Best Onstage Poems


This Girl Just Wanna Have Fun

This Girl Just Wanna Have Fun

Saturday night’s always my special night,
and I’ll party hearty ‘till broad daylight.
Long hair and shapely hips swinging to the beat,
I’m no wallflower who’ll sit in a back corner seat.

No ball and chain will keep me down.
Don’t try to cramp my style just hanging around.
It’s one life to live and I’m still young -
I’m full of life and just wanna have fun!

You can’t hang out with me if you’re uptight,
as I’ll be bopping onstage under a bright neon spotlight.
Watch me let loose dancing the night away,
that’s right…sipping Margaritas as I happily sway.

I won’t be done until out comes the sun - 
‘cause us single girls just wanna have fun!


06-18-2015

Contest:       Screwed X
Sponsor:      Rob Carmack
Placement:   10th
Categories: onstage, fun, girl,
Form: Sonnet

Premium Member Music At Midnight

His home is beneath the theater stage 
Disfigured, he remains within his cage
Listening to melodies played onstage
Fills him with loneliness, not rage

Once a fine actor, the Phantom awaits midnight
To sing alone, so fear he won’t incite
For the “garish light of day” he finds too bright
When he hears Christine sing, he bemoans his plight

Hours pass until midnight when the theater’s empty
And he lays his hands on each piano key
Stroking them as he would her face on the marquis
But only at midnight is his soul set free

What would Christine think if she saw his face
He senses the need his feelings to encase
As much as he longs for her tender embrace
He fears she would just leave him in disgrace

Midnight, midnight, he awaits patiently
So he can finally perform shamelessly
This midnight ritual he enacts faithfully
Singing to a woman he’d love undyingly

He croons sadly, wishing for her ovation
Absorbing the power of each note’s vibration
Dreaming one day he’ll submit to temptation
And reveal himself to discover her elation



* Based on the Broadway play “Phantom of the Opera” 
and its powerful song, “Music of the Night.”  Most
plays end just before midnight. “Garish light of day”
is a line from the song.
* Poem written Jun 6, 2014
Categories: onstage, loneliness, music,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Show Time - You'Re Fired Mr Mueller

SHOW TIME - Mr. MUELLER, YOU'RE FIRED
Come life and death of it you blessed rhapsody
you've played for long enough and now it's time to go
there's not a better time than now to let it be
insanity's its own and best reward you know

deep in the night while there's no certain thing
but passion for the grief that lingers on and on
as damp and cold as fog as hot as summers sting
come life and death of it before this act is gone

there must be question to the ends uncertainty
that's led us guessing, why was this thing said
and is the act onstage or what the actors see
beyond the blinding light among the walking dead

who come to be amused right through our greatest fear
of no applause; or laughter where there should be none
and we must speak each word for everyone to hear
exactly as they plan so that the show goes on.

and yes they knew the end before the curtain call
but made production's costs a thing to bear
and every star that's in the sky could surely fall
from how it shines tonnight unless the fire is there

they cannot see the moving of the props around
sometimes in pandemonium, at best in haste
nor setting of the stage--this is our holy ground
the tinting of each face the tightening of waist

there no one dares to tread except for those who see
the detail of it all must blend into the play
as carefully as we make this, our tragedy,
the making up must be complete in every way

we must not let the ending go beyond the end
or all is lost and all we'll hear is mumbelings 
and lack of press where there has never been a friend
so life and death of it come down though pain it brings

let not the curtain to ascend the play is done
and weary are the actors they've performed quite well
as real as life so now the show must not go on
past curtain fall there's nothing more we have to tell.
NO Collusion.

© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet aka Ron Wilson
© Vee Bdosa  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, 12th grade, abuse, america,
Form: Iambic Pentameter

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member The Magician

Black Powder
---------------------------------------

He waits offstage, his posture tense,
his gaze locked on the audience -
his first in years.

He blots the sweat that wets his face,
then walks onstage and gets in place,
amidst their cheers.

