deepundergroundpoetry.com
noir for a regular dame
it’s in the black&white of night.
the dark that’s an amalgam of shadows. shadows of secrets.
nothing good that nobody wants to know.
the white frozen flames of streetlamps where I come to lean & smoke.
the albino moon that hangs with passing clouds, defiant of the
converging storm. that moon not meant for lovers.
you can search for a good story like you search for a good woman, &
come across both in the back of a black sedan. I remember unbuttoning
her shirt. real slow. there was nothing to rush ahead to & nothing to go
back to.
her breasts were classy, elegant under the worn lace bra. beauty that tried
to separate itself from the trash of her. how many men had seen her this
way, I could nearly make out the spectral traces of tobacco-stained
moustaches, the shallow incisions of eager teeth.
I made my own marks on her, & she guided me toward her neck, that
smelled of a rare spice, maybe, the kind they don’t serve at the local
diner. I took it. I took her like she wanted me to, in the back of a black
sedan. it was a minefield of expectation. & regret.
she needed a place to stay, & she’d settle for my walk-up flat. she came
with back rubs & cold beers & she knew how to change the sheets, so I let
her in. I let her in as far as she could dance.
after a while, there were nights when she didn’t come home, & sometimes
I’d catch a joker walking out the door as I was coming up the steps. we’d
fight & she’d stand up to me, then she’d cry & I’d break down. I knew in my
whiskey-deep heart I didn’t want to be alone.
but you can’t make a woman love you when she don’t know how to love.
one night, a black&white night like this, shadows & secrets & a drunken
moon leaning on the streetlamp smoking, she was gone. smooth, like a
criminal. ‘cause every noir needs an ending mean as sorrow.
the lovers that we used to be.
& never (not one more night) again…
(Artist unknown)
Published 16th Jan 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 14
reading list entries 2
comments 8
reads 1325
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
16th Jan 2017 7:40pm
sometimes a girl's gotta do
the only thing she think she's good for...
... you broke my lil black heart with this one, mister
xo
the only thing she think she's good for...
... you broke my lil black heart with this one, mister
xo
16th Jan 2017 8:32pm
Some women will never be satisfied and are always looking for what they think will make them happy. Some never realize that sometimes they need not to keep looking. Some do.
Anonymous
16th Jan 2017 10:53pm
Ohhhhh John.....grinned as I read this even though I sank on the inside with each line, just knowing what was coming....and here they are...With love, always - Kitten xoxo
"we’d
fight & she’d stand up to me, then she’d cry & I’d break down. I knew in my
whiskey-deep heart I didn’t want to be alone."
"we’d
fight & she’d stand up to me, then she’d cry & I’d break down. I knew in my
whiskey-deep heart I didn’t want to be alone."
Ah, yes, the regular dame, the one you give a piece of your heart to. She takes it when she goes, for she is but a collector of hearts.
Stunning poetry and lovely artwork, John, well done an another doleful tale...
Stunning poetry and lovely artwork, John, well done an another doleful tale...
17th Jan 2017 1:09pm
17th Jan 2017 3:48pm
Okay two things (take with a grain of salt) -
but you can’t make a woman love you when she don’t know how to love.
In the context of this beautifully written poem, 'don't' doesn't work for me. I'm unsure if you meant it, or if auto-correct hijacked you. You're abbreviations work. Your ampersands work. Everything works in your style - but that. Regardless, it disrupted the smooth transition of my shifting mood into the most important part (imho) of the poem - the ending stanza.
‘cause every noir needs an ending mean as sorrow.
That, in my opinion, was your ending. I literally broke in spirit it was so powerful. Then...
the lovers that we used to be.
& never (not one more night) again…
A transition (or something) is missing here between
‘cause every noir needs an ending mean as sorrow.
and
the lovers that we used to be.
& never (not one more night) again…
While the final couplet of yours typically punches the gut noir style, I found this one lacking in power; it was more an anticlimax really. It also seemed redundant of the previous stanza, i.e. - she was gone. smooth, like a criminal.
I feel like the final two lines of the last stanza is your ending couplet on this one.
As always, I thoroughly enjoyed your Bogart'ish style of writing. The nostalgia weaved somewhere in my memory always connects to previous times.
but you can’t make a woman love you when she don’t know how to love.
In the context of this beautifully written poem, 'don't' doesn't work for me. I'm unsure if you meant it, or if auto-correct hijacked you. You're abbreviations work. Your ampersands work. Everything works in your style - but that. Regardless, it disrupted the smooth transition of my shifting mood into the most important part (imho) of the poem - the ending stanza.
‘cause every noir needs an ending mean as sorrow.
That, in my opinion, was your ending. I literally broke in spirit it was so powerful. Then...
the lovers that we used to be.
& never (not one more night) again…
A transition (or something) is missing here between
‘cause every noir needs an ending mean as sorrow.
and
the lovers that we used to be.
& never (not one more night) again…
While the final couplet of yours typically punches the gut noir style, I found this one lacking in power; it was more an anticlimax really. It also seemed redundant of the previous stanza, i.e. - she was gone. smooth, like a criminal.
I feel like the final two lines of the last stanza is your ending couplet on this one.
As always, I thoroughly enjoyed your Bogart'ish style of writing. The nostalgia weaved somewhere in my memory always connects to previous times.
18th Jan 2017 6:15pm
There is such a marriage of sensuality, the harsh reality of our lives, romanticism and realism, that I find in your writes, speaks to me not only of considerable talent, but much skill with the quill, born of years. Opening stanza effectively draws curiosity to the rest. The manner in which you define your interactions with her flows perfectly, touching on details, descriptions, insights and flowing to the next. I often have imagined a smoky room and a bluesy backbeat to your works. Truly masterful noir.
18th Jan 2017 11:39pm
You always point out the elegance in the normalcy of very human situations
You are one of my reasons for continuing to read
Thank You, sir John
You are one of my reasons for continuing to read
Thank You, sir John
