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.

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Cthulhu: A Poem

November 4, 2014 at 9:41 pm (Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Poetry, The Supernatural) (, , , , )

Cthulhu: A Poem

Lying far below the depths of the ocean blue
lives the creature they call Cthulhu
in the nightmare corpse city of R’lyeh
the place is no luxurious Monty Carlee
as the drunken Englishman called Monte Carlo
as he related this tale to Philip Marlowe
his story of dark gods and the Nemo point
led Marlowe to think he’d been smoking a joint
Said the Englishman, “In the South Pacific depths he lies in wait,
when he rises, he’ll open Hell for a gate.”
Marlowe felt a chill in this Santa Ana heat
and it wasn’t from the fan working an overtime beat
After a while he judged the man’s story to be true
but he was just a private eye, what could he do?
“Seems to me,” Marlowe lit a cigarette, “you need an exorcist and a mighty powerful one at that,
otherwise we’re just mice playing games against a cat.”
So the man left Marlowe’s office and walked out into the night
he found a bar nearby and regaled patrons there with his tales of fright.

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday November 4th 2014.

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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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Reflections of Chandler and Marlowe In The Hot Humid Heat of The City

July 17, 2013 at 12:11 am (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

Image

 

 

Hot humid day in Vancouver

the most humid since I’ve moved here 8 months ago

I walk the streets of the City 

like I’m Philip Marlowe

since Raymond Chandler’s prose

always describes hot muggy days in LA

when his private eye is out

walking about.

Coincidentally I see a whole bunch of women out today

wearing evening dresses

and they don’t appear to be part of a wedding party

Just out and about wearing evening dresses

on a day hot and humid at that.

I really feel like I’m in a Chandler novel today

hot and humid and feeling sticky 

out on the sidewalks and streets

and hotter women in hot tight dresses 

making a sizzling summer day

sizzle even more.

 

 

-A poem written by Christopher

 Tuesday July 16th 2013

 a hot and humid day

 in Vancouver, British Columbia.

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