Long Cary grant Poems
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I remember the man.
He is the best friend that one could ever have,
he truly knows me like the palms of his hands;
through thick and thin he is always there for me -
I remember the man.
When I come up with lines that perfectly rhyme
he says “Gee, you are the greatest poet alive!”;
when I mess up ‘It’s good for the competition’ -
the man is my biggest fan.
He is my toughest critic and taskmaster,
not content to see me rest on my laurels,
but he does it with love shining on his face -
how I love the man.
After each fall he is there to pick me up,
when I’m up he pushes me even higher;
to him there is nothing that I could not do -
I appreciate the man.
To him this fool could not make any mistake
yet when I’m down he rushes to lend a hand,
forcing me to rise up and fight like a man -
I remember the man.
When I sin he says “It’s alright, just move on
but make a pledge to do good next time, son,
shape up, you can be a much better person” -
that man, he understands.
At times when I’m too drunk he sobers me up,
when I forget to zip up, he rushes to zip me up,
when I stink he drags me to the nearest shower -
he cares for me, that man.
Through every heartache he is there to listen,
through each pain he is the first one to worry,
in my triumphs he advertises my every glory -
how can I thank the man?
When I was younger, brash and impulsive,
he would whisper “Slow down a bit, kiddo”
but now that I’m older he says to work faster -
I can’t understand the man.
In my youth 'You’ll make Cary Grant insecure'
now that I’m old 'You look better than Redford!'
His belief in me is something I’ve never seen -
God, how I love the man.
As I face a new day I pause to give praise
to the most devoted friend that I ever had;
thank you, buddy, for being there for me -
you're a beautiful man.
I remember me.
After chewing shoe leather they called steak,
in the Pencey cafeteria,
Mal, Ackley, and I enjoyed a winter afternoon on campus,
on the bus, and in a restaurant.
We walked across a puffy white quilt
as students conversed, laughed, and threw snowballs.
I held my snowball until the bus driver told me to leave it outside.
We had intended to see a comedy with Cary Grant,
but Mal and Ackley had already seen it.
We hung out in the restaurant played pinball and ate burgers.
Arriving back at our dorms at a quarter to nine,
Mel left for a bridge game
and Ackley shoved his acne ridden face into my pillow
until I told him I had a paper to write.
I couldn’t write what Stradlater wanted.
I couldn’t describe any rooms without elaborate furniture.
I couldn’t describe sporty rooms
with trophies on dressers and pennants on walls.
My brother Allie played baseball.
He wrote poetry on his catcher’s mitt with a green pen.
He stood in right field and recited verse from his imagination,
in his mind.
He died from leukemia very young.
I fell into a depression,
a garage,
a gym with windows to punch out.
I broke my hands against our station wagon’s windows.
I cannot make a tight fist.
I curl my fingers enough to type excerpts of Allie’s poetry
for a paper that will never be appreciated.
My red headed brother Allie,
such a good natured kid,
he had a good combination of extrovert and introvert,
avoiding anger.
Sitting on his bike fifty yards away
with his hair shining in the sun
as I teed off,
hoping to make a distant green and shoot under par.
Mom had scored a hole in one with him.
I still try to overcome unidentified handicaps
on a hazardous course.
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Marquees are bright with neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
Holding hands, we're in 'The Strand'. The velvet carpet guides us in
Popcorn smokes, .. we're drinking cokes,... and cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along with more sarongs,... , her luscious lips, and cigarettes,
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips
'Movietone' intrudes with news, and soon we're in somber mood
Third-Reich goosesteps march again, ... an evil presence in the wind...
Cary Grant , (a news reporter), loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy. But Cary loves this ditzy lady....
William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold. The mystery is clearly solved.-- A crimson sun, is rising cold!
Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die
Another night, suspense on chart. 'Correspondent' , Joel McCrea.
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day. BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way
Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked
----
It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
Allied troops are moving tanks. I wait for you..God give me strength
I'm in the Strand, within the dark, there's no one here to hold my hand
I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio
_____________________________________
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
11/23/14
Anti-Poem – “At The Hollywood Plaza With Eddie And Dolores”
(Poet’s Instruction – Kindly play “You Can’t Be True, Dear,” by Ken Griffin, 1946, while reading).
she be smelling mighty good my dolores
she be my mexican chick from silver lake
man her deep brown eyes hypnotize me
her momma say she like me and my ford
I be driving a red ’46 super deluxe coupe
my catholic beads be hanging down from
the rearview mirror they tap like dancers
tonight she be dressed for eating burgers
my dolores she and her tight green dress
we be cruising the miracle mile for shows
when she say she want to see cary grant
i say you mad girl but let’s go to the plaza
in hollywood we can sit close in the lobby
we can listen to the organ music and kiss
maybe we see cary grant walking by there
maybe your big dream come true tonight
now we be kissing under fiery chandeliers
the flashy famous people be passing us by
the organ whining from a distant corridor
howling like a ghost in a greasy graveyard
my sweet dolores she be asking the time
when a pretty woman she sits down by us
i’m thinking she be a star at last i say hello
the blue-eyed babe she smile back at me
a red flower be pinned to her brown curls
here on a date she say to us smoking now
my babe say we be waiting for cary grant
now the girl say we might wait a long time
she say she saw him once at the florentine
she say he even tipped her a five dollar bill
man her deep blue sky eyes hypnotize me
now she say her date is outside in a sedan
be careful she say hollywood can be cruel
the organ music still be playing in whispers
moaning like pale ghost girls in a neon fog
Have you ever wondered who celebrities were
Before they became who they are?
