Filed under: america, literature | Tags: 1920's, algonquin round table, dorothy parker, poet, poetry
If I continue to read Mrs. Parker I’m afraid I’ll fall into what some may consider an abyss.
I’m sure I’d consider it bliss.
Razors pain you
Rivers are damp
Acids stain you
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful
Nooses give
Gas smells awful
You might as well live.
-Dorothy Parker
Never trite, ever so snide.
Always combating that which we hide.
Her wit certainly puts yours to shame.
Sometimes you just need to speak to find the right words.
There’s no implication that those words will come.
But sometimes, in the right moment, they do -
and it’s a beautiful thing.
I think that’s the way with all things.
Unless you put forth how is anything to come about?
Whether it is art, poetry or even love.
Are not all things just looking for a way to exist?
It’s a dreadful thought when it comes down to it.
And yet… the simplicity of it can hold such elegance.
I implore you, be done with it!
Be done with merely existing.
Because really…
aren’t we all young enough?
And they say drunk art is rubbish.
I say it’s thought provoking.
Don’t usually write much – and now I have.