In bowtie, vest and dinner tails,
he's dressed down to his fingernails.
His face is flushed.

His eyes close tight, his breathing slows,
beyond his sight, the tension grows
The house is hushed...

If he can pull from knurled old trunks,
the Magic that their world debunks,
he can pretend

(at least until the curtain rolls) 
it's still his show, and he controls
it in the end.

Illusion casts no lasting spell.
No, in conclusion, he's not well, 
so... shifting gears,

he lifts his hat to loud applause,
black powder sifting out like gauze...

and disappears... *


---------------------------------------
Categories: onstage, dark, death, good night,
Form: Tail-rhyme

Premium Member The Gift of Winter

The Gift Of Winter


When Winter brings old seasons to their ends
      and plans a rest for Spring and Summer trends,
we're eased by lovely scenes that Autumn sends,
     while Winter puts to sleep those retirees 

of brittle vines and leafless, naked trees,
     exhausted roots and bulbs, with expertise.
The drab gray scenes will brighten in degrees
     when layered white with spread of pristine snow

that purifies and moistens ground below,
     where life, like 'sleeping beauty', waits to grow. 
When Winter has achieved her last plateau,
     she nudges Spring to wake and take the stage.

But while the sleeping ground does not engage
     in life-filled days, our Winter does upstage
with beauty of her wonderland onstage;
     snow-covered limbs and hills of velvet white 

that leaves us breathless at their very sight,
     as sunbeams glisten and reflect the light. 
This gift she offers as her own delight,
     when Winter brings old seasons to their ends.


Sandra M. Haight

~9th Place~
Premiere Contest: Impress Me With A New Poem
Sponsor: SKAT A
Judged: 01/17/2018

~1st Place~
Contest: Rhyme Time III
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 12/25/2017

Rules of Previous Contest: FIVE stanzas using this rhyme scheme:
STANZA 1: A-A-A-B  STANZA   2: B-B-B-C STANZA   3: C-C-C-D
STANZA 4: D-D-D-E   STANZA  5: E-E-E-A 
5th Stanza: Last line must be the exact same sentence as first line in 1st Stanza
Categories: onstage, winter,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Music of the Night

Confined beneath the theater's stage 
Disgraced, he paces within his cage
Listening to music played onstage
Beset by abject loneliness, not rage

Disfigured Phantom shrouded by night
Once Broadway's toast, he sings alone so fear won’t incite
“Garish light of day” offends, too bright
As Christine sings, he bemoans his plight

Hours pass till the theater’s empty
Gently his hands caress each piano key
Like he is stroking her face on the marquis
When the play ends, his soul is set free

Would Christine scream if she saw his face
He dares not step forth; his feelings encase
Her song to his ears wraps him with tender embrace
But concealed he remains, not inviting disgrace

Play's chorus resounds; he waits patiently
Only after hours might he perform shamelessly
His late-night ritual enacts faithfully
Singing for the woman he’ll love endlessly

He dreams one day of resigning to temptation
Revealing himself and discovering her elation
Categories: onstage, music,
Form: Rhyme


Sad Clown

I find myself having to act 
onstage, spotlight trained and fixed
The Sad Clown 
Laughing on the outside 
Crying on the inside 
Lying, pretending, dishonest 
its all one big game
customer asks "How are you today?"
Lie: "Good"
True feelings submerged 
only 10% revealed above water 
until i get home @ night 
then the Sad Clown is exposed in the darkness
Categories: onstage, sadsad,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member Live Onstage--Amphetamine

A relay of moods dribbles on and on
when euphoric tunes kick in:
Jazz, R& B, slow funk, wild pop
igniting primal ecstasy, in the flesh...raw!

