Dorothy Parker

(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

Dorothy Parker Poems

161. Chant For Dark Hours 1/13/2003
162. Epitaph 1/13/2003
163. Anecdote 1/13/2003
164. On Being A Woman 1/13/2003
165. Cherry White 1/13/2003
166. Ballade Of Unfortunate Mammals 1/3/2003
167. Distance 1/13/2003
168. Fair Weather 1/13/2003
169. Ballade At Thirty-Five 1/3/2003
170. Indian Summer 1/13/2003
171. After Spanish Proverb 1/13/2003
172. The Trusting Heart 1/3/2003
173. Men 1/13/2003
174. Bohemia 1/13/2003
175. A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature 1/13/2003
176. Unfortunate Coincidence 1/3/2003
177. Coda 1/13/2003
178. Penelope 1/13/2003
179. August 1/13/2003
180. Ballade Of A Great Weariness 1/13/2003
181. Frustration 1/3/2003
182. Autumn Valentine 1/13/2003
183. A Portrait 1/13/2003
184. A Well-Worn Story 1/13/2003
185. One Perfect Rose 1/3/2003
186. Resumé 1/3/2003
187. Afternoon 1/13/2003
188. But Not Forgotten 1/13/2003
189. A Fairly Sad Tale 1/13/2003
190. A Certain Lady 1/3/2003
191. A Dream Lies Dead 1/3/2003
192. "Star Light, Star Bright--" 1/13/2003
193. A Very Short Song 1/13/2003

Comments about Dorothy Parker

  • Marisa Samuels (9/22/2006 4:45:00 PM)

    In Dorothy Parker's 'The Dark Girl's Rhyme', there is an error. It's 'folk of mud and flame', not 'folk of mud and name.' Every Dorothy Parker reference on the internet (that I have found) has the same error.

    15 person liked.
    29 person did not like.
  • Rufina Moor (8/28/2005 6:46:00 PM)

    I adore Dorothy Parker!
    She is one of the most amazing writers and women, with her witty sense of humor and her sarcasm. I love her!

    24 person liked.
    16 person did not like.
Best Poem of Dorothy Parker

A Very Short Song

Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.

Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.

Read the full of A Very Short Song

August

When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart;

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