They think it's hip to be scofflaws,
nonconformists, not members of some
faceless multitude. They're all half-asleep,
nodding over flasks of plum wine
and sugary confections in an illegal
all-night dive
where in the harsh limelight she sings
husky-voiced, for a pittance. Her life's
no bed of clover, but she's content.
She's extending her talents, and they
find their own crushing mediocrities
unremedied.
words courtesy of Read Write Poem
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Friday, September 11, 2009
Torch Singer
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
Clever use of the words.Good poem
I like how you used the words to weave your narrative. Good write.
-Nicole
I like the idea that you can be crushed by mediocrity.
very nice....takes me to a place....Vancouver 1957...after hours/bottle club...always had a torch singer there.....actually there was a club in vancouver back then called the Torch...geez ill read it once again and I WILL be back there...
from Therese B. at RWP -- Perhaps a poem in tribute to a real torch singer (Fitzgerald, Holiday, etc.); or perhaps a kind of parable warning us not to judge lest we be judged: those whom we mistreat as self-serving commodities may be more virtuous than we are.
Very intelligent use of words... like the message too.
Post a Comment