Norma Jean

In death, have you found sweet release that grants to you an inner peace
Which, in your life, was never seen; are you content now, Norma Jean?
Love was given and was taken, nonetheless, you felt forsaken.
Is your spirit calm, serene and finally happy, Norma Jean?

Did you believe that adoration was the key to your salvation?
Did you suppose it would redeem just like a savior, Norma Jean?
Glamour verging on perfection, yet you always feared rejection;
Dreaded you'd become routine and ordinary, Norma Jean.

You were the ideal combination: innocent sophistication.
Women envied, while men dreamed and fantasized of Norma Jean.
How could one so charismatic think that they had lost the magic?
Never did you lose the sheen that was the soul of Norma Jean.

Did you spend your final hour all alone within your bower?
Why did no one intervene and try to save you, Norma Jean?
Were you careworn, tired and weary; had this life become too dreary?
Was what happened unforeseen? What were your last thoughts, Norma Jean?

In the search for your Prince Charming, did it all get too demanding?
Did you shake up the regime to its foundations, Norma Jean?
Did you fall victim to the game of domination, power and fame?
Were you director of the scheme or just an extra, Norma Jean?

Were you promised love and glory like that Cinderella story?
Did you push luck to extreme, or were you betrayed, Norma Jean?
As centerfold or White House darling, you were totally disarming.
Babe in the Woods or Wicked Queen...which role did you play, Norma Jean?

Fragile to the point of breaking when your wounded heart was aching,
How very child-like you did seem on such occasions, Norma Jean.
Did anybody recognize the pain and anguish in your eyes?
Did any heed your silent scream of desperation, Norma Jean?

Naive and frightened little girl who struggled in a cut-throat world,
Or cunning woman, wit so keen, which one was truly Norma Jean?
Maybe you enjoy the stigma of remaining an enigma;
Like the cat who stole the cream, does that amuse you, Norma Jean?

Some have said it was apparent you had very little talent,
Did they crush your self-esteem,so frail and brittle, Norma Jean?
Those who called you Prima Donna, never saw through your persona,
Never pierced the dense smokescreen behind which you hid, Norma Jean.

How often did you take the chance on yet another new romance?
Why did each one rip at the seam and bring you sorrow, Norma Jean?
Did the faith within you die a little more with each goodbye?
A shoulder on which you could lean, is that what you sought, Norma Jean?

A man on whom you could rely, who'd swear that love would never die,
Who'd be the buffer in between brutality and Norma Jean.
Did you retain a grain of trust till even that had turned to dust
And there was nothing left to glean? What bitter harvest, Norma Jean.

Did the angels flock to meet you, gather in a crowd to greet you?
Did you steal the opening scene at Heaven's portal, Norma Jean?
Did they shower you with roses and admire your sensuous poses?
Did they send a limousine or did you walk there, Norma Jean?

Did they shout, "Bravo! Encore!" and hang a star upon your door,
Or did you slip in quite unseen with all the others, Norma Jean?
Did they bring a photograph and beg you for your autograph?
Were they clutching magazines and glossies of you, Norma Jean?

Did you arrive with sequined dresses, painted face and well-groomed tresses,
Or did you enter scrubbed and clean, devoid of make-up, Norma Jean?
Did you give a breathless giggle, demonstrate that famous wiggle?
Did they you call you libertine or just accept you, Norma Jean?

Do you now look down in fury on those who'd be judge and jury?
Do you denounce them and blaspheme for what they did to Norma Jean?
Perhaps you've put aside the past, laid all your ghosts to rest at last;
Survived the dark and grim ravine to come through smiling, Norma Jean.

We could consult with necromancers and still never know the answers
To the questions that yet teem about the fate of Norma Jean
And how your death remains a mystery locked in motion picture history;
But, on such tales were you not weaned when just as infant, Norma Jean?

There is a poster, "Hollywood Diner," where an artist has enshrined the
Members of an elite team; I think you'd like it, Norma Jean.
Captured, in a brief encounter, legends at a luncheon counter:
Presley, Brando, Jimmy Dean and in the foreground, Norma Jean.

But now you're gone and there's a void, a space left in the celluloid,
Which once was focused on the theme and spirit that was Norma Jean.
There have been many imitations, each one came with limitations;
How could they know just what it means to live a life like Norma Jean's?

Rest assured, your image lingers; platinum hair and red-tipped fingers;
Enduring as the evergreen, you're with us always, Norma Jean.
Still the portraits of you smoulder, never aged and never older.
Even now, there's never been another quite like Norma Jean.

One thing always will be certain, when they draw the final curtain,
Only one can reign supreme and that one will be Norma Jean.
You'll receive the recognition that was always your ambition;
Goddess of the Silver Screen forever will be Norma Jean.


Back to Scribbles