Live music leaves me breathless
as thuds of a drum, the intricate fondling
from saxophones blast these veins...
until intoxicated head convulses,

Pulse beat raised at 110, my torso
gyring in motions unknown—
the cortisol of anticipation surging
adrenaline doses gushing...just then,

Philip Bailey whams a falsetto, 
higher than high in a climatic lift;
my whole body possessed without Reasons
on Fantasy’s electric stage—

Another grasp of dismembering reality lures
where smoky thirst begs for more notes;
an elevated zing which drugs my soul …
yet, nights ask for more live concerts.



4/17/2019
For Anthony Slausin: Your Amphetamine Contest
----------
Earth, Wind and Fire Live Performance
Manila, 2009
Lead Singer: Philip Bailey/ Songs: Reasons, Fantasy
Sample video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1FN6X_86NY
Categories: onstage, music, uplifting,
Form: Free verse

Alone

Tickets are not easy to get at the Royal Circle. 
A lady does not wish to get a seat by currying favor; 
the flavor will eventually turn rancid and ruin her day. 
The scent of expensive perfume pervades the warm air.
A packed house of coiffed women in evening frown
and men who wear success like a badge; she is here alone 

in full regalia: pinned-up auburn hair, porcelain skin 
in a buttoned-up dress.  White opera gloves, her nod to 
convention.  Several eyebrows raise when she comes 
unescorted. There is not much legroom and it cramps her style, 
yet, she bears the discomfort one hundred feet above the ground. 
She doesn’t get to see clearly the emotions on the actor’s face. 

The rest of humanity looks like buzzing bees and butterflies 
hiding gossiping lips on pale faces behind colorful fluttering fans. 
She assumes the look; men have no monopoly on the stoic face. 
An evening out unescorted teaches her the world will always 
judge not just the melodrama she is watching onstage. 
There is more to life than The Salon; a woman has a choice. 



After:  Theater by Mary Cassatte 1879


For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 6 
Kim Patrice Nunez
13 January 2016

* Published by Ekphrastic: Writing and Art on Art and Writing
© Kp Nunez  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, adventure, art, career, courage,
Form: Prose Poetry

Musicals - Part 1

Have you ever been in a musical show?
I have done some, so this is how I know.
They first hooked me when I was in high school,
but stage fright made me feel the fool.

So, I began on the backstage crew,
Oh the things we had to do.
Painting sets and handling props, 
sometimes I wished I was a farmer harvesting crops.

Dressing all in black the day of the show
moving sets in the dark so no one would know.
We did some things that only a crew can do
I'll try to list a few here for you.

For example, during the "King and I",
There is a tearful scene with a Buddha to cry.
Since our Buddha was a person who spoke to Tuptim,
We did all in our power to get a laugh out of him.

Two of us moved his pedestal onstage,
his scene was to be all the rage.
We had to hide below his pedestal for his soliloquy,
So we tried to crack him up for all to see.

I worked behind the scenes again, for "My Fair Lady",
Some of the things we did there were also shady.
Professor Higgins takes a big drink in one scene
so we decided to pull one of our pranks on him.

The bottle he poured from was usually filled with ginger ale,
when we switched it to the real stuff he turned pale.
He could barely speak the next few lines
and was off key in his song the next time.

The classic we pulled was in "The Unsinkable Molly Brown",
our prank was the talk of the town.
If you don't know the story let me enlighten you
because then you may get a laugh or two.

Molly is aboard the Titanic's first trip
and the scene has to deal with the sinking of the ship.
We had a lifeboat with people on stage with waves across the floor,
she gets their attention by firing several shots in the air.

During the final dress rehearsal before show night
we knew this scene would be just right.
The Titanic sinking in the background, the waves, the lifeboat,
Molly pulls her pistol, raises it to the sky, and began to shoot.

The auditorium goes silent as the people raise their eyes to her to engage,
When a rubber duck came flying from the wings and landed on stage.
You never saw a director as mad as that
if she had a gun she would have blown off your hat.

