Best Centre Stage Poems
There she stands
Centre stage for all to see
Tall and slender
Precariously she balances.
I reach out for her
Draw her to me
My hand skims her body
Slowly reaching her skirt.
Playful fingers find hidden areas
Delighted her legs spring forth
Displaying the very beauty
Of her delicately adorned skirt.
Gaily she dances around
Dizzily twisting and turning
In the brightness of day shading
She gently tends to my needs.
Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping
Merrily bobbing up and down
As emotional to her performance
Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.
Reaching our destination
Slightly shaken, she leans
Watches me quietly drips
Against the wall.
Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment
We acknowledge one another silently
Restful knowing we shall be
One once more.
Enter the Everest that devastates
as he never ever rests and demonstrates
his quick wit picnic of traits that place
with lickety split flicks on the page
the tricks of a contortionist wrist that emits embers at pace
as he commits and performs on the centre stage
with the impact of a storm from the biblical age
the act of an adorned prolific rampage.
Irresistible talent abundantly apparent
you thought you'd witnessed
ability but until now you hadn't
when the rest in the business
appear to be unskilled
and transparent
as their best rhymes diminish
right here to be unfulfilled
and redundant
thus divested of finesse
while it's clear to see you're thrilled
in this moment.
EVE OF STORMS
As I look towards the horizon,
Without hesitation,
But with determined yet
Heartfelt trepidation,
And see a distant angry
Storm forging forth
Its spluttering vicious curvaceous
Fearful advance holds my gaze
With historical ageless
Heartfelt emotions,
That sink and dive,
And furl and curl,
Knowing no one may survive!
Poseidon and Neptune take centre stage,
And Eve of storms unleashes wrath,
Tempts oceans rage!
The beginning of time
Is about to meet Mythology
Eternity about to clash
With oceans and Astrology
The mystical ocean gods,
Meet Eve, the beginning of human
Temptation, against all odds!
The reptile has achieved
Its evil aim and intent,
Causing chaos and fear
Alone is it’s content.
The gods call upon God our Maker
To drown the serpent tormentor,
And quell this tidal wave
Ten storeys tall,
About to wipe out all,
This massive water wall!
Eve of Storms has angered God
She had already lost the keys
To Paradise, now interferes
With Poseidon and Neptune,
The gods of seas,
God the omnipresent and the
Only truth sends Eve back to Earth,
Is Eve of Storms,
Fiction, or myth people say,
But to this day
Whilst looking up
At starlit skies
We are no more the wise!
Silver shines back one picture of a goddess reflection
centre stage before the eyes enters soul to soul realm
standing purely hot blue flames ignite every gasp
breathing on a bed of roses sleeps beauty
The breath stops breathless apex splendour
within you precious jewels striking darkly haunting
princess happily kissing over and over sugar coated
heartbeats back skips with angel kisses
Warmly upon the throne sitting queen
dancing with shadows crowning moonbeams
cradle of love is where I capture your space
reserved only in my dreams of you
Temple of light I blow the softest kiss gently on wings
to embrace the altar of a soul's other half destiny sings
captured in space the greatest mystery of life
invades when you sit upon these knees
Purely joy angelic smiles looking into your eyes sparkles of starlight
on a blazing trail of magic dust always there I find thee
missing piece of the puzzle fits holding hands surely heaven here
in this world I have found in you this heart's treasure, be my Queen
As your heartbeats a pulse quickens through your fingertips
this heart is yours for keeps to go on forever
sure as the sunshine kisses morning dew
Your love inspires the one in a thousand dreams come true
unrhymed quatrains
I walk into the night
And leave the world behind,
The fading of the light,
The stumbling of the blind
I seek another path
A road that has no goal
But the semblance of the truth
The yearning of my soul.
The moon holds centre stage
Beyond the trellis trees
The city lights engage
But can no longer please
A mind grown tired of life
A heart no longer strong
Tired of this world of strife
Return where they belong
The wind picks up the leaves
And gusts across the park
Where silent shadows heave
And vanish in the dark.
What held us here so long?
What fantasy prevailed?
The plans we lived among
Have long since been derailed.
And so I take my leave
I say to all goodbye
There is no call to grieve
There is no need to cry.
