always hurt the ones we love
and love the ones who hurt us.
We can quote Bukowski as much as we want,
but we need to realize the severity of his words.
“Find what you love and let it **** you.”
Love is a death sentence.
It is a sweet one, but in love’s very nature it is a death sentence nonetheless.
You will search the world for someone whose favorite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray
and who worships the same 1953 Hepburn film
and inhales dark coffee in the way that you do.
But you will end up settling for someone who has skimmed the back cover biography of Wilde
and who remembers when and where Audrey was born
and drinks java from a little coffee shop that you think is pretentious.
Yet there will be a time when you will find someone that you can’t live without
and you will be shell-shocked when you see that they can breathe air through their lungs
and eat the spicy food that you don’t like
and sleep with the window cracked just a little bit
all without you.
You will hate yourself more than anyone for letting yourself need someone as much as you need that one person,
who doesn’t even know that when you say you only take two sugars in your coffee,
you actually mean four, sometimes five.
You will ignore their pleas and roll your eyes at their petty compromises.
You will make them miserable because you love them more than they love you.
And they will stick around because they feel guilty for that very reason.
You will salt their wounds and ice their veins.
They will leave you on the side of the road and try their best to hate you.
You will both recognize that it is a valiant yet fruitless effort.
The line between hate and love is so slight that a feeling can change like a compass.
Love is hate and hate is love.
So you will grow to tolerate their lack of literary prowess
and enlighten them on what you actually mean when you say two sugars.
Most times everything will feel off and never quite the way you had expected,
and you’ll always wonder if you have ever really been happy,
and if this is actually how love feels.
When this happens, you must remind yourself that love is a complicated emotion.
It is in the tide of the sea
and the phases of the moon
and sometimes found in a frightening trek down Memory Lane.
You can find it in the face of every person that you have ever met
and sometimes it does not grace those pretty faces for very long at all.
The most truthful and sad part of it all is that it will eventually **** you.
But it is a death sentence at it’s finest.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
A simple, well-cut black dress with pearls and up-swept hair. So, Audrey Hepburn.
The way the Japanese drink traditional and ceremonial tea.
The shape of a ballerina.
French manicures.
Horseback riding.
Victorian dresses.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
It’s cold out,
But I want to lean over the side of my bed, grab my blue flannel pajama pants from last years Christmas, And slip them up my skinny legs for a drive.
I would pass up the dim, street-lit highways to arrive at the airport.
I would leave a note on the granite counter top for ma, to explain that it was desperate times escorting my desperate measures.
I would arrive at the gate with my flannel pants, my mobile diary, and my heavy hanging shoulders with my puffy tired eyes.
I would board my plane, eat my peanuts, and since it's Thursday and Thanksgiving is a weeks past, spread myself out across the row of emptied seats.
I would get two hours of rest to wake up with frost on my side window, and the snow of Denver to keep my chilled company.
There I would board my bus for my fourtyfive minute adventure to Boulder.
Thats where we would meet, you with your Audrey Hepburn hair and perfect pearl smile,
A cup of coffee in your left hand and a cup of cocoa in your right.
Me with my flannel pajamas and oversized jacket
With nothing else to offer--except for my presence.
We wouldn’t say much
Just giggle and give some hugs in the dead of Colorado’s bitter beautiful nights,
Before heading to where you call home to cuddle and hide from the rest of winter.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 3:23 PM UTC
If I had Audrey Hepburn's class and elegance, would I catch your eye when we passed each other in a morning rush?
If I had Elizabeth Taylor's eyes and body, would you stay a bit longer?
If I had the simple yet perfect beauty of Grace Kelly, would you wrap your arms around me at night and make me your princess?
And if you saw the lurking shadows and sensed the sadness behind my smile, just like Marilyn Monroe, would you leave me
all over again?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
“Women sync up with the moon,
like the sea does,
and it makes them unpredictable.”
he said.
(Surely not –
the sea and the moon are as predictable as you like!
you can chart them with maps!)
“Ah, but how about tsunami’s
that come along from nowhere
and drown the innocent?”
(Tsunamis aren’t caused by the moon,
they’re a result of the earth crashing into itself
and we are the earth,
us men,
and we drown the innocent.)
Every time I look at the moon -
(and I look at it often because I’m that kind of boy),
I can’t help but think of every woman in the world,
of every class and ever colour,
who has looked up at it too.
