It's been a great many years since he was killed, but he and Marlon Brandon were the classic rebels of their time. I thought I'd continue with my 'bad boy' theme today. Why do they appeal? How do they push our buttons? Do you recognize this face? Fast car. Fast car.
Liz in his thoughts,
the reek of his last
same-sexed lover still
on his sheets.
Fast car. How fast
can it go? Rev up
the motor. Let
out the throttle.
Full speed around
that next curve.
If he flies at the speed
of light, will he disappear
into the moon's belly,
he wonders?
He stubs out his last cig,
chugs down more Daniels.
The ghosts still
won't slip off
his shoulder blades.
He's two people,and even
this fast, loud
mouthed
little sports car
can't make the one
he hates go away.
Pris
10 comments:
ohhhh,this poem...the fears...last night my son told me he was gay, said he was afraid to disappoint...how could he, he is my son and I love him...but will society allow him to reach his full potential, embrace him the same or will 'fast cars' drive him...the fears...ohhhhh
This is a real toughie! Of my friends/relatives who are gay or were, and are dead, all held positions that might be compromised by their 'coming out'. Their way was to live in large places and come out within the gay community and close friends. I don't know the best way, but I know you well enough to know that you'll let your son know that it's okay with you. That's important.
Lovely poem Pris. You're a passionate woman. (Passion can't be beaten.)
Frank O'Hara wrote Four Little Elegies for James Dean. They start:
James Dean
actor
made in USA
eager to be everything
stopped short
Do we know what
excellence is? it's
all in this world
not to be executed
and end
It's night. Am
I awake?
I am in heaven.
Stars are steering,
and the heavens
are not smiling
their crescents.
All right, my
thoughts are pitch.
It is my fault,
the beating of
my heart. No
extraordinary
pain is mine.
The stars are there
at night. Weakness
falls away, like
mankind on
its endless knee
to the night.
I shall not see
another night,
low, like this.
I still think O'Hara's The Day Lady Died is the most perfect poem ever written.
Maybe your friend's gay son will be another great poet.
Steven
Those are beautiful! How they touched me. How I wish I could write like that! Thanks for posting them. And her son is already a gifted musician. I've heard his music and it's very special.
Hi Pris- Great Read...Thank you.
Hi kiddo
Thanks!
I've always been attracted to the bad boys. Don't know why - maybe it's because I've always been the good girl. I love this poem, especially the last line. You've inspired me to write something. I'll share it as soon as I can purge it on to paper.
Hi Tammy
I'll look forward. Bad boys. They bring out the mischief in us? We think they're that way because they were hurt and we want to 'save' them??
Dunno, either.
me
Okay, here's my poem, aptly titled Bad Boy.
You smoke a cigarette
Unaware of the way your mouth
Entices me, draws me in with each breath
Makes me want to smoke one too.
(if it weren’t for the smell)
You drink a shot of whiskey
Unaware of the way your neck
Tilts back, invites me in
Makes me want to drink one too.
(if it weren’t for the burn)
You’re a fast man
and I’m a slow southern woman.
I wear my hair in pigtails
Hoping to tempt you with my innocence.
I want to catch you the way I used to catch lightening bugs at dusk
hold you between the hollow of my hands
and watch you writhe.
I want to remove the light from your torso
place it on my finger and wear it like a ring.
I want to save you from the electric bug light.
But I know and you know
that it’s in your nature to be attracted to its purple glow.
Tammy
Sexy and nice!
Pris
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