Poetry and Stories by Dixie

A Christmas Fantasy
Sleep No More
By Any Other Name...
Put Them All Together...
Sonnet Inspired by Tim Curry
Tim Sonnet #2
Timmy's Tale
Timmy On My Mind

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A Christmas Fantasy

Christmas Day dawns bright and clear;
The weather's looking better.
I wake and yawn and wonder if
Santa got my letter...

I didn't ask for very much:
World peace, great wealth sans worry,
Beauty, wit, good health and such,
And, possibly, Tim Curry...

Hanging on the mantelpiece
Are several well-filled socks
And wedged beneath the Christmas tree
A large beribboned box...

And from inside, I hear a cough,--
A cultured British sound;
The lid pops open; Tim steps out
And gazes all around.

He bows and smiles:
"Excuse intrusion,"
And exits with a wink
Saying, "That's the last time that I let
An elf buy me a drink!"

- By Dixie J. Whitted 12/22/96


Sleep No More

Deep in the caverns of Night's black domain
Lurks my Lord Darkness,
Pitiless, ravenous,
Seeking a pleasure to silence his pain.

Vast are the shadows
But Darkness is vaster;
Languid, libidinous,
Precious, perfidious...
Here he is Master.

Our breath comes faster,
Seeking his presence
To plead for a meeting;
Fantasies fleeting,
From daylight retreating,
We beckon disaster!

Steam-heated syllables
Slide from his lips,
Sweet poisoned honey
That sears where it drips...
Whispering, wondering,
Hunting and hungering,
--Tearing the mask
From the mercy of Night...

We are all animals
(Some of us bite.).
Come, Darkness, cover me;
Be thou my delight.
Wrapt in thy robes,
Overladen with bliss,
Never awaken me
But with thy kiss...

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/3/97


By Any Other Name...

Boyishly sweet in "Three Men in a Boat,"
In his striped blazer, Victorian Style.
(Faux pearls encircling that bitable throat;
Writhing red lips and a Satanic smile...)
Tim's "Larry Gormley," impressionist rare,
Strutting and singing and stealing the show.
(Garter belt, fishnets and smoldering stare;
Leaving his lovers aghast,--and aglow.)

Slender young Shakespeare, in old London feted,
Satined, be-ruffed, as the Bard of the Ages.
(Our Sweet Transvestite, supine but not sated,
Seducing the universe by easy stages.)
Richelieu-ruthless or John Silver cunning,
Wadsworth subservient, Reverend Ray "healing."
(Frank in the pool, sybaritically stunning;
Being it, dreaming it, sharing the feeling...)

Tim, you chameleon too crafty to capture,
Shape-changing, silver-tongued, lovable star,
Using your skills to enslave and enrapture...
Ah, Tim, stay as sweet and unique as you are!

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/4/97


Put Them All Together...

T is for Terrific (and Titanic),
I is for Intoxicating style,
M is for his Manner, sometimes Manic,

C is for Contagious, like his smile.
U is for Unequalled sense of timing,
R is for that Rascal's bag of tricks,
R is for this Rhapsody of Rhyming,--
Y is for --
...... Your Fellow Timbo, Dix.
- By Dixie J. Whitted 12/12/96


Sonnet Inspired by Tim Curry

(with apologies to the Swan of Avon)

Shall I compare Tim to a summer's day?
He is more varied in his talents' reach...
Rough critics fail to grasp his gifts alway;
But they perform not, neither do they teach.
There is no thespian role he cannot limn
With lucid grace and thought-compelling arts;
No peasant rogue nor poseur, this our Tim,
But worthy winner of admiring hearts.
So long as he doth strut the playhouse boards
Or lend his mighty talents to the screen,
So long shall he deserve those high awards
That wait upon such stealers-of-a-scene...
If this be error and on me prov'd be,
I never wrote nor any actor mov'd me.

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/6/97


Tim Sonnet #2

Time spent in watching Tim upon the screen
Rewards us richly in so many ways
As, mesmerized, we melt at every scene,
Impaled on his electrifying gaze.
Or softer moments lull our loving hearts
("Simon Doonan" may have had a mother),
And teach us tragedy among his arts;
Our Tim is simply unlike any other.
For passion and romance, no further seek,
Nor heated hungers I cannot belie
That paint a blushing rose upon this cheek
Or draw an anguished tear from tender eye...
So shall we all surrender to his will:
It must ennoble,--if it does not kill.

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/7/97


Timmy's Tale

Hazel-eyed,
Curly-haired
Timothy James,
Quick at his studies
And joyous at games;
He played a 'goblin'
At five years old,
So goes the story
That I've been told;
Stitched fairies' wings
On a toy machine;
The smallest tailor
Ever seen...

Timothy James,
Whose glorious voice
Even at six
Made the choir rejoice,
Its pure notes floating
On holy air
(Long before young Tim
Went onstage in "Hair"...)

Then he won the role,
Did Timothy James,
That turned the Thames
To a river of flames:
As a "sweet transvestite"
All glitter and heat
That brought his worshippers
To his feet...

So raise your glasses
To this dear child,
--Still untamed
And wonderfully wild!

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/11/97


Timmy On My Mind

There is something about Mr. Curry,
A presence remarkably pleasant;
This hypnotic, sometimes-impure he,
Whether playing a princeling or peasant
Has a silkily sly way of speaking
That suggests some unspecified sin
For which he is endlessly seeking
--That really gets under my skin.

Be he Richelieu, suave and despotic,
Or Darkness, dread ruler of Night,
He's always sublimely erotic,
--A dangerous dream of delight...
As he ravishes ladies in showers
Or digs pirate treasure with Jim,
I just can't get over his powers
(--And I'd like to be all over him!)

- By Dixie J. Whitted 1/11/97


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