I.
He's the maitre'd of stretched faces,
Leading them to certain obscure places.
With an bald scalp and angular nose,
He could pass as the ringleader of a Vaudevillian show.
His pleated pants and starched shirt
appear ironed on; consciously devoid of any dirt.
Within mahogany walls is his kingdom protected,
With a plague of mirrors and bills are his customers infected.
Distinct gazelles he meets with sinister smiles,
Yet for a house-cat his visage reeks of bile.
He's the St. Peter of a narcissists dream,
In such an ashen haze does his conscience gleam.
II.
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wolfe stride through the door,
Glancing too long at his shimmering linens could make one's eyes sore.
Her dazzling pearls obscure her enhanced declotage,
yet the proper gaze reveals her to be quite the mirage.
His breath exudes wealth; that proper mix of whiskey
and golf that falls somewhere between stately and ritzy.
From his pocket he procures a twenty,
and let it be known that of those he has plenty.
As for poetry and painting he regards these as crock,
just another diversion for sliding up a lady's frock.
He saunters up to the revered seater,
Glances at The Book and emits the confidence of a Fearless Leader.
The guardian graciously smiles yet again,
but in his mind he sees just another denizen.
III.
Mrs. Wolfe, demure in all her applied beauty,
slithers her slender body into the chair superciliously.
Her husband, impressed by her expert application,
is well aware of her most expert vocation.
She grasps her glass with withered fingers
and swirls it twice, yet the sediment persists to linger.
She blinks her coated eyes in forced rhythm,
The contents of her closets possess infinite wisdom.
The evening passes with light conversation,
Any unplanned outburst would be greeted with reserved indignation.
An ornamental etching of an elephant is fixed to the wall,
His sagacious gaze fills the uninspired hall.
Things are in order things appear right,
Yet neither will notice the way the water flickers in the candlelight.
Tonight when their bodies lay to rest,
Not a single giggle will have escaped in involuntary jest.
IV.
Tonight when Mr. Wolfe returns home and logs the evening's events,
the maitre'd will bask among forgotten scarves in silent reverence.
He will tidy up the seats and pick up dropped peas,
Intent on making each detail acceptable to even the Kennedys.
Enclosed as the absolute patriarch of this domain,
It is a veneer sheen he is determined to maintain.
In his servitude he is like a flea,
Clinging to the back of a unloving bee.
When walls melt in in involuntary freedom,
A childhood tune they continue to hum.
But it's dependence, it's order, that they all intend to keep,
Opalescent pearls and neatly stitched pants in one place all heaped.
In an establishment so acutely defined,
Without feeling or dreaming is each meal derived.
A contest entry
- A Tribute to TS Eliot - Options by Pandorea.
900 points, ended March 24, 2008, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Imagery by angryelf6886.
350 points, ended April 5, 2008, 30 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Great range of vocabulary and an interesting placing of 'to be'.
The language does indeed sum up the 'trappings' of the aspirant, consumed by society and its false choices.
At times, I felt the flow was a little off, but overall it reads well.
You have some great verses in here. Particularly:
'His breath exudes wealth; that proper mix of whiskey
and golf that falls somewhere between stately and ritzy'
Although, I think you could emit 'golf' and play on the mixing of a drink.
Also:
'Tonight when Mr. Wolfe returns home and logs the evening's events,
the maitre'd will bask among forgotten scarves in silent reverence'
There is also some great observation, like picking up the pea.
Third line of verse one: 'an' should be 'a'.
I like this and I have learned something - never knew what babbittry was before - great word!
Thanks...
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Thanks for the comments; I think I will edit that "golf..whiskey" line a little bit to make it a bit more witty. Also, Babbittry refers to the novel "Babbitt" by Sinclair Lewis, it's not a word I made up or anything.
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To be totally honest I had a hard time making it through this one. Don't get me wrong, I ended up enjoying the piece, but the third part got slow for me, and I almost didn't make it. However I am glad I did, because I went back and read it again and I like the message. I like the rhyme. I would have to say the meter is a little off, but not horrible. With all things said and done, I do like it. Good luck, and good writing.
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I agree with RentedHouse-- this has a lot of potential; it's good writing, with a solid message. Though the meter was slightly unintentional, I think that unifying it would give it a little extra oomph. :-)
I could also see this poem becoming a little longer-- I want to know what else there is about these characters. It didn't lose my attention at all.
Also, I see you entered this in an Eliot contest... I knew it reminded me of something. There are definitely some similarities.
Great job!
.:Marie:.
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long, but very very worth the read. this held my attention the entire way through, which is sometimes hard to do with a long piece, so great effort there!
As for poetry and painting he regards these as crock,
just another diversion for sliding up a lady's frock.
i love these two lines, very smooth lines!
the overall rhyming scheme is very good too, and held vey well throughout it!
you should be very proud of this write, thanks for sharing! -
I don't know if this was intentional or not, but in your word choice you really captured how masculine it all is. I agree with Grimoire, sometimes it was off meter... and there were some places where your word choice wasn't the best. I would encourage you to look into this concept deeper and really dig at it. The poetry of what is sad materialism can be found anywhere. This poem is a little obvious. What else represents materialism? What kind of allusions can you make?
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Thanks for the comments. I actually wasn't writing this with any specific meter in mind-I mostly used the rhyming only to accentuate the didactic theme of the poem itself.
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Smartly written. The rhyme is somewhat off meter at times, but the flow overall is satisfactory. The wording is poetic and sublime at times, while others it is staccato and without depth. Overall, not bad. It captures the essence of a moment from several perspectives, but leaves the reader without much deeper contemplations.
until immolation,
Grimoire
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