Cleopatra,
Kate Moss,
Katherine Hepburn,
Workhouse women with broken nails,
Baudelaire’s pale thin girls,
Courtney Love,
Female football players,
And how they feel
(or felt)
just as separate
or as close to it
As I do.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
My grandma has worn face masks over her mouth and nasty bruises from chemo treatments,
But the smile never left her lips. Her hands never too cold to squeeze.
My grandma was told she would have to go through a half-mastectomy,
and she dealt through the pain with as much bravery as a soldier going into war.
So when you ask me who my role model is, I won't say it's Audrey Hepburn, or Johnny Depp,
I'll merely point to my grandma, who now has a full head of hair, and say we're doin' just fine.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Take me to the place
with streets of gold
and flowing green pastures
where there's no lack of sunshine
even when it's raining
and I can eat with my favorite people
whom were long gone before me
I can spend my days writing
about whatever thought fills my mind
I'll go on far out adventures
maybe to the moon
or atleast to the stars
I'll climb a tree and read a book
It'll be a living fairytale
There'll be lots of swing dancing & Frank Sinatra in this world
With a wonderful fill of Audrey Hepburn & Alfred Hitchcock movies
I can see a drive in theater in the distance
Along with a cute little diner
And a Polaroid camera
To capture my fantasy
And keep it locked away
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
I don’t mean to alarm you
But I am dying
I’ve been dying for awhile
And I hope that when I go
I join the ranks of the greats
Robin Williams
Audrey Hepburn
Robert Frost
George Washington
Names everyone knows
Names I grew up admiring
Aspiring
Wanting
Wishing
Everything tries to be them
And falls flat
Probably because I’m dying
And when you’re dying
You aren’t as great
As you once thought
My jokes will never crack a smile
On the wrinkled
Cavernous face
Of Mr. Robin Williams
My beauty lies inside
Since I lack the seraphic
Elegant
Graceful
Beauty of Audrey Hepburn
My words are mere letters
Where they could be scars
And stars
Like Robert Frost
I lack courage
I lack leadership
Greatness finds victims aside me
Leaving me
Always one step behind
George Washington and his armies
Bet he keeps those armies in his sleevies
I’m dying up here
Just like these sucky jokes
I’m dying here
From school
From work
Anxiety
Grades
And all the like
And I’m dying in here
From loneliness
Ostracization
Failure to complete
Lack of motivation
I’m dying here
Can’t you see
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:07 PM UTC
~
*abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels
the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents
sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu
a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac
doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène
it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow
hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands
her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him
no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals
her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush
until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking*
~
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC
You know how in the movies
Cary Grant got away with
Everything? Like in Charade
He tricked Audrey Hepburn
Into helping him and went by
Peter, Alex, Joshua, each time
She learned his "real" name
Thought "I know him now and
I could love him better than he's
Ever been. He will never lie to
me again." And she dreamed
About his olderman lips and
His olderman hips that had
Certainly been around the block
A few times and definitely knew
A thing or two about the things
Her mother warned her about
She leans into him anyway
The sweeping music begins
The camera pans discreetly
Over to the wall, modesty
Is the best policy afterall
And the next morning he's
Singing in her shower, she's
Finally solved the mystery of
How he shaves in that sensual
Chin dimple get a woman to
Do it for him, she's weak in the
Knees thinking about her hand
On the razor and getting weaker
When he saves her from Walter
Matthau's evil clutches and James
Coburn, the other villains are long
Forgotten so they live happily ever
After and sing together in the shower
For about a week until she learns he's
Someone else. Not even Peter, Alex,
Joshua, so many men he's forgotten
He leaves her crying holding the
Straight razor in her forlorn little
Fingers. He was just a guy named
Arthur who charmed her with a
Funny accent then walked out the
Door and ran up her water bill like
A cad
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Dead people are no doubt bored, so I'm sure these folks would be happy for free food and conversation. Of course, this is just a partial list, subject to addition and deletion. Feel free to add your own in comments.
Buddha, but a light lunch.
Jesus, but kosher of course.
****** come on, who wouldn't.
James Joyce, just to mock him.
George Washington, to try to catch him in a lie.
Hemingway, but just for drinks.
Reagan, to deliver some Depends.
Bakunin, for mutual aid.
William Butler, my ancestor who survived The Wheatfield at Gettysburg.
Audrey Hepburn, but a date, not lunch.
Ingmar Bergman, just to cheer me up.
Ervin Schrödinger, about that cat.
Shakespeare, because I've always wanted to meet an extra-terrestrial.
