Her perfect face framed ‘round by ebony;
Since early on her dancing was an art –
Lithe hands and limbs in quaking ecstasy.
Not one to walk on eggshells, biting wit
And knife-blade tongue would often trouble make;
But unrelenting, in the face of it
She’d stand, too proud to let it see her break.
From featured player to forgotten star,
To author/critic, razor-edged and quick:
A sharpened, honey-coated scimitar,
A heady blend of sex and arsenic.
With such a life – complex beyond compare –
How strange her strongest legacy’s her hair.
Louise Brooks
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4 comments:
Damn, that's good.
I think rhymed and metered poetry is the hardest to write, and write well.
This is a wonderful poem, Avy. You are very, very good (I don't give high praise easily.) This project is really unique.
Thank you so much, DB! That means a lot, coming from someone with her own poetic talents. ^_^
Perfectly structured sonnet, my dear. (I'm a sucker for couplet endings!)
"heady blend of sex and arscenic"--that's Lulu, all right!
:)
"A heady blend of sex and arsenic." - that's right on the spot!
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