I seek another path
A road that has no goal
But the semblance of my truth
The yearning of my soul
One must imagine Sisyphus’s
boulder, marble-sized these days
And Ozymandias’ plaque,
spinning despair into praise
Look on, ye hypocrites,
and sneer at my undoing
Your universe is a giant sandpit,
entropy accruing
Their legacies long crumbled,
eroded by rust
Gods built the wrong way,
on scaffolds of dust
Virtue or vice register
equally the same
Except between stars,
there’s space for one more grain
Down here, we clock in daily,
stack hours like prayer
Worship strong Wi-Fi,
evangelize on thin air
Imagine heavenly echoes,
because the silence isn’t fair
Some develop connection,
others a thousand-yard stare
Our Earth splits naturally,
along seismic lines
Greenwich claims centre stage,
only for the meantime
Sisyphus, still aching,
gets an epidural at last
But only in hindsight,
for his hump blocks the past
Redrawn are our own lines,
watchtowers in the sand
Sketching new borders,
carving up the promised land
Exhume ancient treasure,
and black, viscous stuff
Addicted to all things buried,
as if our dead weren’t enough
Still we write blindly,
tracing glyphs already faded
Helps lift the mood
when depressed and jaded
Gods stand on shaky ground,
myth holds them together
In schisms that bind billions,
then sever forever
Oh, look on—ye poet
Sisyphus now rolls his eyes
He’s seen the apps, wars,
hoodies, and cable ties
His hamster wheel’s a meme
for gods who merely try
Small wonder he mutters,
at least Ozymandias gets to die
And sometimes I pray to gods,
or maybe their ghosts
About versions of me
I’ve been missing the most
They don’t directly answer,
but do leave this guess
In the end, to keep on rolling
may be my passing success
By David Kavanagh
A character born from the words on the page
Absorbed into me, words released from their cage
Once spoken from the voice, the one that rings true
The connection is made, imagination shines through
Embrace the character you see, in your mind’s eye
Develop and make your own, as the weeks pass by
Taking centre stage, as one, but with parts of many
Character ghosts of my past, all wanting to be free
Therapeutic, full of glee, relief from conscious me
The real is submerged to make way for make- believe
Traversing Iceland's National Park, a timeless place, where daylight fills each passing hour
and twilights ever brief. While volcanoes stand by sentinel, amidst dark lava fields.
Amazing geysers so magnificent, vent angry clouds of steam. Our route wlnds through
wild landscapes, laid down by ice and fire. Breathtaking scenes see lustrous skies, change
colour constantly. To marvel as wild reindeer herds migrate, in seeking pastures new.
We rest awhile to take respite beside a waterfall, avoiding midday's heat. And bathe in ice
cool waters crystalline, refreshing tired feet. The time soon comes for us to climb to high
plateaus,where vast glaciers with melting ice, cascade torrents down below. From this
vantage point we sight, the coastal waters where we aim to spend the night. Eventually, we
make our descent, crisscrossing mountain streams, and wend our way carefully, to stroll
through pastures green. Wild ponies graze as we pass by, observing us with watchful eye.
Unbroken and unbowed by man, a force of nature, likens them to this rugged land.
At journey's end we reach the fjord, this tranquil scene gains our accord for
camping wild. Waiting patiently until the midnight hour to take some photographs.
All panoramic landscapes, and taking centre stage this star, still shining bright our sun.
Waking early to the strident sounds of seabirds raucous calls. Our experience seems
so surreal, without the break of dawn. Today our destination will end our brief sojourn.
Eventfully we stand beside where continents divide, Eurasia and North America's
tectonic plates collide.
arctic midnight sun
shows creations finest hour
land of ice and fire
6/ 24/ 2018.
Huddled in Burton's doorway, head down,
the windblown rain at almost forty five degrees
soaking me from the knees downwards.
Reflecting on the paving, the red, amber and green
from the traffic lights heralded a wave of white from passing headlights,
like theatre curtains opening.
And centre stage stood I.
The clock at Samuel's jeweller said nine seventeen.
I thought I blended in well- the tailor's dummies in the windows
either side of me, equally well dressed, stared vacantly
into a dark alien world. I envied them.
They were dry.
And not waiting on a first date.
A quick glance up.
The clock said nine seventeen.
They say that time slows down when you're idle, or impatient,
and I was starting to bow to this unproven scientific truth.
Two pretty girls strode past beneath a mangled umbrella,
one briefly threw a smile my way, almost lost in a giggle.
I counted my twentieth chorus of red, amber and green.
It was nine seventeen.
She said she'd be here for nine. I looked at my watch.
Ten O'clock.
The bells of the Guildhall and the Cathedral smugly agreed,
H. Samuel had been lying all along.
The rain had stopped. I stepped out into the throng of couples,
dressed in my singleness, as the girls with the broken umbrella,
now discarded, approached.
No giggles- she gave the same smile, but her eyes knew my plight,
then she shrugged.
I found a bar and sat in damp trousers with a beer, and watched the big screen
to take my mind off a wasted evening.
The rugby was just finishing.
God does have a sense of humour,
England beating France-
Seventeen points to nine.