Ezra Pound, to tell him he was right about usury.
God, to let her know how disappointed I am.
Richard Nixon, so I could drive a stake through his heart.
Julia Child, just to hear her voice again.
Lenin, because he was a self-starter.
Mozart, because he would be fun.
Emma Goldman, to dance.
James Dean, as we look so much alike.
Janis Joplin, because I might get lucky.
Come on, I'm sure you can add to the list. Don't be shy, try.
mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
I take pleasure in the simple things
And I know a lot of people say that
But I think a lot of people get carried away
With the idea of getting carried away
They watch movies for the special effects
Go to baseball games for the big names
And watch trains go by for the wrecks
But I take pleasure in the simple things
The other day I paced in the rain
It was summer so the warm water
Reminded me of growing up in Shanghai
Where the chemical rain would burn when it touched you
And that's a happy memory for me
I watch movies for the kisses
The Humphrey Bogart
Reach out and kiss the crap out of them kisses
The Ingrid Bergman sly, seductive kisses
The Audrey Hepburn innocent, eyes closed kisses
I go to baseball games to smell the air
Little league games, high school games,
Minor league games, professional games
It doesn't matter they all smell like dirt and leather
I like to walk by freshly mowed lawns
Because it reminds me of when I was younger
And played soccer every Saturday morning
On just cut grass
I love, love, love to watch little kids run in circles
For absolutely no reason at all
I take pleasure in the simple things
I think too often people
Try to measure the was of each day
Against the could be of every dream
Forgetting that we don't ask our dreams
To accomplish themselves between 9-5
Some people get caught up in
Trying to live their life
Like it was a scene from a dream
They drempt while they slept last night
And though sometimes life can seem like a movie
We are not producers or directors
Merely actors following our lines
Trying to feel out someone else's vision
So I find pleasure in the simple things
The parts no producer could control
The lines that aren't in the script
The prettiest rose on my bike ride home
Warm Rain
Dirt
Leather
Cut grass, little kids, and puppy dogs
Because if we limit the pleasure we find
To the greatest moments in our lives
We're never going to believe it's happening when it is
Always dreaming there could be more to our life then there is
And when we do finally believe
The only chance we'll have to smile
Will be at a memory
And we'll miss all the beauty and pleasure
The world and life
Has put in front of you and me
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:40 PM UTC
I get offended when people say
That the happiest girls
Are the prettiest ones.
But
How about us?
How about the girls who
Fight the urge of crying
Every night alone?
How about the girls who
Almost stitch their skin to pain
Just to flash a smile?
How about the girls who
Are in a battle from the moment they woke up
Struggling to keep their pieces together?
Can't we be the prettiest?
Can't the strongest be the most beautiful ones?
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
My dreams are dreams of black and white.
I dream of the late Cool Hand Luke,
And Big Daddy in the rain.
I dream of Hepburn, where it's hot,
Of Skelton upon his stage.
I dream of Jeannie,
Of Lucy's man,
Of Hitchcock's crazed suspense,
And of my freckled friend, named Opie,
Relaxing with Papa Griffith.
Jethro swings from chandeliers,
As daddy fends off fiends.
Granny ***** that little hand,
Signaling the end.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 12:22 PM UTC
i leaned to smoke
from film noir
the gritty grey frames
i first saw in cloudy rooms
completely antithetical to the vibrant blockbusters
from my childhood
if i can afford it
i still buy a non-filtered soft-pack
and puff them
three puffs just before
anything is inhaled
mostly for effect
drama
but when i cant
i just think of bogart
tear the filter off
and proceed
but it was never
so much about the act
drawing in a cloud
of overly-processed plant matter
but about the etiquette
if you have ever burned down
something without cotton
you know it is certainly a messy ordeal
but what hepburn and tracy taught
what grant and cagney spoke
with their actions of course
is that there is a reason to this madness
i practice
and i try to teach
that this is an elegant process
while taking in a deep breath
of something
you arent encouraged to love
without any health benefits
simply out of a base habit
some of that **** is going to get in your mouth
it may taste bitter too,
depending on how your buds are aligned,
but grow up
you cant keep just spitting where
other people will soon walk
they never did that
my heroes
instead
they stuck out
the tip of their tongue
pursed their lips
as the face made by
a baby on a commuter rail
staring at you
and you echo back
with a tiny poke
of your front 10000 buds
mostly for spectacle
and when that teensy bit emerges
within or without the train
you have to gently pick
with the forefinger and the thumb
the infinitesimal bits
resting at the tip
pluck them away
rub those two finger together
and pretend
that youre only smoking
and
if you arent looking closely enough
ill tell you
things are turning back into grey
and you turn RIGHT back into
the misogynist you hated
but emulated
youre still smoking though
handing out smokes in fact
holding up "the walls of jericho"
laughing at those
who dont know how
to fold a sheet
oh. but i pledge to quit
and you to change
and us to bond
and my smokes to wain
this isnt about the filter-less
that i had at 3am
its about what i commit
and what you
can respond with
how this can work
and the etiquette necessary
let me
let me
pick the fleck from the tip
of the teasing tongue
just for you
and you tell me
when i have something
in the place that
used to be my mustache
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
I look like my dad.
