You would not know it now to look at her,
tiny and shriveled,
sitting quietly watching, "The Price Is Right"
with the sound down,
But once, raven haired, she stopped men dead,
could torch them with a beguiling smile,
or freeze them with an icy frown.
She was stunning then, the way she held her head,
arched her limber back;
her legs thin, lithesome and long,
with a cigarette, an accoutrement,
expertly placed between knowing lips.
Her voice, deep, lush-- and utterly affected--
but men never noticed that,
they heard what they wanted to hear
and they saw,
only what they yearned to have.
And she did not give without a price,
and even if you had her then...
you never took, what she would not give,
men were just a pawn, a means to an end.
And now young men gather still--
they help her into her sterile bed,
and women,
the types who once feared
she'd take their precious men,
serve her evening soup,
and they all see just another one...
forgotten,
waiting for the end--
for they never knew her -- then.
In a list
Who are you? Why are you all in my computer?
Comments
1 - 65 of 65
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I really enjoyed this poem. We grow old and change so much we don't even recognize ourselves in the old pictures on the shelf, but everyone old was once young, vital and vibrant and unfortunately, the young will become old barring the alternative. This was a very good reflection on what that means.
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WoW
This is meloncholy and thick with emotions and yet stand-offish...this has the touch of a master and more
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I love this. Know why? Because I work with the older people-and have cause to believe that every one of my ladies were like this once. Women today (including myself) are creampuffs-compared to the ladies of yesterday. We're so spoiled because we didn't have to struggle like they did to be heard and respected. We werent victimized, or objectified.
There is deep emotion here-and whether it be Lauren Bacall or not, I can place any one of our facility's ladies in her stead.
Wonderful rhyming poem, and I like rhyme.
Sometimes. Dont tell anyone though, they might think I've lost my mind.
lol, okay Jin...yeah yeah.
Love,
jin
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I ceased a long time ago to worry about small minded readers who show their limited grasp on creative writing by creating a false sense of superiority to cover-up their shortcomings.
I like all forms of writing, to read and to write. It seems any mature reader should.
End of sermon.
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I like your sermons-and I totally agree. When a write is right (pppppshaw), then it's gonna come the way it comes.
and can I get an amen???
lol
Happy Sunday. -
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Amen sister!
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Yem,
.....So it was so sweet of you to write a poem about me!, I'm flattered :.) j/k,
but seriously, adored this one.
Good to catch up again,
Lilly. -
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As I age I have given much thought to how beauty in a woman internalizes. It takes a tender wise heart to see it still...
as time flies
i find myself looking
deep into older women's eyes
to see if i could love their skin
If my love's heart and mind lived within
And that thought alone
Makes them all
beautiful
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Actually it is about me in a dress. I look good! Ok, make believe I never said any of that! LOL
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For a minute there I wish that was me, then reality kicks in LOL
I enjoyed the read ….just lovely.
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I'm sorry, I never saw your comment. Thanks for dropping by!
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Lol, I was poised to post a comment when I read who are you ? Why are you all in my computer? Ah, I'm the silence that speaks in an English accent and I'm inside your computer as part of the fifth dimension that transposes freeverse with the cyber universe. I never attended the Cyber University as I didn't accredit enough mega-rhyme-bytes
Enough of that nonsense and on to something else of hopefully a modicum of sense, lol ( as if )
I rarely look at a picture before reading the poem and in all honesty your words painted LB within my mind's eye, the stance, the lithesome legs, THAT voice, you pained a character with an innate, classy, vampishness inbetween introducing her chronological frailty.
Maybe men were just pawns instead of just a pawn?
" And she did not give without a price" Oh my, that's punchy without taking a swing. Maybe there is a price to pay for everything , an exchange rate of the head over the heart or the heart over the head or even the insatiable lust that is misplaced and as dust, as dust?
You write well, showing and telling a veritable life story and leaving the reader feeling a sense of sadness for the sterile solitude of being unloved at the end.
Bravo.
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Wonderful write
Almost like a tribute to younger years, Great job with well thaught effort. Excellent my friend and brilliant. Many blessings to you
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You have earned a gold trophy on this poem in my mind.
Aye, I do remember this gorgeous woman and others like her who have bitten the winds of time. 
I wish someone would write a book about where they are, for I would send them fan letters. 
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It's so sad that so many will have this story you've portayed so well here, Sir Yem.
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So often when you look into their eyes, you catch beautiful glimpses of the person they once were. You've written this with such eloquence and grace. I loved it.
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I love the then and now scenario and with the Price is Right as a metaphor...ooops I hope I am saying things right
I love it...got a lump on my throat
and why would I delete this
I hope you won't
Thank you
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this is very poignant. It reminds me of my lola...she's a vamp and with a cig on her hand
guys go crazy on her
though she never came to a point that she can't walk
she does not want that, she's even with zadee before she had ami
I love it Sir Yem
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Good to hear about your Lola!
