Whats Up!





Farrell Dyde


Photo Gallery


What's New


Contact Us


Farrell Dyde
D  A  N  C  E    T  H  E  A  T  R  E

        Lives on Ice

        Rocky Road

        Rocky road
        Motorcycle life
        Child born
        Died of strife
        Mom & Dad
        Ignorant of the fact
        Rocky tight lipped
        Sunkist girl
        Full of dreams
        Only too aware
        Of the frayed “seems”
        That tied her fragile life

        Only the Brave

        One of a kind
        part of a social revolution
        a blond with brains
        and buns
        not a son, but a daughter
        a rebel
        a Hellion
        a Lesbian
        a Leader
        a maker of men
        the new breed
        leading us
        into a
        brave new world.


        A golfer
        In heart and soul
        All he wanted
        Was to get the ball
        In the hole
        In the fewest strokes
        But, life is not so simple
        Lots of sleezy folks
        Stand in the way
        Of perfection
        So, some give up the grand scheme
        And still rise above the mediocre
        Dregs to live a decent sort of dream.

        Follow the Fold

        Earnest, willing
        To please
        At ease with
        Yet, a stranger
        To himself
        Mom & Dad
        Still in charge
        Of the lad
        Making him secretly
        An intellectual
        But, sexually charged
        This vixen, this new age
        Goddess with a brain
        may lead him
        To the promised land.

        Alley Cat

        Her hair fell
        Just right
        Framing an angel
        That belied
        Her street smarts
        Maybe her heart
        Had been broken
        Maybe not
        But, it took a lot
        For her
        To trust a man
        Yet, every man
        Loved her.


        Kate Hepburn said
        “I want it all.”
        And all
        Is what we all
        To be upon a stage
        Or in a film
        All eyes upon us
        An imaginary public
        Always present
        Watching every minute
        Every subtle move
        Every flush of the toilet
        Or casual brush back
        Of a lock of tinted hair
        To have the gift
        The short shrift
        Of being doomed
        To be an artist.

        More than Mundane

        This is a gentleman
        Of the old school
        Following every moral rule
        His knuckles early broken
        By a measurement tool
        His stern father
        Beyond reproach
        His mother
        Sanctified by God
        His life proscribed
        Not by poets
        But, by those
        Who favored
        Protective boundaries
        Placed around
        Every errant behavior
        His only savior
        A rebellious streak
        That banged against
        The meek and unpretentious
        A bossy noise
        Most bothersome
        But, transparent
        For this was a man
        Who only wanted love
        The touch of a woman’s hand
        And a simple life
        Just a cut
        Above the ordinary.

        Not to be Rebuked

        Buzz cut
        And brutal
        A feudal lord’s
        Towards keeping
        The plebeians in place
        His face a hammer
        To nail down
        Anything sticking up
        Abrupt, bizarre
        Best dealt with from afar
        He likes to get in your face
        His only saving grace
        The camouflage of his helping profession.

        Beauty Queen

        Easily annoyed
        Feeling that large boobs
        And blond hair
        Would open a wide swath
        Spoiled as a child
        A child still
        Born of tainted blood
        Her bleeding red
        At the faintest cut
        Too much a habit
        To be taken seriously
        She became a serial lover
        Who just had to have it.

        The Good Girl

        Taller than her mother
        No bonds at all
        A sea of sex and searching
        Cynical and vulnerable
        To old men
        Would be mentors
        Their own lives
        She walks the streets
        And down the alleys
        Thinking love just around
        The corner
        But making do
        With a new hairdo and a lottery ticket.

        Hot Spot

        So crowded
        Nobody goes there anymore
        Old joke holds true
        Trendy young
        Never heard of Berra
        Girls with breasts
        Barely concealed
        In special cut tops
        For boys as men
        No way
        For an immigrant to get in
        Past velvet ropes
        And designer dope
        To stupefy
        And keep young American
        Hope alive.

        A Date with Dante

        She ran hot and cold
        Hot side made you weep
        an exultant light
        That shined beatifically
        From a Michelangelo face
        No trace of animosity
        Cold, she was a bleak landscape
        Populated by
        A preying mantis
        Waiting to copulate
        And eat the head off her mate
        This was not a woman
        That you dared to date
        Unless hell was your destination.

        Where Angels fear to Tread

        At best
        Fading looks
        The nooks and crannies
        Of her youth forgotten
        Her childhood dreams
        Bled out
        A stabbed body
        In a murder case
        Husband long gone
        Left a son
        To focus on
        His early life
        In early ruin
        Disaster eased
        As both released
        Themselves from pain
        With ever-ready drugs.

