robert dickerson


The Whore - Poem by robert dickerson

Wasn't life rich? Wasn't it strange?
How much was merely giving
Or by this simple means at hand,
Making a living.

There was a line between the two
Though nobody admit it,
But how it should be drawn, who knew?
Or where to put it.

Lovers, friends, put money in your hands
And many pretty things:
All you value-tricks as well as friends
And all money brings.

Just to be in the street was very heaven
Under a whorl of stars.
Talk, laughter, a way of walking, even,
Stories you could share

Until hair tumbled down, glistening
In the lamplight, to the sighs
And groans of one no longer listening:
Giving the price, the prize.


Comments about The Whore by robert dickerson

  • Eric Cockrell (10/23/2011 11:55:00 AM)

    to some degree we're all whores.... we make the choice! good poem! (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 23, 2011

Poem Edited: Monday, October 24, 2011


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