A Lizzie Poem And A Black Dahlia To
Posted: Tue Jun 27, 2006 1:37 pm
Here are a couple of "poems" I have been working on that I wanted to pass along to you all and see what you think. I am not a Sylvia Plath or even a writer so don't laugh. Well, you can laugh a little bit. 
One is about our Lizzie and the other is about The Black Dahlia murder case. When you read each one once, go back and read it again and then let me know what you think. They both involved murder, a who-dun-it, and both people in question are dead. I worked on both at the same time so there is a simular thread running through both.
Lizzie, Lizzie, Was It You?
Lizzie, Lizzie, was it you
who took your mother's sad and lonely life?
Lizzie, Lizzie, is it true
you turned the blade on your father too?
What happened, Lizzie Borden,
that August day in eighteen ninety two?
Was it you alone, Lizzie,
or was it you, Bridget and maybe Emma too?
Did you creep upon your mother making a bed?
Was your father on a sofa hardly sleeping?
Did you, Lizzie, with an axe, strike your parents dead?
When all was over, were you, Lizzie, weeping?
Was it love of money that drove you to it,
and perhaps a little too much spite,
or was there a whole lot more to it, Lizzie,
than just a simple family fight?
Lizzie, Lizzie, how did it feel,
when in your warm, soft hands,
that cold, hard steel?
Did you taste fury in the madness of your mind?
Was there no compassion in your rage?
Did you feel the pain, the anger, the hurt
and the bitterness of years of frustration
burning in your heart, and was the hate
seething in your throat?
As you were driving that sharp steel home
with every vicious blow,
was your very soul on fire, Lizzie?
Was your blood running cold?
As you gazed upon the carnage
and realized what you had done,
were there, Lizzie, tears in your eyes,
a mournful cry in your heart?
When all was over, were you, Lizzie, weeping?
Tell us, Lizzie, when all was over, said and done,
tell us, Lizzie, were you, Lizzie, so sadly grieving?
When their hearts were no longer beating
and you were laying in that cold, dark cell,
did you slumber well, Lizzie, did you, Lizzie,
or were you haunted by the deeds you had done?
You bought a big house with a fancy car or two,
loved lavish parties, had a staff and chaufffeur too.
The neighbors would snub you and walk on by
but through it all you waved a hello and a goodbye.
Now tell us, Lizzie, when Emma left you,
were you happy with true friends so very few?
When people saw you and moved a little faster,
did you find happiness
behind dark walls of walnut, maple and plaster?
What beat, Lizzie, beneath your breasts?
Was there warmth, softness and tears we cannot see?
Many have said you were cruel, heartless and cold,
but children know who they love, Lizzie,
and some said you were kind with a big heart of gold.
For many years you have now been gone,
resting lonely in your cool, dark grave,
but on that warm August morning we wonder still,
did you dance on that day and sing a little song?
Lizzie, Lizzie, we have searched so long.
Lizzie, Lizzie, we have tried so hard.
Will we find the answers in a few books or two,
or will they remain forever hidden within
your ice-cold eyes of blue?
Tell us, Lizzie Borden, is it true?
Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, was it you?
____
Copyright 2006 by Steve Tillman. All rights reserved.
Black Dahlia (what were your dreams?)
On a cold, dark and lonely night,
with a flash of a sharp knife,
a young woman so young,
lost her life.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What were your hopes,
and what were your dreams?
This world can be so very cruel,
or so it seems.
You laid upon that field
drapped in morning dew,
many years have come and gone
but even now we still think of you.
Like an elusive shadow
with each passing day
you haunt our minds,
but in our hearts there is a place,
I wish your eyes could see,
a place where you will always stay.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What would you have become?
Were you full of life?
Were you a lot of fun?
Like a flower on the edge of a stream
you withered away in a morning sun.
What were your hopes, Black Dahlia,
and what were your dreams?
You left this world so very young,
much too young to die,
and though we never said hello,
Black Dahlia,
we will never say goodbye.
On a cold, dark and lonely night,
with a flash of a sharp knife,
a young woman so young,
yes, Black Dahlia,
you lost your life.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What songs would you sing?
