Dusk Latitudes and Film Noir

It’s been quite a while since I have posted any of my own poetry.  Since it is National Poetry Month, I thought this was as good a time as any.  I don’t have much to say about my poems. They are what they are.

dusk latitudes

tempestuous waves
against the shore
the moon lying close
to the horizon

you must carry the afterglow
uphold the solitary wings
for vision has become
piles of coffee cups
awkward shadows
languid eyes

too many dismal whispers
that freeze action
in the business of life

and we are busy
like the waves that bellow
the eternal songs of the sea
and the moon that serenades
the milky way with sad laments

to empyrean’s ether end
hurtles light
past that place where midnight
comes from
the place where we part our lips
and act as though there are never tears

waves crash over rocks
and the moon slips from us
anonymously

© 2011 dmriley

This second poem was inspired by the 1946 Ida Lupino film, “The Man I Love.”

film noir

I hate fog, it’s sort of lonely
ida lupino says
as my hand runs down
the smooth skin exposed by her backless dress
your fingers are cold, she sighs
let’s go in here

we go to the bar
I buy her a short beer
she draws on a long cigarette
& blows the smoke out with impertinence
she’s looking at me straight on
remember what you said darling
when we were looking at the stars
life, you said, is too short
to waste time with memories
well, I think you’re right

Ida_Lupinoshe goes over
& asks the piano player
if she can sing
some desolate song she knows
she has the kind of voice
you’d expect to find in a place like this
perched on top of the piano
skirt pulled high
swinging that crossed leg
deliberately
perfectly

as I place a bet
on another shot of rye

I was hoping
to find something in her
that I’d been missing all my life
but she didn’t have it
no one does

later on she says
she’s been cheating on me
with robert mitchum
& when I ask her why
she just shrugs her shoulders
pouts with her lower lip
& says that it’s because
he always holds his glass
with such an air of

detachment

I walk home alone
cloaked in the gray night
I understand what she means now
about the fog

© 1997 dmriley

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