Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

May 11, 2018 at 10:59 pm (Detective story, Film, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , )

Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

Carson Albion Private Eye sat in his office with the sideway blinds of his window slightly open
to let in the evening twilight
He loved the evening twilight
just as he loved neon lights
His office window gave him a view of the neon lights of downtown

How beautiful they looked in the evening twilight
They looked even more beautiful in the snow and the rain
One of the few creations of man that did look more beautiful in the snow and the rain

When it snowed or rained
while strolling the city streets
he looked up at the signs of neon advertising the gods Coca-Cola and Miller Beer
and then he looked down at the sidewalk gutters for signs of rhinestone cowboys
but they must have already been washed down to the sewers
dwelling place of nightmares, monsters and vermin
and assassins of character who work for the last Trump
and wait for John McCain to die.

The ceiling fans in his office blew cold air down on his head
offering relief from the heat of the night
The bottle of bourbon stood open on his desk
offering relief from those memories too painful to bear

She… she… her…
He never told her that he loved her
but that was because she was his best friend
How would she react to the news that he wanted to take their relationship up another level
what if she didn’t feel the same way about him?
Then he’d have lost his best friend.

Because such are the ways of male-female friendship
that if one of them loves the other too much
in a way above and beyond what they had previously understood
There’s no going back

It was like what Dermot Mulroney’s character said to Julia Roberts’ character in the film
My Best Friend’s Wedding
when Julia announces she wants the romance over
Dermot weeps, “I’m losing my best friend.”

Somehow though they manage to hold on to the friendship
in the film that is
but that’s Hollywood
and we all know how much Hollywood echoes real life
For real life is not a fairy tale
and they only award Oscars
for dramatic performances
not for actually surviving day to day.

Albion saw the reflection of himself in his glass
Was a reflection still a Selfie by any other name?
and just what was it the liquid showed?
True colours or a distortion of reality?

The liquid went down his throat
well posting on Facebook or Instagram never tasted this good.
He lowered his hat
loosened his tie
opened his shirt
closed his eyes
and let his mind wander
down that lost boulevard of memories.

-A poem written by Christopher
Friday May 11th 2018.

Advertisements

Permalink 18 Comments

The City After Twilight: A Poem

February 25, 2018 at 11:06 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

The City 🌃 After Twilight: A Poem

And so the sun has set
tongue requires something wet
you head downtown to a nightspot
something cool to drink perhaps sex that’s hot

In the lounge cigarette smoke fills the air
the cushion is velvety at the back of the chair

You have martini 🍸 with a slice of lime
you ordered it for neither reason nor rhyme
you are the last of a kind- a private eye
accustomed to neon lights and starlit sky

The nighttime is your working day
clearing thugs and hooligans out of the way
They say the knights of old have come and gone
fairy tales told to child stifling a yawn
But for one such as yourself
a lance and steed might be on the shelf
but you have traded shining armour
for fedora and trench coat
an office with ceiling fan instead of castle with moat

But like those knights of old you walk alone
distress sounds not from blast of trumpets but from ring of phone
Those maidens in distress not in towers with long flowing hair
but walking the streets in heels
and tight skirts for wear

The dragons 🐉 today do not breathe fire
Instead they employ hit men for hire
And rulers turn not to ones like Merlin for advice
but lawyers, accountants and padded pockets on ice

You look at your watch and see that midnight 🕛 calls
your lunch hour is over served as the olive in your hour glass falls

You pick up your coat and head out the door
the streets and alleys call like the wild forests of yore.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Sunday February 25th
2018.

Permalink 29 Comments

Haiku About Philip Marlowe Private Eye On The Case

February 25, 2016 at 8:38 pm (Arts, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Film, Movies, Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Haiku About Philip Marlowe Private Eye On The Case

Street lights and shadows
click of femme fatale’s high heels
sidewalk of dark noir

Permalink 20 Comments

A Day In The Life As Seen By Philip Marlowe: A Poem

April 15, 2015 at 7:38 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Humour, Literature, Movies, Poetry) (, , , , , , , )

