Monday, June 22, 2009

at the crack of dawn the lampposts weep

actors will have their crowd
sprawled and in thrall
the moment the lights go out
and final curtains fall

kings will no doubt have
their men; their monuments
alabaster jars, slaves
concubines and all

warriors will have their wives
daughters and gun salutes;
their flags on the stand-by
for when the shadows call

but who will weep now
for the whore—

and that tattered red dress;
those rouged cheeks that roar;
the tired laughter from a queen
blowing easy in the wind?

who will weep now for that jaunty gait
the staccato of worn-out stilletos
echoing loudly against darkened halls
painting the lonely nightsky red?

who, indeed?

certainly not
the kings, the soldiers;
the actors that groaned
and moaned in her bed

the traffic signs will remember
and the streets that shared her rampage;
the paling moon by the crack of dawn
and that lamppost she calls home

they will remember
they will weep
and not forget.


the geek said...

stained...springs broken...
yet still useful..
the bed will weep, too...
for the queen..the whore...
for the lady of the night..

>i dont know but i remember coelho's eleven minutes in this poem..great post, gentle...

Mr. Komplikado said...


I need a gauze! Ahihihi =)

Anonymous said...

wow Oj. that was not bad at all. better than the disgusting rubber ducky one. hehehe. - mark rabe