My mom looks like Audrey Hepburn,
with a dash of Twiggy thrown in
for good measure,
but I,
I look like my dad.
(My dad, for the sake of clarity,
looks nothing like Audrey Hepburn
or Twiggy.
He’s more the George Clooney type -
which is a great look for George Clooney
and for my dad -
but not
for a girl who wanted to look like
Princess Di,
or Cindy Crawford,
or Julia Roberts,
or Gisele…)
A woman now,
wiser now,
older now,
I look in the mirror and know that -
all things progressing as they usually do -
a time will come
when the mirror will be the only place
I will see his face.
And I hope,
when that time comes,
I can still remember
how to look at myself through those eyes
that knew I was beautiful long before I even knew my own name:
How to look
like my dad.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
If we were meant to be here
If I am James Dean, then you are Audrey Hepburn
A fairytale that only comes in a dream
If I am prince charming
If we were meant to be
Then I would James Dean
And you be Audrey Hepburn
Like a Disney Movie
I'd be prince charming
and you be my damsel in distress up on top a castle
You be my love forever
That can't be broken by Jafar
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
they say that love is forever
your forever is all that i need
please stay
as long as you need
can't promise that things won't broken
but i swear that i'll never leave
please stay
forever with me
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
The old man groans as he gets up,
Rising from the chair is a job.
He notices now he is getting older
His head is developing a bob.
Not quite Katharine Hepburn,
Not a nod as much as a bounce.
It’s not a palsy, more of a tic.
It’s not really that pronounced.
And stairs seem to be an enemy
They don’t match the cadence.
Between the risers and his feet
There just too much distance.
Or other times, they are too short
And rise up as an ugly surprise
Not coinciding with what he sees
With his own aging naked eyes.
The man complains about TV
How they are mumbling too much.
They seem to be whispering
Or using foreign words and such.
And when he turns the sound up
The action scenes hurt his ears.
A ***** trick to play on people
Who are a bit advanced in years.
The old man gets disgruntled
When people outside make noise
Like they are some kind of teenagers;
But they’re adults, not girls and boys.
Here it is ten o’clock at night
When decent people are asleep.
What kind of schedule is this
For decent people to have to keep?
What is he to make of the music
These young people like to play?
It has to be some kind of abuse
To use a guitar in that way.
In his day there was melody
And words you could understand.
The noise they make is like a collision
Between a dump truck and a sedan.
The old man grumbles in frustration
That things have not stayed the same.
He would write a letter to the President
If he could figure out who to blame.
But one thing sure, he always insists,
It didn’t use to be this way before.
Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Your childhood plaything
Became your clone
You traded crayons for
Your mother’s lipstick
Children’s fairy tales for
****** romance paperbacks
Your room’s rose wallpaper is
Canopied with Audrey Hepburn posters
At night, you braided your hair
For those sophisticated waves
You ****** on lemons
To perfect your pout, and
Brushed with baking soda
To bleach your teeth
Your envy: the doll’s porcelain skin—
Not too unlike the seat cover
You clutched after meals,
To keep the spirit clean.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
Maybe she's born with it
Maybe she's been manipulated
Maybe she's more than just a pretty face
Whatever that smile meant
or if it was as half-angelic
as i thought it
Or if she meant to grace my lonely
finger tips
Maybe she's the muse
Who's harp I should be plucking
heart strings for
Maybe she's the missing music
To drop the the four back on the floor
To beat my
heart with her holy hands
To cross the first threshold
A call to adventure
to the heart beaten path
Rendezvous
A meeting with the Goddess
She's my Hepburn
burning up my *****
in the smoking
little black
(un)dress
to bring that light back again
Maybe it's all in my head
Maybe she keeps me stimulated
Maybe baby girl keeps me born again
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC