Best Monologues Poems
“It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.”
David Levithan
I will forever be as pure
as white virgin fibres,
in your onyx
field of ravens.
When the
star-crossed
silhouette of
bleeding ink,
ricochets like
vindictive arrows,
within your
hollow walls,
quenched with
muted echoes,
I am reminded of
your ebony eyes,
cradled under
black decomposing flesh.
I shove my
misunderstood identity
into a pocket journal,
embalmed with a
fragrance of peace lilies
and rhapsodical prose,
amidst doleful dusks
painted with
past mistakes
hidden beneath
narratives of sinful
tangerine nights.
But, remember
that your fallacious
name is an
erased footnote
in the history of
relentless runes.
My tormented tongue
has become
immune to
your false screams.
There is no need
for close-fisted
fingers to flip
through pages,
of the story
I left behind,
as visions of
venomous verses
cremate into
ashes in my mind-
as mere memories
of monologues from
ice cold monsoons,
which don’t define me.
I’ve sculpted fragile
paper boats and
watched them ferry my
demons,
floating on daisies
in a ravishing rivulet
of truth and tranquility,
whilst you chase
impassioned imprints
within chapters
written in patterns
of insincere phrases.
I am a survivor of
your storm,
drawing dreams in
drowsy darkness,
blooming my
amethyst artistry,
which vibrantly
beats to burgundy
evolutions of a
blossoming flower,
who's scent you
will never savor.
My petals
may be fragile,
but I refuse to remain
prisoned in toxic
traits of a
weathered wildflower -
I only attract
majestic butterflies.
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible, Exodus 2:22
I have been a stranger
I have been in a strange land
Land of forsaken frangipanis
Land of black diamonds
Diamonds never decay
Diamonds forever sparkle
Sparkle like neon fireflies
Sparkle amidst darkness
Darkness depicting light
Darkness illuminating skies
Skies sketched in topaz tints
Skies mirroring my spirit
Spirit of a forlorn wanderer
Spirit of a firm believer
Believer veiled unseen
Believer sings hymns unheard
Unheard sagas of truth
Unheard tunes of time
Time twirls through confusion
Time enveloped in silence
Silence is a fragrant dialect
Silence is misunderstood
Misunderstood yet deafening
Misunderstood monologues
Monologues of the strawberry moon
Monologues of sunflower scriptures
Scriptures of sacred seasons
Scriptures lost in deserted dunes
Dunes of healing heartbeats
Dunes of forgotten dreams
Dreams of a midnight Jasmine
Dreams of a faded star
Star that guides the raven dusk
Star that flickers pink gold
Gold is the color of faith
Gold ribboned with hope
Hope is an emerald home
Hope is a thriving tulip
Tulip personifies awakening
Tulip honeyed in harmony
Harmony from serenades of serenity
Harmony of singing sunrise
Sunrise painted in poetry
Sunrise and rainbows
Rainbows with quartz runes
Rainbows of colored revelations
Revelations unnamed
Revelations untold
Untold…
Unnamed…
In silence, when darkness
envelopes the sky,
unlock the glass windows
of your mind,
forgive the stars
that veiled their silver,
for it is in times of
confusion and calamity,
we paint our own
rose wine twilight,
that scintillates beyond
fleeting fog of time and sanity.
Sometimes, we forget to
appreciate nature’s performance,
as life seems to be a
black gold theatre of
manipulative mantras.
We rise as actors dressed in
dancing stripes of integrity,
pirouetting like a merry-go-round
of lights, guiding our destiny.
Where melodramatic monologues
of melancholic laws
remain tucked away deep,
beneath a charismatic mattress
woven across turquoise trampolines,
of tranquil testaments and tiger lilies.
But as the curtains swiftly fly
into thin crimson layers of air,
trust the silence, for when
everything’s louder,
we find contentment in
compassionate places we encounter,
sowing seeds of love, whilst we hope;
brushing off negativity’s echoes,
to clutch onto inner healing’s rope,
and surrender to its throes.
So allow the invisible wand
of your soul that sears
to sprinkle pixie-dust upon
the backbone of cascading fears,
let your heartbeat ring
and strum every
metallic string of faith,
whilst thin veins in
throbbing waves hum,
“Kindness is the healing
stone and stoicism is the key of life”
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” ~ Unseeking Seeker
I unlock the crystal frames
of these honest eyes,
to the sizzling sparks ~
the seraphic wings
of iridescent effulgence,
swirling and swaying in silence
between spaces of rising stars.