25th June 2018
For contest 'nine seventeen', sponsor John Lawless
My heart is shaped like a love heart
With different compartments inside
The largest compartment being LOVE
Centre stage and always my guide
KINDNESS is another compartment
For of acts of kindness bestowed
Valued and forever remembered
Accrued along my life’s road
HUMOUR has a compartment
I consider it my hearts fuel
Laughter, fun and good times
For entry is the golden rule
MEMORIES sweet and precious
Has a compartment of its own
Abundant with optimal happiness
Mine and mine alone
SADNESS unfortunately is a compartment
Containing disappointment, loss and bereft
Yet in there is also appreciation
For having had the gift of the ones who have left
Down the bottom of my love shaped heart
Is MINDFUL the smallest compartment in there
Containing hurt and wrong doings
An ongoing reminder to be aware
With elan springing forth from young age
Enthusiastic to take centre stage
All his wits he was able to gather
And proceed to the foot of the ladder
Effervescent – a smile on his face –
No misgivings, of doubt not a trace
Rung by rung clinging on to elation
Reaching up to a dream destination
Fortune favours the daring, the brave
Saw the trophy on which to engrave
Both his name and a feat well accomplished
Punching air, feeling great and established,
Yet in triumph he made one mistake:
Not perceiving the hiss of a snake.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
© 17th May 2019
Your voice is loud it commands the day
Others stop and listen when you speak
I am quiet with something to say
I may speak softly but I'm not meek
I don't need to stand on centre stage
Others stop and listen when you speak
I prefer the quiet of a page
No interruption my thoughts are clear
I don't need to stand on centre stage
I'm blessed with the power of the ear
I listen with my heart and my eyes
No interruption my thoughts are clear
You speak loudly but may not be wise
Yet many follow and do what you say
I listen with my heart and my eyes
You may not be leading the right way
Yet many follow and do what you say
Your voice is loud it commands the day
I am quiet with something to say
By invitation from a trusted friend,
a medium intervention took place and I went.
The building set in the thick forest by a shimmering lake,
some broken sheds looking sad and strange to take.
Weeded and worn the manor house thatch,
a frail welcome and the oil lamp in my face, opens the latch.
Guided into a stony room, a roaring fire giving light to others,
all wearing coats to darkness trance of matter.
Musky sandalwood and smoke heavy on the eye,
cold winds slapping windows nearby.
Tattered curtains reveal a stone cast from the wall,
a female priestess turns into a fragile light, while some stones just fall.
The purple silver dress enriching her timeless gestation,
taken centre stage and a bow of appreciation.
‘Weary dreary, the lot of You’,
the soft velvet voice seeking attention, of what to do.
“I roaming with a hungry heart,
and I invite you to my noble sphere”.
‘And all I see are empty cloaks everywhere’.
You charlatans and prosperous healer,
you happy clapper and commercial dealer.
‘When will you lot start to provide genuine visions,
which are not based on commissions’.
‘This labor by slow prudence not to fail,
needs the wind of compassion to sail.’
‘Some work of noble note is still to be done’,
Deep moans round with many voices,
some shriek from there own detected choices.
‘We need to be one equal temper with heroic hearts,
to strive, to seek, to find the virtue of healing art’.
The doctrine is simple, ancient and true,
Life’s trial that you only love what is worth your love,
has little consequence by the miracle above.
The fire crashes to a flicker and darkness takes the hand,
The faint voice of the priestess so clear, “Wake and understand”.
Feeling lost in the solemn and strange,
wondering about the elements it takes to change.
Pride of Place
On high his picture takes centre stage
He speaks to the room how his eyes do engage
Tall and proud and weathered with age
How I wish it were a book so I could turn the page
To know what lay beyond that moment in time
Of that man so intriguing and still in his prime
If he just could but out of that picture climb
He could tell me his story and oh how sublime
Sung to the tune of "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem"
Our infant school nativity,
Directed by Mrs. Page,
Was my first opportunity
To act upon the stage.
I always was an extrovert;
So that appealed to me.
My hopes and dreams of all the years,
An actor I would be.
I wanted to play Joseph,
‘Cos Mary was played by Joyce.
And, of all the little girls in the class,
She was my first choice.
And if I couldn’t be Joseph
And ride along with her.
I’d be a king with golden crown
And frankincense or myrrh
I practised every morning,
And every evening.
Imagining the audience applause
For Joseph or a king.
But when it came to casting,
It didn’t come to pass.
The part that Mrs Page gave to me
Was the back half of the ass.
But one day I’ll be famous,
And then I’ll marry Joyce.
The latest toast of theatreland
And all will know my voice.
I’ll invite all my friends to attend,
As I take centre stage.
They’ll be there in the front row.
But I won’t ask Mrs Page.