"Who did that? Who did that?" was all she could say,
as the stage crew just laughed as we went on our way.
I finally got the nerve to perform in some shows later on,
But for now...this is just an introduction.
© Dan Cwiak  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, funny, high school, humorous,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Showtime

SHOWTIME
Come life and death of it you blessed rhapsody
you've played for long enough and now it's time to go
there's not a better time than now to let it be
insanities its own and best reward you know

deep in the night while there's no certain thing
but passion for the grief that lingers on and on
as damp and cold as fog as hot as summers sting
come life and death of it before this act is gone

there must be question to the ends uncertainty
that's led us guessing, why was this thing said
and is the act onstage or what the actors see
beyond the blinding light among the walking dead

who come to be amused right through our greatest fear
of no aplause; or laughter where there should be none
and we must speak each word for everyone to hear
exactly as they plan so that the show goes on.

and yes they knew the end before the curtain call
but made production's costs a thing to bear
and every star that's in the sky could surely fall
from how it shines tonnight unless the fire is there

they cannot see the moving of the props around
sometimes in pandemonium, at best in haste
nor setting of the stage--this is our holy ground
the tinting of each face the tightening of waist

there no one dares to tread except for those who see
the detail of it all must blend into the play
as carefully as we make this, our tragedy,
the making up must be complete in every way

we must not let the ending go beyond the end
or all is lost and all we'll hear is mumbelings 
and lack of press where there has never been a friend
so life and death of it come down though pain it brings

let not the curtain to ascend the play is done
and weary are the actors they've performed quite well
as real as life so now the show must not go on
past curtain fall there's nothing more we have to tell.

© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
© Vee Bdosa  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, art, confusion, new york,
Form: Iambic Pentameter

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugh, So Darn Ugly

G;Geico commercials   B;(you knew this was coming); Billy Mays commercials U; 
hour long imfomercials
G;Big, juicy homemade hamburgers  B;White Castle belly burners
G; Best fast food place;by far;All American, Massapequa N.Y. (check it on web- 
always, and rightfully rated  number one  B-white Castles (ugh;belly burners!)
G; Music played with syyle and heart B; Gangster rap/ Disco
G;Family gatherings B;Alone in a dingy room
G;A nice warm shower B; Having no showerhead
G;Staring at TV test patterns for hours (told ya I was weird) B; Gamey game 
shows
G;A nice warm sunny day B;Heavy rain and your roof leaks
G;Creativity B;Malicious destruction(other than a Billy Mays tape)
G;Cooking and eating with family /and/or friends B;Alone with a bag of pretzels
G;Enjoying swimming at the beach or pool B;finding a great white shark in your 
pool
G;Words of love and encouragement B;Mean words of anger/hate
G;Good poetry B;My poetry usually
G;Peaceful sleep all through the night B;Cronic insomnia U;Being awake for 8 
days (as I too well know...one's mind turns into oatmeal)
G;a love of beauty B;Loving your own beauty
G;swiss or cheddar cheese B;Limberger cheese U;Liederkranz (ugh! clear the 
house!!)
G;A full refrigerator (including Tootsie rolls) B;A rerigerator full of food expired 6 
months ago, and now home to strange new species
G;Catching a mouse B;doing the same, but with your teeth
G;Courteous drivers B;New Jersey drivers
G;Religious faith B; Fundamentalist extremists (of any religion)
G;Room deodorizer. B;Dirty unwashed socks your air deodorizer
G;A trusting marriage B;A busting marriage
G;Acoustic guitars B; Acoustic torpedoes
G;M&Ms  B;BBs
G;good books used as tools B;Mediocre books by fools
G;Cleavage B;Seepage
G;Being in a band onstage B;Overfilled audiences leading to rage
G;Jessica Simpson's looks B;Jessica Simpson's mental acumen
G;Eddie Murphy on stage or screen B;Eddie Murphy in real life (I know!)
G;Being loved and adored B;Being lonely and too bored
G;Some money in your pocket B;Your finger in a socket
G;For Bush to get a Lobotomy B; News of Bush's colonoscopy

Enough for now folks.  Have a painless day!
© Tom Bell  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, funny, imagination, inspirational, life,
Form: List

Premium Member Sorcery Onstage

As a tiara of lights blushes on cheeks
with rhythmic sorcery, I breathe in the fire
under the open moonlight,
and velvet  curtains unfold
on one evening’s tapestry…
the heart pulses with a podium
of tantric notes bound
to release some lithe  madness ,
as silhouettes appear like rugged capes
grating the first tempo of Latin blues.