It’s a priceless adoration,
this soul’s cosmic compassion
surfing in sync with persistent passion,
in lyrics that Kundalini light illustrates
to the chakras of nameless existence,
where material mists
do not manipulate my faceless muse,
nor impress the magnetic rhythm
of flames entwined in faultless faith…
O phoenix sun ~ peace pursuer ~
my clarity verbalized in calm vowels,
I cradle the intuitive
activator of awakening,
an ambience of amplified auroras
alive and aroused by the hypnotic scent
of ivory roses,
blooming within inner conscience.
For you are the glass sky
that stirs my spirit in patience ~
unclothing the confusions
that cloud the
cerulean of my heart’s eden,
for love is a reborn feeling,
enlightening the weariness of breeze
to return like empathetic embers
amidst the
air flowing in blissful balminess…
Tonight, I b r e a t h e
the resurgent radiance
of everlasting agape,
hold the warmth
of relentless rippling romanticism,
as fingers quiver in quiescence,
as thoughts place their trust
in erasing erratic errors of ego,
that once blinded me from attaining
the divine affection
of desire draped in the formless
flowering lotus blaze,
listening as this ink release
the rhythmic runes of resistance,
engrossed in effervescence eternal,
to feel the
fuel of fragranced illumination…
So move through the pulse
of these metaphors
and alliterated verses,
melt into the unmetered mellifluence
of magical monologues,
so effortlessly,
whilst intoxicated by the stimulation
of deep awareness ~
O beloved dawn, I am the manifestation
of ineffable metamorphosis,
I speak in coherent reveries of peace,
wearing the tiara of truth,
crowned through
woven zephyrs of zestful trust,
as you now remain,
sculpted into these amorous veins
like an unreadable engraving,
a pristine presence;
heaven handwritten,
only my conscious sighs can render…
She's in love with the sound of her own voice
The pitch the tone the octave
Her one favorite topic is herself
She loves her audience captive and attentive
Their politeness is nothing short of adoration
Convinced there's no topic more worthy of the podium
She pictures herself filling the city stadium
Why else would she practice delivering monologues
She constantly craves to hear echoes of applause
Won't entertain the thought of nothing less
Imagining thunder of roaring standing ovations
She's bold she's grand she's totally delusional
Many have tried to break her but she's steady won't back down
She stands tall like a medal winning million dollar baby
She's always been daddy's girl and can do no wrong
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Dear penguin bearers,
Your fears are my letters.
Your attacks are my words.
Your choking is my ink.
Your voice is my language.
Your trembling is the content of my story.
Your agony is the magnitude of my magnum opus.
I read your feelings
I feel your shivers
I write your soliloquies
I sing your monologues
We all are trying to survive
in the same reign of terror
We are not alone in this terrific strive
All we reflect is a powerful personality in the mirror.
It's tough to lead a normal life
as our wings are cut with a sharp knife
But we don't cease to fly
For, we know our spirits are high
We are God's favorite children
He wants us to shine like one in a million
He is always there to pat our back and soothe our spines
He is constantly teaching us to read between the lines
So, let's make our shoulders strong
Let's not bend for anything wrong
Realise that there is an army of palpitating souls around us
Let's spread the rosiness of the inspiring story hidden in each one of us.
With love and reverence,
A fellow penguin bearer.
Note : The poem addresses the "Penguin bearers". The phrase "Penguin bearers" refers to the victims of mental illnesses like Panic and anxiety disorders,depression etc.
You're surviving on milk but not baby my friend,
If you never eat meat, it's a joke to pretend
That your ego's poetic!
Your fool's soul's diabetic!
Yours a comatose bliss (that's not real) at the end.
Friend Ku's radioactive, MAN-made, hence unstable,
You've not studied the Bible, yourself? It's a fable
That a monkey turns Christian,
That God's Truth's a suggestion,
For humility MARKS souls of those in His stable!
Faith's not bending the life of the fallen to Gods
(You imagine) you're pleasing, just think of the odds
A true God needs your help,
He's a service like YELP,
To seek Him gives those aid who dare drop all facades.
To need 'clue' means your lost, 'klux' cannot start a fire,
Though you dress in white sheets, it's external attire,
Yours are water-soaked logs
A fool's stale monologues,
You've a voice, but not pundit, man's role is God's choir.
To be full of yourself might just mean you're depraved,
To be full of God's spirit more sign that you're saved,
To judge others not your lot,
More a warning of soul's rot,
It's in love that I whisper "Be better behaved!"
