Looks like this is going to be a recurring theme.
Presenting Act One - Part Two of the epic.
The Wild Party by Joseph Moncure March
2
Studio;
Bedroom;
Bath;
Kitchenette:
Furnished like a third act passion set:
Oriental;
Sentimental;
They owed two months on the rental.
Pink cushions,
Blue cushions: overlaid
With silk: with lace: with gold brocade.
These lay propped up on a double bed
That was covered with a Far East tapestry spread.
Chinese dragons with writhing backs:
Photographs caught to the wall with tacks:
Their friends in the profession,
Celebrities for the impression-
("So's your old man - Isidore."
"Faithfully - Ethel Barrymore.")
On a Chinese lacquer tray there stood a
Gong with tassels, and a brass Buddha.
Brass candlesticks.
Orange candles.
An Art vase with broken handles,
Out of which came an upthrusting
Of cherry blossoms that needed dusting.
Books?
Books?
My god! You don't understand.
They were too busy living first-hand
For books.
Books!
True,
On the table there lay a few
Tattered copies of a magazine,
Confessional;
Professional;
That talked of their friendds on the stage and screen.
A Victrola with records
Just went to show
Queenie's Art on the man two floors below.
Being a person of little guile,
He had lent them to her, for just awhile.
Believe it or not-
All this for a smile!
A grand piano stood in the corner
With the air of a coffin waiting for a mourner.
The bath was a horrible give away.
The floor was dirty;
The towls were grey.
Cups, saucers,
Knives, plates,
Bottles, glasses
In various states
Ofvileness, fought for precarious space in
the jumbled world beneath the basin.
The basin top was the temporary home
Of a corkscrew, scissors,
And a brush and comb.
In the basin bowl
Was a Pullman towel
Vividly wrought with red streaks
From Queenie's perfect lips and cheeks.
Behing one faucet, in a stain of rust,
Spattered with talcum powder and dust,
A razorblade had lived for weeks.
Beside it was stuck a cigarette stub.
And the tub?
Oh- never mind the tub!
On the door-knob there hung a pair
Of limp stockings, and a brassiere
Too soiled to wear.
Of the bedroom,
Nothing much to be said.
It had a bureau:
A double bed
With one pillow, and white spread.
Their trunks: boxes.
A chair.
The walls were white and bare.
Only occasional guests slept there:
Queenie and Burrs, preferring air,
Slept with the Chinese dragons instead.
I stand corrected. The poem is in Two Acts. Act One is three parts long, and Act Two is ten parts long. Act Two is, of course, the party itself, with much drama, mayhem, drunkeness and swearing. All will be revealed eventually, so keep your eyes peeled for the dramatics.
Oh, and please do comment about the poem. If you like it or not... Especially if you don't like it, because so far I've had no feedback, and unless I get a response I'm going to keep trundling out one part a day for the next eleven days, and if you don't like it you'd better say or you'll have to live with it for the next eleven days instead.
The Wild Party by Joseph Moncure March
2
Studio;
Bedroom;
Bath;
Kitchenette:
Furnished like a third act passion set:
Oriental;
Sentimental;
They owed two months on the rental.
Pink cushions,
Blue cushions: overlaid
With silk: with lace: with gold brocade.
These lay propped up on a double bed
That was covered with a Far East tapestry spread.
Chinese dragons with writhing backs:
Photographs caught to the wall with tacks:
Their friends in the profession,
Celebrities for the impression-
("So's your old man - Isidore."
"Faithfully - Ethel Barrymore.")
On a Chinese lacquer tray there stood a
Gong with tassels, and a brass Buddha.
Brass candlesticks.
Orange candles.
An Art vase with broken handles,
Out of which came an upthrusting
Of cherry blossoms that needed dusting.
Books?
Books?
My god! You don't understand.
They were too busy living first-hand
For books.
Books!
True,
On the table there lay a few
Tattered copies of a magazine,
Confessional;
Professional;
That talked of their friendds on the stage and screen.
A Victrola with records
Just went to show
Queenie's Art on the man two floors below.
Being a person of little guile,
He had lent them to her, for just awhile.
Believe it or not-
All this for a smile!
A grand piano stood in the corner
With the air of a coffin waiting for a mourner.
The bath was a horrible give away.
The floor was dirty;
The towls were grey.
Cups, saucers,
Knives, plates,
Bottles, glasses
In various states
Ofvileness, fought for precarious space in
the jumbled world beneath the basin.
The basin top was the temporary home
Of a corkscrew, scissors,
And a brush and comb.
In the basin bowl
Was a Pullman towel
Vividly wrought with red streaks
From Queenie's perfect lips and cheeks.
Behing one faucet, in a stain of rust,
Spattered with talcum powder and dust,
A razorblade had lived for weeks.
Beside it was stuck a cigarette stub.
And the tub?
Oh- never mind the tub!
On the door-knob there hung a pair
Of limp stockings, and a brassiere
Too soiled to wear.
Of the bedroom,
Nothing much to be said.
It had a bureau:
A double bed
With one pillow, and white spread.
Their trunks: boxes.
A chair.
The walls were white and bare.
Only occasional guests slept there:
Queenie and Burrs, preferring air,
Slept with the Chinese dragons instead.
I stand corrected. The poem is in Two Acts. Act One is three parts long, and Act Two is ten parts long. Act Two is, of course, the party itself, with much drama, mayhem, drunkeness and swearing. All will be revealed eventually, so keep your eyes peeled for the dramatics.
Oh, and please do comment about the poem. If you like it or not... Especially if you don't like it, because so far I've had no feedback, and unless I get a response I'm going to keep trundling out one part a day for the next eleven days, and if you don't like it you'd better say or you'll have to live with it for the next eleven days instead.