If I Could Spend a Day with Marilyn Monroe

PoliticalChic

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Oct 6, 2008
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In honor of National Poetry Month, I wrote a poem about a woman that still continues to capture our imaginations even after her death.

marilyn.jpg


If I could spend a day with Marilyn Monroe
I would dye my ebony locks a pale yellow
We’d hop on a train to the great metropolis
Seeking things that you might think was reckless

Spend hours playing dress up at Bloomingdales
Eliciting glares from women and unsuspecting males
Then onto FAO Schwartz to play with all the toys
Till we were quickly shooed for too much noise

We’d then saunter into Barnes and Nobles
Search the classics and the fables
Read the poignant parts of Miller’s Crucible
The tragedy makes us calm, quiet, more humble

And then I look into Marilyn’s eyes
I stare into them and ask a thousand whys
What kind of sadness and pain did she endure?
Lastly I ask what would have been her cure?

And as her lips parted to speak a word
I became cold and my vision blurred
And for an instant I couldn’t see, but understood
What couldn’t be seen, nor could be heard
 
I honestly don't know much about Marilyn Monroe...she never really interested me until after her death, which is sad to say I know......but.....what can I say??
I didn't watch any of her movies........and have no desire to.
She was a pretty lady....but I will always connect her with the Kennedys and shit like that~
 
In honor of National Poetry Month, I wrote a poem about a woman that still continues to capture our imaginations even after her death.

marilyn.jpg


If I could spend a day with Marilyn Monroe
I would dye my ebony locks a pale yellow
We’d hop on a train to the great metropolis
Seeking things that you might think was reckless

Spend hours playing dress up at Bloomingdales
Eliciting glares from women and unsuspecting males
Then onto FAO Schwartz to play with all the toys
Till we were quickly shooed for too much noise

We’d then saunter into Barnes and Nobles
Search the classics and the fables
Read the poignant parts of Miller’s Crucible
The tragedy makes us calm, quiet, more humble

And then I look into Marilyn’s eyes
I stare into them and ask a thousand whys
What kind of sadness and pain did she endure?
Lastly I ask what would have been her cure?

And as her lips parted to speak a word
I became cold and my vision blurred
And for an instant I couldn’t see, but understood
What couldn’t be seen, nor could be heard

PoliticalChic, that was a most beautiful poem and tribute to the beautiful Norma Jean Baker, aka, Marilyn Monroe, who spent much of her childhood in foster homes, thus the underlying sadness and despair, in addition to her beauty, acquired before her time for being respected for more than one's adornments.

I knew well, one of her husbands, who loved her, but said she was not a strong personality. She let herself be used in many ways in order to become productive in life and make something of herself and I think that takes courage and determination, even though she had to do many things against her nature, to achieve. But when you do that, you are bought, and seldom does that type of acheivement come with any pride. Her only source of pride, was her looks. She had been empty inside, most all her life, from what I can tell.

Two Chinese proverbs come to mind, for those days, especially:

"Beautiful women attract their fate."

"The beautiful bird is the one that is caged."
 

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