May 22 of 2019
My Mother, like many saints, is compassionate,
Though lion-like, my father is considerate;
Like banyan tree, my family is well-branched out,
Grandmas, Grandpa, Uncles, Aunts - all are good; no doubt...
Precious among all, Pink Pearl, I am so lonely,
Cause - though ponder and wonder - I don't know wholly.
My talks are mad monologues; songs senile solo;
I'm my partner to my duet with heart hollow;
I'm a plant getting sun and water with no care,
In friendly fondling freedom folklores, I've no share;
I feel human beings, here, is mortal Islands,
Hearts heartlessly hard; minds murked; life barren dry lands...
I'm slow, soft, somber; savorless; no glory glow,
Deep down in me, like the Zambezi, whirlpools blow;
I look at the sun, moon, stars; not relishing them,
My mind mocks and knocks and cracks in a moody hem;
Seas surreptitious; ships succumbing surmise, shake,
My existence seems like someone's sad mad mistake...
Stories secrete; poetries pour; in my lone tour,
Losing, longing, languishing leads - love's lustrous lore;
Quill leaks; notepad nostalgic; words wildly wide,
Haunted heart - highest hopping horse- rugs rue rough ride;
Love lone, though looks lost, has its marvelous turning,
Lamenting lonely life lures cheery churning...
15 September 2021
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
It's not hunger for food
And it makes one a fool
It's really nothing good
More like leaving a toddler in a pool
All victims does panic
But they're in as if they get a commission
The actions are so ironic
Leaving one amazed, on the line of division
They do monologues
You really would swear they are mad
If you hear them doing dialogues
The topics don't match the news, it's so sad
They say they steal for a living
Unfortunately the earth so soon is what they end up leaving
Here I am-- again
Grabbing my pen, scribbling my pain
Into bleeding and excruciating words
That might end up killing me.
Damn, I need to let this out!
I need to release all the dramas and doubt.
My pen cries of simile again
Fighting considerately in vain,
Creating make-believe stories,
Drowned in almost vivid memories.
I try to ensconce myself
In awesome poems and proses
While gripping thorny roses
Trying to fix my broken self.
Metaphors that speak euphoria,
Rhymes that sound like paranoia,
Stanzas full of painful battles
Writing frustrations with beautiful titles--
Out of melancholy or perhaps emptiness--
I locked my soul in unreal happiness.
I opted to unspoken dialogues
Where I never have second thoughts on monologues.
This is how I silently wept.
This is where my thoughts are kept.
I know six languages,
The one I write in
The one I speak in,
My mother’s words,
My father's verse,
And those of my brothers.
My mother speaks quickly
In baking terms and 80’s slang
She speaks in sewing materials,
Starbucks orders,
And references to Bon Jovi.
My father speaks with nature,
I just happen to hear him.
He converses with trees,
And pebbles worn smooth by time.
His language is filled with bar chords,
Childhood lullabies,
And culinary jargon.
The words he shapes are crafted by knowledge that I won’t admit I see.
Two years younger than me is an entirely different language,
Though one I understand.
Covered feelings form a language
I used to know quite well
Spoken in anger
Or begrudging hope
He lives in a pixelated world
With his eyes glued to a screen
He speaks in accordance to what is thought,
Usually not his thoughts guiding his actions
Strict participant in social norm,
Too much is said about what he hasn’t done and not enough about what he has
The youngest speaks in an entirely
Too innocent language
One I have come to detest
For the unwelcome flashbacks it brings
I don’t speak his language
Doubt I ever will again.
His quick words are full of legos,
Cartoons,
And Kung Fu Panda.
His actions are a reminder of a song I have forgotten.
I speak in limericks,
Dramatic monologues,
And Iambic Pentameter.
My words are full of colors and grasped by few
For they float by much too quickly
Full of mentions of J. K. Rowling
And pop culture. My wonder is stuck
In the impossible,
For I have yet to believe it is so.
I speak in song lyrics and quotes.
My words are full of grudging resilience,
Quick wit,
And sarcasm.
It does not matter what language we speak,
Or what percent Irish we think we are,
We are alike on what matters,
Like our love for literature,
Our patriotism of Gryffindor,
And our intrest in politics.
The languages we speak tie us together,
They are what make us unique.
Dear Eve and not so much Adam
over writing The Clitoral Monologues,
Love your book.
Just one suggestion,
expand your entitlement to
The Clitoral-Penile EcoPoliTickle Dialogues.
