"My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun"

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her skin's mahogany, not noble white.
She slaps on paints and fillers by the ton,
and has the dress sense of an anchorite.

Fastidious? Only in her brand of beer.
Brash burger joints are where she likes to dine.
She'd rather look at Fonzie than Vermeer:
thinks maybe vampires dwell in Wittgenstein.

It's Oprah Winfrey over Orson Welles,
and Justin Bieber beats Thelonius Monk:
she'll read "Hello!" before the Book of Kells,
and Chateau Margaux's just for getting drunk.

A fiery, funny, perky popinjay?
I wouldn't have her any other way.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like this one. She sound perfect to me.
"A fiery, funny, perky popinjay? "
The good description create a true and honest beauty. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Arezzo]

It's a pleasure to read such positive and flattering reviews. I appreciate your cmments!

[Coyote Poetry]

I truly liked this poem. The words danced and the woman was perfect. And you are welcome.

[SleeplessVolcano]

I'd say her eyes are better than the sun!!

Delightful writing!

[Arezzo]

Thank you very much. I happen to agree! Your comments are very greatly appreciated.

[Nico Reznick]

And that's why the lady is a tramp?

This was really sweet in a refreshingly unconventional way. The most interesting broads are messy anachronisms.

[Arezzo]

Exactly. You got the Lorenz Hart-type ironic thing.

I'm very grateful to you for taking the time and trouble to offer your views. They are deeply appreciated.