The City After Twilight: A Poem

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

The City πŸŒƒ 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 πŸ‰ 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 πŸ•› 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.

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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

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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.

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In The Heat of The Night: A Poem

July 15, 2014 at 7:28 pm (Detective story, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

In The Heat of The Night: A Poem

Memories of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe stories come flooding through my mind
as floods of perspiration fall from my forehead
As a kid I was enthralled reading of Marlowe’s exploits on those hot humid Los Angeles nights
when the City came to a halt in the all encompassing heat
and the only thing that moved were criminals up to no good
and Marlowe who set out to stop them.
The alluring femme fatale standing in the doorway of Marlowe’s office
as the fan worked overtime to keep Marlowe cool
from the heat being generated from the humidity outside
and the heat being generated from the woman in the doorway.
A sip of bourbon
the cool taste of a menthol cigarette brushing the lips
such handy implements meant to lower the temperature.
Such were the stories I read of Marlowe in the Los Angeles of the 1930s and ’40s.
The California West Coast sweltering in unbearable heat.
As the British Columbia West Coast swelters in unbearable heat
and Vancouver cooks like a hot pot unattended on the stove
I perspire and seek the coolness of a lounge with first-rate air conditioning
and think of that metropolis far to the south
where Marlowe once walked the streets.
And then I think “but Marlowe wasn’t a real person”.
It says a lot about Chandler, his words and his writing
that his creation casts a long shadow
and seems to take the form of a real ghost
on those hot summer nights when the mercury soars upward like a rocket
and the perspiration falls like a waterfall
when the fan on the ceiling becomes a knight in shining armour
and damsels in distress flock to the office
where the bottle of bourbon is on the desk
and the cigarette smoke rises
to catch the reflection of the shining neon light outside.

-A poem written
by Christopher
Tuesday July 15th
2014.

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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.

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