A Day In The Life As Seen By Philip Marlowe: A Poem

They say if life hands you lemons
then make lemonade
However that philosophy only works if you’ve also got sugar and water on hand
Bourbon and honey doesn’t really make for a great substitute
especially if Mrs. Mullins’ cat from upstairs drinks deeply from the pitcher you left on the fire escape
as deeply as Pegasus drank from the Pierian Spring
A little learning is a dangerous thing
and so was Mrs. Mullins’ frying pan that she hurled at me after she discovered her cat Absalom doing the dance of the 7 Veils up on the apartment roof top
after imbibing my own particular take on the lemonade of life philosophy
As she cried “Alas Absalom” on the rooftop
I quickly hurried to the safety of the streets below
If the client won’t come to Marlowe
then Marlowe better go to the client
and I need to find one in a hurry
if I don’t wish to be crowned “Lord of All” (as that old hymn puts it) by Mrs.
Mullins’ frying pan .

So I hurry through these streets in my trench coat
people stare at me no doubt thinking I’m a would-be flasher
guess they’ve never seen a private eye before
I hurry to my office and hope a client shows up
But one doesn’t
Seven bottles of bourbon and one finally dead ceiling fan later
I decide to head home
and face the music
(a little known melody written by some obscure composer for Mrs. Mullins’ frying pan)
As I walk down the street, there’s some positive thinking guru standing on the corner handing out this free advice,
If life hands you lemons, then make lemonade.

I hit him where it hurts.

“Let’s see if life hands you a new pair of testicles” was my last parting shot
as I walked beneath the glittering neon light
and off into the sunset.

-A Philip Marlowe narrative poem
written by Christopher
Wednesday April 15th
2015.

Note: As I wrote this poem, I imagined the voice of Humphrey Bogart reciting it in my head.

Permalink 2 Comments

Swimming Pool In The Rain: A Poem

February 10, 2015 at 8:15 pm (Detective story, Humour, Mystery, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Swimming Pool In The Rain: A Poem

Rainy night
neon lights reflect in puddles on the street
Sound of footsteps striking pavement
and drops of water fly up as shoes hit concrete
The private eye dashed along the street
headed for a mansion on Sunset Boulevard
a body was found in a swimming pool
and he had been called by the victim’s bartender to investigate
fearing the police might prove incompetent in investigating.
A body in a swimming pool at a Sunset Boulevard mansion-
might make for a nifty plot for a movie
the private eye thought as he lit a cigarette
Damn- he shouldn’t try smoking in the pouring rain
both match and cigarette were extinguished by the downpour
Nothing like having a wet cigarette in your mouth-
he coughed to the nearby street lamps who didn’t answer him.
He arrived at the mansion-
the press were there taking pictures of the body in the pool.
“Say cheese,” one photog wag quipped as he snapped a picture.
“Albion, what are you doing here?” A police captain asked the private eye as he downed 10 different pills of heart medication in a large glass in the pouring rain.
“The victim’s bartender Roncalli heard on the radio that the guy’s body had been found in the pool,” Albion answered, “and wanted to know how he died.”
“Why?” The police captain then started taking 10 different medication pills for his liver, “is he feeling guilty about not cutting him off? Figured that all those extra shots of bourbon was a case of drinking and swimming don’t mix?”
“Depends,” Albion answered, “did this guy usually swim fully dressed?”
“Well according to the staff,” the police captain took another large glass of water handed to him by his sargeant so he could down 10 different medication pills for his kidneys, “he usually swam in the nude.”
“I see,” Private Eye Albion lit another cigarette that was likewise extinguished by the pouring rain.
“He was apparently shot in the back according to eyewitnesses,” the police captain searched through his pockets for his multiple-layered bifocals, “and then fell into the pool after he was shot.”
“That would explain the red colour in the pool,” Albion looked down at the pool, “anyone see who fired the shot?”.
“No,” the police captain then took another large glass of water so he could down 10 different laxative pills for his bowels, “the shot was apparently fired from that open window there. No one saw who fired that shot.”
“The mystery deepens,” Albion looked towards the deep end of the pool.
“Mind if I use your bathroom?” The police captain asked the Estate’s butler as he ran towards the house.
“Not at all, sir,” the butler answered, “it’s on the fourth floor of the mansion.”
“Oh shit,” said the police captain who proceeded to do just that.