Thanks. It's easy to ignore who people were in their prime, to treat them like they are insignificant...greatness in all forms deserves some remembrance and reverence it seems.
After-all, one day I won't be the debonair fella I am, lol
I owe Zadee a silly animal graphic on my page.
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it'll be her first day of school tomorrow
a debonair will always be a debonair, that won't fade
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Wow, going to school already. Mommy is going to be sad!
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Enjoyed it
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Thank you FM...I still owe you a read. I haven't forgotten.
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Don't owe me anything dear friend!.. Its a joy to read yours, and happy happy whenevr time permits you to drop by
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Hey this was really great, Yem. It put me to mind of my grandmother who was a beauty in her day. I don't think she carried quite the same sex appeal as mentioned here, but instead a certain spunk. In these last years, she brags that her health and body may be gone to the hills, but that she at least still has her mind. Sad thing is, her mind is failing her too, so to hear her say that is not only ironic, but quite sad. It is as if to have a good mind, she still has her youth, her dignity, her person.
Anyway, this is only somewhat related to your poem... but this one makes us think, not just about famous stars and their allure, but about ourselves.
This was quite wonderful.
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lol, you said "beet your guideline"
That's a funny mental image, like you opened up a can of beets and poured them all over the computer screen.
Now... onto the poem...
I love the way you illustrated how beauty and Moxie fades... and an internal life can have nearly no evidence in the body. Outstanding write.
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Ah I have such bad typing skills, lol
Moxie DOES NOT fade! I am shocked and hurt and dismayed at your suggestion that it does!
Thanks!
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I'm bad at typing too... that moxie was supposed to be lowercase...
It's just so HARD to type the word Moxie in lowercase now...
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Oh, Oh, Oh---missed the click!!!
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The depth of Mayne,
the gift of Yem to place
that depth upon the page.
From the photos they still keep near them,
from the stories brought back from multi-decades,
they live as the person they know in their minds,
the one exciting, devoted, depended upon.
As the readers here see their decades compound,
they find themselves in similar sitiuations,
realizing the person in the mirror
the one with a few more aches and pains
is not the one they know in their minds,
for they don't feel the change!
Yem, with your reference to the classic film
"You Can't Take It with You," on Charli-J's
piece a few days ago, I checked out
Jean Arthur, the vibrant star, found she
was born before my mother, and lived
until 1991! I felt sad that I had not known
she was with us still in the later decades,
that I had not made effort to speak
of the joy she still gives in all her films.
One more story: When my Mother was living
in a nursing home I had brought her a copy
of the creative writing book my students
and I created each year. It was the year
I had been thinking of flying off to a new
career. She marked her favorite piece
of those I had written for that volume,
about a butterfly struggling to fly free--
and told me that is just how she felt.
Oh, I am being Yemish, bringing me
to your story, but you expressed it
so poignantly, so truthfully, I wanted
to add the comparisons I have experienced.
Bravos in mutiples, Sir Yem, you in your
newly polished armor, shining upon
all of us.
M-C -
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Did Jean Arthur live that long? I know what you mean about that feeling...I've had it before when I realize some great actor (or other celebrity) had still been alive yet I hadn't known it.
For Arthur, it was her voice that intrigued me, same with Judy Holliday, two of my favorites.
That was a great story about your mom, a little sad too of course.
When I wrote the poem I had certain black and white stars in my head when I wrote of this woman...Veronica Lake being one and of course Marlene Dietrich, not a fav of mine but she did sort of fit.
Oh, thanks.
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Robert Osborne, Turner Classic Movies---the interviews!
Had Jane Withers on---oh, who else, Duane Hickman--Dobie--
some others---about their perceptions as child actors.
It was wonderful, -
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Of course you remember the best thing about Dobbie Gillis....his friend Maynard! "Work!" I don't remember the original...well, just barely, but I have seen the re-runs of course. Good old Gilligan.
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Oh, man--I had almost forgotten---Gilligan
as Maynard, the best friend! On the other
hand, I do remember---vaguely, the originals.
Black and white TV, a young mom! Well, now
I've dated me very well!!!
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I like finding those old tv shows and watching a few episodes. Some from the early years. There is one series, starring a very young Betty White (Life With Elizabeth) it's not bad considering it's probably 1954 or so and wasn't a large budget show.
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Where are you finding that?
No recollection of that---
first year teaching---no TV.
Numbers adding and subtracting!!
But it's the actors, the writers.
A simple set---look at Gleason,
the tiny apartment! -
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There are others, but here is one. You can either watch it right there or download it. They're public domain, so it's ok to download them, but I usually just watch them right there.
http://www.archive.org/details/Life_with_Elizabeth -
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Thank you, thank you!
Will check it out tonight!
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I found several editions of Life with Elizabeth on the Internet Archive, let me find a link.
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Oh, you just added "Baby."
Did I ever mention that while
my first born I named after
one of writers of the gospels,
the most religious oriented
daughter I named for Lauren Bacall! -
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Bacall was a prime thought when I was writing it but I wasn't sure she'd fit the image, but looking at that photo, Bacall fits the woman in my poem, maybe not her life, or personality, but her look and voice. Guys would burn at that look.