Now, go! Cuddle it, taste it , snort it…
whatever the spirit releases
in a mix of bass, sax, and percussion;
this rhapsody of notes devours my breasts
slaying the hours to climb past reality…
each tilted croon floods my being
that I am gone somewhere,
among the clouds of tribal rapture
one with the universal float in a dance,
in tears heating along crowded aisles

while the neon bulbs onstage shuts off.


6/6/2015
Craig Cornish's Concert
Categories: onstage, image, music,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member Showtime

SHOWTIME
Come life and death of it you blessed rhapsody
you've played for long enough and now it's time to go
there's not a better time than now to let it be
insanities its own and best reward you know

deep in the night while there's no certain thing
but passion for the grief that lingers on and on
as damp and cold as fog as hot as summers sting
come life and death of it before this act is gone

there must be question to the ends uncertainty
that's led us guessing, why was this thing said
and is the act onstage or what the actors see
beyond the blinding light among the walking dead

who come to be amused right through our greatest fear
of no aplause; or laughter where there should be none
and we must speak each word for everyone to hear
exactly as they plan so that the show goes on.

and yes they knew the end before the curtain call
but made production's costs a thing to bear
and every star that's in the sky could surely fall
from how it shines tonnight unless the fire is there

they cannot see the moving of the props around
sometimes in pandemonium, at best in haste
nor setting of the stage--this is our holy ground
the tinting of each face the tightening of waist

there no one dares to tread except for those who see
the detail of it all must blend into the play
as carefully as we make this, our tragedy,
the making up must be complete in every way

we must not let the ending go beyond the end
or all is lost and all we'll hear is mumbelings 
and lack of press where there has never been a friend
so life and death of it come down though pain it brings

let not the curtain to ascend the play is done
and weary are the actors they've performed quite well
as real as life so now the show must not go on
past curtain fall there's nothing more we have to tell.

© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
© Vee Bdosa  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: onstage, new york,
Form: Iambic Pentameter

Return To Sorrento

(N.A.A.F.I.  =  universal store, found on
every British military base)

On some bleak airfield on some Cambridge fen 
(that awful winter - 'forty-seven, I think) 
my mother, novice servicewoman then, 

crossed parade-ground like a skating rink 
to see the Christmas concert on the camp. 
Inside, the quonset hut was black as ink 

till airmen lit a feeble spirit lamp. 
The snow was driving against one outer wall: 
she calls to mind a smell of tents and damp 

and stinging fingers, fresh from thrown snowballs, 
and gouts of steam, blown out in cloudy spurts 
as people laughed. Then lights dimmed in the hall. 

She now recalls a curious stab of hurt 
to see the Italian janitor of the base 
revealed onstage in P.O.W. shirt 

when curtains opened. What had been a place 
of uproar, now - faced by this threadbare clown - 
had undergone some dreadful loss of face. 

In dubbin make-up, N.A.A.F.I. dressing-gown, 
as solemn as a high priest at the altar, 
this patched-up Pagliacci, ear-flaps down, 

sang ludicrously well. The keyboard faltered, 
and stopped. The singer, weeping now, kept on, 
quite heedless, as his clown's nose dripped tear-water. 

There's something sacred in the humblest song 
(with wretchedness wrought into lasting good 
through alchemy of art) and, all along, 

the watchers, to their horror, understood. 
He sang so gorgeously of going home 
because he knew full well he never would.
Categories: onstage, home,
Form: Terza Rima
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