Poems Inspired by Dorothy Parker

A Night In with My RedHeaded Muse

a manhattan is simply a bourbon martini
with a cherry instead of an olive
perfect is the preferred form for me
but if it's very sweet, i'll live

my paintbrush has lately replaced my pen
but my passion is not yet sated
when i stand before the easel i am in zen
along with a bourbon and cheese plate

i wish that i could paint you nude
as you sit in my armchair
until the reality of daylight intrudes
and steals you away with your red hair

my thoughts of you are not merely about sex
love and friendship might just play a role
and my needs and desires are quite complex
and it is you who pleasures my soul

(c) fprm 2008

Another Sad Tale

The question at hand seems to be,
Pray, is it him? Or is it me?
He claims I did something, I know
(I must have, for he told me so),
But on my life, I don't know what
(Or if I did, I've since forgot).
I know that in his drunken state
He can become a bit irate,
And I'm no gem when I've been drinking--
Lord knows that booze distorts my thinking.
Yet whether I was drunk or tired,
I'm fuzzy on just what transpired.
I've loved this guy for far too long,
And so I must ask: What went wrong?
Perhaps our paths weren't meant to cross,
And that's what birthed this albatross.
Maybe I was a tad untoward
And made suggestions he found forward?
But since when does a single dude
Find any such proposal rude?
Still, our last talk and our last visit
I thought were nice, if not exquisite.
So clearly then, my mind's grown dim--
Pray, is it me? Or is it him?

(Apologies to D. Parker)

(c) hmh, 2008

The Character Series is Complete

Top Row: Psychiatric, Painter
Bottom Row: Darth, Pornographer, Poet




Poet

Work in Progress: "When I'm 64"

When I get older, it is not likely I will be losing my hair many years from now. I wonder who will be sending me valentines, birthday greetings, with whom I will be sharing a bottle of wine.

This painting, a work in progress, is my birthday gift to myself...a promise of a new future, a new, life. Does it really begin at 40?

When I turn 64, my daughter will be 30, my wife and hopefully friend will be 56, my close friend and godmother to my daughter will be 63, my traveling buddy will be 56...my cats will be dead. How many steak and cigar-induced heart attacks would I have had by then? Would I be able to walk away from the city and move to paradise? Will there be any paradise left on earth or will WalMart have a superstore in Papeete? How many new lovers? How many will stay around to be friends? Will I still be good in bed? Still? Am I now?

Will I still enjoy the chocolate egg cream?