Poetry the calls to me

I was introduced to Dorothy Parker and I like her. I can’t normally read poetry (it doesn’t make sense on the page for me) but it is the dark of the night and these three really resonate at this time.

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you’re his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

– Dorothy Parker

Epitaph for a Darling Lady

All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.

Shiny day on shiny day
Tumbled in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.

Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.

– Dorothy Parker

Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold
And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled–
Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.
My own true love, he is all my world,–
And I wish I’d never met him.

My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams–
And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathway of the morrows.
He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart–
And I wish somebody’d shoot him.

– Dorothy Parker

2 thoughts on “Poetry the calls to me

  1. But to balance that…

    Ah, yes, dear Miss Parker. I’ve long been a fan. (“If all the girls at the Yale Prom were laid end to end, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”)

    But to balance that, here’s something cheerier, by Ogden Nash:

    There is something about a martini,
        A tingle deliciously pleasant;
    A yellow, a mellow martini,
        I wish that I had one at present–
    There is something about a martini
        Ere the dining and dancing begin,
    And to tell you the truth, it is not the vermouth–
        I think that perhaps it’s the gin!

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