Did you name her after Lauren. There's a certain irony in that.
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I know, I know! And she is also tall!
Several years ago, Bacall on Larry,
still making a plea---"Send me scripts,
send me scripts."
Aren't we all looking---another role,
another story, another opportunity
for the best may still come to be....!
Mickey Rooney, in another Robert Osborne
interview a few years ago---saying just that--
that his best may still be coming!! -
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Yes, a shame Bacall has never got a meaty role. She still has that look. Mickey, I don't know...it's a long way from Andy Hardy to there.
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Oh, she so held her own against Bogey---
she commanded the screen.
She and June Allyson were my favorites--
and I actually saw them both in original
releases of some of their films.
But bless AMC and TMC for keeping all
that art alive and bringing it to us now. -
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She sure did. I think for at least 90 minutes I'd fall in love with her...at least until their movies would end. Would be had to pick my favorites. I always like funny women like Holiday and Ginger Rogers, Marjory Main (Ma and Pa Kettle were hilarious.) even Zazu Pitts. I'm sure there were lots more. Same with the guys...give me comedians.
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Oh, Zazu Pitts---I had only the faintest memory,
but it was fond. Then with old movies, re-runs,
there she was, the sardonic comedienne.
While emulating---a year to the day, the model
of a reporter died. Since Russert passed, this one
year, we would be astounded, most likely, at the
number of his profession, from newspapers, espeicially, radio have lost their jobs due to cuts.
But that's a topic for another day---the need for
reporters---"to keep 'em honest."
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Fan-tastic!
with your vivid imagination in full gear and the serious side of you in A-1 condition ... I think that we have a finalist poem here! What a little green imp you are not to share of more poetry such as this one! I should think that we have an astute poet here just waiting for the right moment to step out of the closet! Well done Yem! j y
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Thanks, you are far too kind. No, poetry is fun but it's not me, nor is fiction but I'm a little better at that. It's rare I enter contests, mainly because I'm terribly lazy, but I liked the idea of this one.
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This is such a goood story
If this is removed from the
contest, I'll sic Mario, The Knee
Buster, after the judge j/k
Love, Lane
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Thank you Shar pei. I won't mess with you if you know people like Mario.
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It's amazing the hidden lives of those who have been dropped off to finish out their existence that very few even know. Awesome Yem!
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So vivid a picture from your words which then triggers my memory of the seven years of revolving residents from when my mother was in a nursing home. Certain people would stand out and I would wonder what their lives were like prior to their arrival in this holding zone.
There was one woman, I can still see her face, who had long braided snow white hair and always a bit of a mischievous look about her. She would rap me from behind with her plastic teacup when I wasn't looking and when I'd turn to her, she'd look all non-chalant, like it wasn't her. I always wondered about her specifically. I imagined her to be quite a spitfire in her younger days.
Even though it's a very sad tale, I still like it, Yem.
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You know people are like precious medals that some times have to be polished. Medal sometimes gets an aged look on the outside but on the inside it is the same precious medal. So it is with the spit fires and tender eyes....we are the same from child to death I think.
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''we are the same from child to death I think.''
I know I'm pretty much the same so far, quite tarnished but the same mettle inside.
Thanks! -
Great analogy TD. I agree, it only takes a little care and attention to restore the lustre. I always notice eyes...so much can be revealed in but a brief moment of direct contact.
I believe it is our "essence" that makes us who we are and that part of us doesn't really change.
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Thank you for the beautiful comment. You are an observant fellow. I like how you always have stories, things you've seen, experienced, noticed. I'm not that way, it's a gift I believe that you have.
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Thanks for the compliment, Sparky. I'll overlook the fact you referred to me as a "fellow" lol.
I think you notice more than you give yourself credit for...it's apparent to me in your writing. -
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Fellow as in "My fellow Americans" I don't think you are a man...though it is always possible...you might just know a good plastic surgeon
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I notice what's in front of me...but some people just see everything. Take a drive with my mom someday and you'll see what I mean...it can get annoying, lol
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Your mother still drives you around or back seat drives?
My mom used to have an imaginary brake in the passenger seat when she rode in a car with me (prior to the onset of her illness) and would sometimes make this sound like she had sprung a leak if I cut a corner. lol -
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I have that same imaginary brake. Yeah, she still drives, there are occasions when I've need to be a passenger.
I can hear that hissing sound, maybe I make it,
Going to find supper. Back later maybe.
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I think you used the legs just perfectly! the portrait of what used to be, the glorious time and the fading beauty.
The then and now, with so much difference in and outside. The being alone at the end of her life is written with strong imageries here.
Very good leg poem!
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Thanks...what is your name again? Margo, right.
I'll lying fully clothed in jello right now...smoking a big fat cigar. -
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Jello? don't go licking yourself
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Blech. Why would I do a crazy thing like that, lol
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