Chanukah, Hollywood Style

I am beginning this post at 1:35 Christmas morning. In light of the Holiday I have decided to drudge up some old yuletide poetry and post it herein. Although this poem is about Chanukah, it's roots began with Christmas, for it is a parody of the holiday classic "'Twas the Night." I also have to say that the time, place, and people mentioned within the coming poem are not accurate. I used the year for the sake of rhyme, and simply rattled off old Hollywood scandals, placing them in the setting of a holiday party. Not everyone will find the humor in it, but those of you who are educated in the field of Hollywood's Golden Age should get a kick out of this one. So I present to you, my audience, this yuletide gift in the form of poetry.


Chanukah, Hollywood Style

'Twas the eighth night of Chanukah, 1953-
Aaron Spelling was beatin' his ex-wife-to-be.
I was at a party with some box-office friends:
Eleanor Powell and Sophia Loren.
Then who should walk in but Marilyn Monroe?
We're ALL mean-muggin' that nasty ass ho.
Judy Garland starts singin', words loud in our ears.
It's clear to us all she's had too many beers.
Liz Taylor glides in with husband nineteen,
not shy about flauntin' that huge diamond ring.
Merv Griffin is flirtin' with BOTH gorgeous Gabors!!
But which one is which? They both look like whores...
Howard Hughes is at a table with his girlfriend, de Carlo.
I see Gene Kelly, Grace Kelly, and look! There's Jean Harlow.
Ginger Rogers starts dancin' with that man, Fred Astaire.
Vivien Leigh goes manic and throws a damn chair.
Olivia de Havilland sees sis, Joan Fontaine,
and she spits out some words that are simply profane.
Jayne Mansfield rolls in with her husband, Mick Hargitay.
I just spotted Rock Hudson- too bad that he's gay.
Bette Davis and Joan Crawford are going at it again,
and Clark Gable's still bitching about "Gone With the Wind."
Katharine Hepburn arrives with Tallulah Bankhead,
and after this party they're both gettin' head.
Cuz bisexuality has become all the rage;
just make sure lesbo lovers stay off-curtain, backstage.
The whole room grows quiet when we see Norma Shearer.
She's the star cuz she's bangin' L.B. Mayer, my dear.
The stars are getting drunker as the evening heaves on
and Louella will know about this soiree by dawn,
cuz sex, drugs, Vodka, and steroids-
a star's deepest secrets can be found in the tabloids.



Merry Christmas to all, and to all, SHUT THE HELL UP.

The Poetess

Two hands, so strong and sturdy,
navigate each page.
Embellishing each line
with loneliness and rage.

One heart, so cold and broken,
calling out to see
if any single passerby
should want to set her free.

Two eyes, discreetly watching
from the corner, seeing you.
She notices each move you make,
your pretense, what you do.

One soul, refined and distant,
reaching out to all,
wondering if anyone
would catch her should she fall.

Two lips, so sweetly parted,
spit both arsenic and lace,
coyly breaking each love down
til hate grows in its place.

The poetess's greatness
dwells in her will to lie.
She'll twist your words and fuck with truth
til the day that she does die.