        Child Star

        Face like a doll
        Frozen at the age
        Of eight
        Movie star stuff
        Boy in a bubble
        Of his mother’s
        Keen imagination
        Yet, still capable
        Of the great breakout
        Wise beyond his years
        A sad story
        In the making
        Adulthood ahead
        Will require faking it.

        Wanting to be Shiftless

        Bonnie worked
        The day shift
        Bonnie worked at night
        Bonnie ate celery
        Because the lettuce
        Was too light
        Bonne was no rabbit
        She was a girl with zing
        All that Bonnie wanted
        Was a diamond ring --
        Heavy on the carets please.


        This was not easy
         a woman of brilliance
        Harnessing herself
        To marriage
        A child
        Her drug dazed days
        Of old
        Put on hold
        To realize a womanhood
        In deep conflict
        With her human desires
        Manlike aspirations
        That would break the mold
        Risk dismay from the required
        Sheep-like mold.

        A OK.

        Since I was a good boy
        All American
        As you could be
        Grew up suburban
        Watching TV
        Rode to school
        In a government bus
        Ate government lunch
        For free.
        There was no me.
        Just us.
        US Trust.
        Bomb shelters
        Mowing lawns
        Regular meals
        With Dad & Mom
        Now gone
        Like a love song
        Gone sour.
        Now, I devour magazines
        Tom Cruise and Katie
        Katie Couric
        evening news
        Maybe like Rip Van Winkle
        Take a long snooze
        Wake up and find
        Mary Martin singing
        Like Peter Pan
        Never growing old.

        In Deep

        Her calm
        Was a façade
        Brunette hair pulled back
        Tight against her skull
        A slim brown waterfall
        Tumbling down her spine.
        All seemed fine.
        One Marlboro Light
        After another
        Pushing her still young
        Pink lungs
        Against a ripe ample
        Breast anxiously pushing out of her turquoise top.
        But her boyfriend
        Did not pay one bit of
        In short, she was
        In deep shit.

        Retro Love

        We did not know it
        When we were young.
        We had fun together.
        Myriad golden cans
        Of Coors,
        The elixir of choice.
        Chugged down
        Our needy thighs rubbing up
        Against the open trunk
        Of some Daddy’s car.
        We were in the moment.
        A moment that would
        Never end.
        It was love.
        But, we did not know it

        Take Me Out
        The dust kicks up red
        in the glinting sun
        -- the twilight
        as Biggio dives
        into second base.
        "Safe,” says the ump.
        This is the game
        as it should be played.
        But, the game
        would not exist
        without the fan
        and none was quicker
        to enlist than
        plain Jane
        just a sweet girl without
        a plan without a fan
        No fanfare, no man
        just a grand dam'
        who preferred the game
        over the glam.

        Melting Mercury

        Shoes like
        Exquisite pieces
        Of Whitman’s chocolate
        Upon seductive feet.
        Mercury --
        A quick hitter
        Quick to flee
        Fleet of foot
        Covered with soot
        Of love lost
        A boss’
        Not yet in control
        Of his tossed
        And troubled life.

        Mistress of Fate

        Willingly seduced
        To leave the fold.
        Yearning for the Centerfold
        Bold, brassy, sassy
        Mind like a petri dish
        In omnivorous quest
        For knowledge.

        Catching fiddler crabs
        In a musical net.
        Her voice
        Echoing in oblivious canyons
        Teeth polished
        Eyes like dark beacons
        And forcing one to retreat
        A conundrum.

        Sweet sum
        Of contradictory parts
        A masterpiece
        To be painted –
        Not by a master,
        Realization embryonic
        Within a laugh
        At the marvelous disaster
        That surrounds her.

        It Takes Two

        Game player
        Par excellence
        Eyebrows twitching
        At every roll of the dice
        She hated losing
        But winning
        Put her far above
        The would be suitors
        For her love
        What to do?
        Live a life of lies
        Or wait for Mr. Right
        Whom she might quickly
        Come to despise
        For being her better
        At wearing a disguise?

        In the Heat

        Sweat streaming down her
        Hollowed cheeks
        A prize fighter
        In a private ring behind the bar
        Face formed by a tender sculptor
        Painted bronze by a master painter
        Her shoulders two drenched masterpieces
        Her arched back a marvel of rivulets
        Glowing out from her stained camisole
        Fierce eyes almost black with determination
        In that moment she was every woman
        I had ever loved.

        © Farrell Dyde


[Home] [Welcome] [Mission] [Farrell Dyde] [History] [Repertory] [Poetry] [Support] [New Home] [Dat Is Het] [Mountains]