Each one attained fame just by changing his name
And became a world-renowned star.
Some of my favs I have listed below,
Some, or all, of whom you, too, may know.
None of them current, but they lit up the past,
Neither were they the first,
And they won't be the last.
I hope you'll enjoy my pseudonym game*,
To make it more challenging, I have jumbled the names:
William Sydney Porter…better known as…
Doris Mary Anne Kappelhoff…bka…
Marion Robert Morrison…bka…
Leonard Franklin Slye…bka…
Norma Jean Mortenson…bka…
Roy Harold Scherer, Jr….bka…
Mary Ann Evans…bka…
Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francueil…bka…
Frances Ethel Gumm…bka…
Archibald Alec Leach…bka…
1. Marilyn Monroe 2. George Eliot 3. Georges Sand 4. Rock Hudson 5. O. Henry 6. Judy Garland 7. Cary Grant 8. Roy Rogers 9. Doris Day 10. John Wayne
*Give yourself a (virtual) gold star for every one you get right.
Let’s just take the day off and maybe call in sick,
Just one day away from work I think will do the trick.
We could start by sleeping late then lay around in bed,
Sharing conversation or something else instead.
Then it’s off to the diner to have some eggs and cakes,
While we read the morning paper, however long it takes.
We’ll wander around the bookstore for as long as we feel,
Pawing through the discount books looking for a deal.
Then let’s pick up the dog and take him to the park,
No one else will be around so we can let him bark.
We can share our hopes and dreams and far off distant plans,
All the while we walk the path while holding each other’s hands.
The leaves have changed their color it’s a perfect autumn day,
If we’d waited one more week the color would have faded away.
Then back home and I’ll light a flame in the fireplace,
We try to read until we fall asleep in the warmth of its embrace.
There’s a purple sky outside the window when we finally awake,
You make us salads and baked potatoes while I grill us up a steak.
We can watch an old movie wondering if Cary Grant will read the letter,
While all the while I’m hoping that by tomorrow, we won’t be any better.
Marriage in 4 Acts
I've auditioned for parts for years.
Some call them first dates, but make
no mistake, each is acting for the other
hoping for a part in their life play.
I'm a perfect gentleman, holding doors,
helping you on and off with your coat
and pushing your chair in for you.
I almost sound like Cary Grant. Almost.
We land our parts and launch our play.
The engagement scene brings happy tears.
The wedding is a blowout extravaganza.
Rice is thrown, cans trailing our limo.
We live in the city. Taxi and subway.
Fun, not a care in the world. Pregnant.
We stay in the city until our children
force a move to Connecticut suburbs.
Wife's role is a stay at home with regrets.
Kind of a Sylvia Plath without the talent.
I soldier on. I take the train into the city.
I stay more and more nights in the city.
We grow more and more apart. Finally we
agree to a trial separation. I live in the
city with the other woman. Not really a ****.
Time passes quickly in this act and we are old.
The script writes itself as it unfolds.
Always just one take, live, in real time.
I forget that these are parts we are playing.
We're just players upon this stage called life.
This one goes out to any of you who find yourself
feeling like me.
Maybe ones who are looking for a special friend,
or just someone to keep company.
If you’ve had the luck that I’ve had on those sites,
just wanting to find someone to date.
You too want to quit, but each time you start to hit “delete”, who pops up, but your
next “perfect mate”.
I’ve met Cary Grant, Hugh Grant, Superman and more.
I've met Elvis, and Waylon too.
But when it came right down to the truth, they were really
Popeye, Mr Magoo and Spongebob to name a few.
And then, you find one that you think is OK, so you start
having a small conversation.
Next thing you know he’s talking “love” and smut, and wanting you
to go with him on vacation.
He’s wanting to know all that personal stuff, like, well
stuff you don’t want to talk about.
And when you tell him, “That’s just too personal”, he replies,
“Shouldn’t be, I thought you were an adult”
Well, that’s where most of those relationships end. I just
don’t have patience for that.
So then I just go over to the couch and snuggle with the one that truly loves me.
My one and only,...my cat.
Form:
SOOTHING STRANGERS
Two sweet old ladies serve to strangers - strays.
Carafe of wine and conversation soothes.
No need for pillows soft. They do not stay.
The old maids learned their craft in Summer’s youth.
A visit from a newly married man —
Their nephew’s scared for them, alone and frail.
His daft and anxious mood akin to clan.
His aunts, they mutter, that he’s very pale.
Their brother charges down the stairs. He thinks
He is the presidential “teddy bear.”
He’s digging locks to bury all who drink.
Of all the callers seen not one they spare.
A kindly threat from wry and wrinkled face.
Delicious choice — this arsenic and lace.
7/22/2018
Your Finest Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Massey
*Arsenic and Old Lace was a dark comedy starring Cary Grant.
She had a nose for sniffing out well-hid lies
from any boastful cyber Romeo,
who used Photoshop to mask their disguise
She'd get a twitch, a wiggle in her nose
when the words on the screen didn't seem quite right
Telling her there was something fishy about the prose
So she asked one such fake lover man,
what was his can't miss, can't resist pick-up line
He said, lady your ship has finally come to land
She said, it appears you carry quite a load in your cargo pants,
and you certainly talk with a pirate heart
But it's obvious that you're no Clark Gable or Cary Grant
You shoulda told me the truth when you had the chance
Nah, you're just a daddy long-legged liar,
because your pen got no rhythm and your words can't dance