"melba" poems
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed gar-
ments, poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bit-
ter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
5.7k
Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Sandpipers chasing the retreating surf,
Orange sun dawdling as a old
Man searching his lost memories,
Thick salty air caressing a lovers Loose curls
Flaccid waves reaching casually for
The Cerulean sky as their arms retire back to
Their sides.
Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Another afternoon On the Coast
~AD~
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 5:55 PM UTC
After a stroll by the lake
They were in for a surprise
Nothing could forsake
The peach melba skies.
Tangerine, rosy pinks and melon
'streaking in the sky
With a dash of sorbet lemon
A feast for the eye.
Hot raspberry colours behind a cloud
Softens the mood, taking them in
Like a farmer’s face when he’s ploughed
The blood rising in his skin.
They held hand, hearts entwined
So much in love, he kissed
Her lips, held her hand behind
And stroked her delicate wrist.
She fell even more in love
With this man, her man, her life
He noticed the peach melba skies above
And begged her to be his wife.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
an intersecting pattern
has shown up
on the radar screen
there are many familiar characters
to be seen
entities from a far
constellations
has appeared in this location
it has be most astounding
to find those floaters
in this surrounding
I bet if I check the radar screen
in the next while
there will be more familiar entities
landing on its dial
they are ever popping
into this sphere
and one finds this
all to be exceptionally queer
at any minute Alvin Asteroid and Melba Meteorite
may make an appearance
on the site
they'll be traveling
incognito
but the intersecting pattern
shall bear their info
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
Father Joe died that year.
The Benedictine monk
who’d got you through
the worst of things.
Cancer got him in the end.
Your youngest daughter
was born that year but
nearly lost some heart
**** up the docs fixed
with their box of tricks
and the hand from God
you guessed. A year you’d
listened to Nellie Melba
from old opera recordings
on your Walkman sitting
on trains to the hospital
and back having visited
the sick wife and babe
both on different wards.
Before the babe was born
you and your wife had
visited the abbey grounds
where Father Joe had been
laid to rest with a simple cross.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC