I am behind
the large white wheel of an Oldsmobile.
I am a page ripped from a Raymond Chandler novel.
Clipped words curl close to my lips as hot as ash.
Dreamy eyes are cold tonight, there will be death
at the side of a desert back-road.
Revolvers will be shaken until blood spills from a mouth.
I park carefully until the cars white-walls
appear at the four corner’s of the night.
I am on a case, another Hollywood sex scandal.
I sit there smoking until dawn mists
swim into the valley.
Speeding squad cars blast past me;
the City Dicks are tough around here
and most are on the 'take.'
I let the engine idle wondering where
this all fits into a half-written plot?
“Lets move” I drawl to my suit rumpled self,
easing the rim of my fedora over weary eyes,
heading now to where flash-bulbs expose
what we do when the stars turn blue.
Categories:
raymond chandler, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Hot Air
The name of that wind is Satana
It’s hot and it’s dusty and dry,
Don’t call the wind Santa Ana
In error, for that is a lie.
Saint Ann the mother of Mary
Is remembered in so many ways
But not for a wind that blows from the desert
And makes your skin and eyes craze.
In Nineteen O’ One a reporter
In error rushed his dispatch in
He wrote Santa Ana the rotter,
It is he that committed the sin.
The name is Vientos de Sataná
The wind of the devil that’s hot,
A weather man called it Santana
But that is a name it is not.
So we are left here in confusion,
Raymond Chandler back in ’thirty eight
In “Red Wind” to Santa Anas made allusion
As conditions the local folk hate.
The wind blowing in from the passes,
Curls your hair, makes nerves up tight,
Drying the air and scorching the grasses
And everyone’s edgy all night.
Categories:
raymond chandler, education, environment, history, humorous,
Form: Ballade
I wish I was a tough guy
The kind you meet in books
Made of rock hard muscle
With rugged hard man looks
A Raymond Chandler hero
Exuding macho charm
A super spy or villain
With a beauty on each arm
I’d love to be the kind of guy
That others see and fear
The bane of every coppers life
I'd look at them and sneer
I might fall for a sucker punch
Get beaten up or more, but
I’d meet them face to face
And then, I’d even up the score
Wish I could be like Marlowe
And ooze testosterone
Women falling at my feet
For my heart as cold as stone
I would stand up to the bad guys
When I’d won, I’d get the dame
They would say “who was that tough guy”
I’d say “Rupert, that’s my name”
Categories:
raymond chandler, funny,
Form: Rhyme