And will you please tell us, please,
tell us, Black Dahlia,
what were your hopes,
and what were your dreams?
____
Copyright 2006 by Steve Tillman. All rights reserved.
One is about our Lizzie and the other is about The Black Dahlia murder case. When you read each one once, go back and read it again and then let me know what you think. They both involved murder, a who-dun-it, and both people in question are dead. I worked on both at the same time so there is a simular thread running through both.
Lizzie, Lizzie, Was It You?
Lizzie, Lizzie, was it you
who took your mother's sad and lonely life?
Lizzie, Lizzie, is it true
you turned the blade on your father too?
What happened, Lizzie Borden,
that August day in eighteen ninety two?
Was it you alone, Lizzie,
or was it you, Bridget and maybe Emma too?
Did you creep upon your mother making a bed?
Was your father on a sofa hardly sleeping?
Did you, Lizzie, with an axe, strike your parents dead?
When all was over, were you, Lizzie, weeping?
Was it love of money that drove you to it,
and perhaps a little too much spite,
or was there a whole lot more to it, Lizzie,
than just a simple family fight?
Lizzie, Lizzie, how did it feel,
when in your warm, soft hands,
that cold, hard steel?
Did you taste fury in the madness of your mind?
Was there no compassion in your rage?
Did you feel the pain, the anger, the hurt
and the bitterness of years of frustration
burning in your heart, and was the hate
seething in your throat?
As you were driving that sharp steel home
with every vicious blow,
was your very soul on fire, Lizzie?
Was your blood running cold?
As you gazed upon the carnage
and realized what you had done,
were there, Lizzie, tears in your eyes,
a mournful cry in your heart?
When all was over, were you, Lizzie, weeping?
Tell us, Lizzie, when all was over, said and done,
tell us, Lizzie, were you, Lizzie, so sadly grieving?
When their hearts were no longer beating
and you were laying in that cold, dark cell,
did you slumber well, Lizzie, did you, Lizzie,
or were you haunted by the deeds you had done?
You bought a big house with a fancy car or two,
loved lavish parties, had a staff and chaufffeur too.
The neighbors would snub you and walk on by
but through it all you waved a hello and a goodbye.
Now tell us, Lizzie, when Emma left you,
were you happy with true friends so very few?
When people saw you and moved a little faster,
did you find happiness
behind dark walls of walnut, maple and plaster?
What beat, Lizzie, beneath your breasts?
Was there warmth, softness and tears we cannot see?
Many have said you were cruel, heartless and cold,
but children know who they love, Lizzie,
and some said you were kind with a big heart of gold.
For many years you have now been gone,
resting lonely in your cool, dark grave,
but on that warm August morning we wonder still,
did you dance on that day and sing a little song?
Lizzie, Lizzie, we have searched so long.
Lizzie, Lizzie, we have tried so hard.
Will we find the answers in a few books or two,
or will they remain forever hidden within
your ice-cold eyes of blue?
Tell us, Lizzie Borden, is it true?
Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, was it you?
____
Copyright 2006 by Steve Tillman. All rights reserved.
Black Dahlia (what were your dreams?)
On a cold, dark and lonely night,
with a flash of a sharp knife,
a young woman so young,
lost her life.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What were your hopes,
and what were your dreams?
This world can be so very cruel,
or so it seems.
You laid upon that field
drapped in morning dew,
many years have come and gone
but even now we still think of you.
Like an elusive shadow
with each passing day
you haunt our minds,
but in our hearts there is a place,
I wish your eyes could see,
a place where you will always stay.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What would you have become?
Were you full of life?
Were you a lot of fun?
Like a flower on the edge of a stream
you withered away in a morning sun.
What were your hopes, Black Dahlia,
and what were your dreams?
You left this world so very young,
much too young to die,
and though we never said hello,
Black Dahlia,
we will never say goodbye.
On a cold, dark and lonely night,
with a flash of a sharp knife,
a young woman so young,
yes, Black Dahlia,
you lost your life.
Who were you, Black Dahlia?
What songs would you sing?
And will you please tell us, please,
tell us, Black Dahlia,
what were your hopes,
and what were your dreams?
____
Copyright 2006 by Steve Tillman. All rights reserved.