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Lon Chaney Jr.
sweet torment,
don't splash your wine on me
these pockets are empty.
perched on a barstool
head held in calloused hands
as the lamplight shines
upon a weathered face,etched
with years
vespers murmur
as the conductor wields a swizzle stick
arid martinis know the truth.
limelight, it casts shadows
from Hollywood and Vine
I stutter, speaking
to a Woodward Avenue girl
man becomes the monster,
radio static whispers,
sweet voices torment
a green rosetta ripped from a lapel
don't splash your wine on me
these pockets are empty.
perched on a barstool
head held in calloused hands
as the lamplight shines
upon a weathered face,etched
with years
vespers murmur
as the conductor wields a swizzle stick
arid martinis know the truth.
limelight, it casts shadows
from Hollywood and Vine
I stutter, speaking
to a Woodward Avenue girl
man becomes the monster,
radio static whispers,
sweet voices torment
a green rosetta ripped from a lapel
Published 14th Oct 2024
Author's Note
Sometimes when I write something that is meant to inspire has a nasty habit of becoming more expressive then originally meant to Lon Chaney Jr. is a poem about self awareness and reflection...The Man was always the Monster...the Monster was always the Modern Prometheus meant to be a titan but had a gentle soul...now Victor Von Frankenstein, his madness was the actual monster within...I feel that is what Mary Shelley was trying to convey in her original version of Frankenstein...I like to do sneaky rhymes when I work a rhyme scheme, it seems like it's just ramblings but if you read there is more substance to my serpentining rhyme scheme
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