“So, he usually swam in the nude, then?” Albion asked the French maid.

“Yes, Monsieur,” the French maid smoothed her skirt and adjusted her black silk fishnet nylons, “he didn’t usually wear his clothes.”

“Or Madame’s clothes either,” the Mexican gardener added.

“What did you mean by that?” Albion asked.

It turned out to be an open and shut case, Albion thought as he put the violin back in the case when he had finished serenading the Estate staff with his interpretation of Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 after solving the mystery.

Mr. Wayne it turned out was a cross-dresser and had borrowed Mrs. Wayne’s favourite dress the night before without asking or even telling her.

When Mrs. Wayne found the French mustard and hot chocolate stains on her dress this morning, she had shot her husband in the back as he was walking pool side.

And so Albion walked back to his office in the pouring rain.
What an awful fate for a male cross-dresser, Albion thought, to be found floating face down in men’s clothes in a swimming pool.
And the moral of the story was, Don’t take your wife’s clothes without asking.

-A private eye film noir poem
written by Christopher
Monday February 9th
2014.

Permalink 3 Comments

Strangers In Black and White: A Poem

January 21, 2015 at 8:51 pm (Commentary, Entertainment, Movies, Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Strangers In Black and White: A Poem

A dark night in black and white
strangers down at the dock by the waterfront
he a disgraced ex-boxer who threw a fight
She a club singer who lost her voice due to illness
She thinks of ending her life
He’s trying to find his
They meet
These strangers in the night
They connect
which actually few strangers do
Most strangers meet and pass
like ships in the night.
They go to his home
get jobs in the same restaurant
and slowly fall in love
But while hoping for a brighter future
both their pasts catch up with them.
The gangsters who own the cabaret
where once she sang
find her
and return the canary
to her cage
however gilded and glitzy it might be
it’s still a cage.
As for the boxer who thought his brother had left for a ranch in Brazil
it turns out he never made it to Brazil
And so dreams become nightmares
Hopes that once were beacons of light
become like flashing signs of neon
They light up
only to turn dark again.
And so they become once more
strangers in black and white
like the film on which their story is told
like their lives in which the darkness of the past
seeks to engulf the potential bright light of the future
in that never ending conflict that is the present.
Strangers in black and white
a lot like you and I
who allow colour to distract us
and not see the light against shadow
and the shadow against light
that dance all around us.

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday January 21st 2015
inspired by having watched the
1957 Japanese noir film
I Am Waiting
on Turner Classic Movies
a few nights before.

Permalink 2 Comments

Marlowe’s Last Case: A Film Noir Poem

May 18, 2014 at 7:55 pm (Detective story, Movies, Mystery, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Marlowe’s Last Case: A Film Noir Poem

Hot night
cool breeze
a kiss by nature
wiping away the perspiration
the way other kisses
can wipe away tears
Marlowe smoked his last cigarette
looked at the blue purple and red of the sunset
as it set on Sunset Boulevard
The lights of the city shone
against the encroaching darkness
Neon flashed like a twinkling star
welcoming all to step in the dark
and be guided along by the neon signs
angels of the night showing the way
The way to what? Marlowe mused
Sin or redemption?
Maybe both.
Perhaps you can’t have one without the other.
In the shadows she approached
The outline of her figure highlighted
by the street lights
Mink coat
white blouse
Tight gray skirt
Spiked stilettos hitting the sidewalk pavement
like castanets on fingers of Spanish dancers
She stood in the open light
Her long dark hair as black
as the midnight sky of an Alaskan winter
There she was Marlowe thought
The ultimate femme fatale
Mr. Marlowe? Her voice whispered
like the call of dawn to a night that was far too long
I’m Marlowe, he answered blowing the last ring of smoke
from his last cigarette
Good-bye Mr. Marlowe, she pulled a gun out of her purse and shot him.
He didn’t have the strength to say good-bye
All those pellets of lead in his chest
seemed to restrict his speaking ability
to say nothing of his breathing
Oh well, he at least got one thing right
It was his last consolation
as his eyes fell into a darkness as black as her hair
She really was the ultimate femme fatale.

-A film noir poem
written by Christopher
Sunday May 18th
2014.

Permalink Leave a Comment