Feminist to feminist monopolizing monologues
make merely OK theater,
at best, the first feminist nurturing ecopolitickle opera,
if you were to also become gifted with writing songs
and choreographing exotic clitoral-clitoral non-dueling dances
Your wisdom becomes more cooperatively powerful
on an eco-policultural
co-arising dipolar
neuro-sexstemic therapeutic stage,
clitoral yintegral
with penile yang-poignant thrust
of regeneratively co-passionate revolutions
Our wisdom nurturing anthropocentered
co-empathic health caring selves,
reincarnating evolutionary predators invading receptors
into hunters loving gatherers
of weathiest wise polarities
transubstantiating holariously nonviolent
politicklish co-passions.
Strategically repositioning
the only mono-longing
Sex Business as usual
is a competitive Mine-Is-Bigger Game
with a wealthier Win/Win Clitoral-Penile synergy
of wiser transgenderal politickling co-investments
in healing bipolar oppositions
with dipolar appositions
Like Adam v Eve
reconceiving Adam/Eve
Yang/Yin
cobinary transformations.
Anarchy's rife concerns of strife
amoebic controversy's wife
is glory, cast to gain's contrive
while birthright sanctions stow imply!
The rigger, intercedes as ploy
inheritance resolves as toy,
passed from conservative's employ
the rich or poor, slavery's restore!
Decisions reached authentically
no stay of bonds so utilized
contempt of vision, men destroy
provisions archetype chain's story!
A lost regret prison's entail
freedom forgotten with assail
to engineered induction's quail
forgiveness bargained by time's pale!
The vital nuance of restoring
now monologues to senseless cheering,
the quiet ethic time of clearing
now senseless epilogue's revering!
Thoughts parallel not objection's sever
to aftermath's resolve adhering!
www.after360words.blogspot.com
www.after360words.com
The Emote Monologues Series
by Ashleigh Chaka
The steps in my mind
Dear....
l have written this with due diligence that it gets to you quickly,
For you are the only person that l can talk to,
l have been having too many headaches,
l just feel there is some dodging footsteps in these membranes,
l know l am sure
You know l just don't make use of my emotional diagnosis,
Which l have conformed to now and again,
Connoted by the fidgeting of my skull,
My mind surely has become a race course,
l hope you forgive me for not trusting people and for being so silent,
These slight bolting thoughts have been piercing my mind,
Confronting my mother being the quickest to the courageous line,
Wondering if her decisions in life were ever imbibed with my happiness,
If she was ever cognizant of what l wanted...
Maybe l overslept on my grandmother back and missed my alarm,
l have been so certain...
...that maybe lam the sacred orphan with both parents,
...l do not know who to blame for these feelings,
l end up being lost in the maze in my mind,
Well twenty-four years of her absence in my life may have eroded her mother-ness to me?
Too many questions acquiring of my thesis,
l have tried all sorts of discussions with my mind,
But to no avail,
Perhaps you can come into this discussion
What happens if the priceless gift you have in life...
Wakes up the other morning with a price tag??
...Only embedded with the worthiness only equal to our respect?
...Every time l try to resolve this and heal my self,
...the other step in mind steps right on the toes of my angry thoughts,
This is what l have been going through...
Please exonerate this blood pressure...
it's these steps in my mind serving this swollen requisite,
Now l can't move on like always,
Even my legs have had enough,
There are swollen...
Shame for some...
... a misconception of Blood pressure.
Well dear ....
Family pressure.
??+263 784 528 884
steps in my mind
Ashleigh Chaka
Rhyme is to a poem as melody is to a song.
It's the sweet music to which written words belong.
Rhymes with meter makes the poem musical,
A kind of of word connection that is quite magical.
Read aloud it gives readers predictable pleasure,
And poems with rhyme are remembered for sure.
Without rhyme poems sound like mere declarations,
Or just monologues said in dream situations.
Like a stage where actors perform in silent mime,
Such is the existence of a poem without rhyme.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello ~~~09.13.17
--------------------------
Rhyme
"Rhyme is the matching up of sounds and syllables, usually at the end of lines. External rhyme is the rhyming of words at the end of lines. Shel Silverstein's poetry is a great example of this. And "The Raven," by Edgar Allan Poe, incorporates internal rhyme in "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary." This means that two words rhyme within the same line, in this case dreary and weary.
Why is Rhyme Important?
Rhyme functions in much the same way as rhythm. It keeps the poem in harmony, and a rhyme scheme helps the audience to understand what is coming. Discerning the rhyme scheme is important because the pattern brings the poem to life and helps the audience feel connected."
(Source : "The Pen and The Pad" - "Why Are Rhythm and Rhyme Important in Poems? by Kathryne Bradesca)