Best Playwright Poems
Dulcet electrical-guitars playing as I draw graffiti on the sky-line.
There’s more to me than converse shoes and
These lonely brown eyes.
This force within me is,
Shaking-
Aching.
I am waiting to be written.
I’ll be your masterpiece, and you can be my Playwright-
Dress me up in
dramatic irony.
You can knock me out from
setting to setting-
Be the cause for my complications-
And just when I think I’ve had enough,
You can hose me down with a
happy-ending.
I’ll run-on from scene to scene,
And for a protagonist,
(I can sometimes be pretty obscene.)
Cut me off with periods and full stops.
Re-arrange the fragments of my being.
Feed me catchy infinitive phrases-
“I don’t know
What it’s like
TO FEEL
Anymore.”
You know how cheesy words cut me to the core.
You can shoot me with idioms.
After all, you are
All bark and no bite.
I’ll be your break through; I’ll make you famous-
Mr. Playwright.
Hold me hostage in your possessive forms.
I’ll be Yours,
And maybe you could be Mine.
Do not under-estimate my logical
Parallel structure though-
If you want me "to stay,"
Then you’ve got "to give me a reason."
Mr. Playwright, I am not a big fan of Treason,
Indirect metaphors,
And open-endings.
What say you to a game of cards?
But, sir, how much better you are!
A game of chess, mayhap is bought?
Sir, you are witty, and beat you I'll not!
Then perhaps a turn about the hall?
Surely not, for I will fall!
How's your skill with arrow and bow?
I should tell you to lay low!
A sword, then, is your take?
Only, sir, if it is fake!
Horseback riding-of this do you fear?
Oh most definitely, for the horse will rear!
Is there nothing you can do?
Why, I'll play hearts with you!
What is this if I may ask?
Beware, for it's no easy task!
I'm up for the challenge, what entails?
Reciprocation, sir, for the one who fails!
Deal-I say, when do we start?
Never, sir, for you've stolen my heart!
I was once an actor,
But the lawyer came.
I was a fighter, too,
But the referee came.
They chased me throughout the forest.
They kidnapped me from the wilderness.
I was stripped to skin.
I faced death.
Now I am fenced
within the prison of helotry.
Now I cluster with the billions ---
Fenced within the prison of helotry.
I saw your wet dog face emboldened as a Herald upon your missing limb.
His thick creases deeply lined between his nose, eyes and gaping mouth.
The creviced, cutting, contours ran a moist mist black on your thick fur.
I trace a finger in your dog's mouth and feel it's bark. Put both my palms round heavy jowls and stroke away the morning rain.
From another scapulure fision I see two weeping ocular slits, sad lips upset as an emoji smiley upside down.
Oh something hurt when the saw slid through your trunk this time, something hurt bad.
The mask of tragedy displayed to lament your missing flange.
Bodhisattva arms unselfishly bent upwards to pick an unseen flower or a thick bicep bulging to punch the thunder. Without return you heard a suffering cry and gave us breathe.
Compassion grew you many boughs.
So in return we wield a jagged edge and take your thick brown - black skin and your woody, white flesh. The forelimb no longer points to the morning sun.
Oh how you grieve !! A bloodless shock with the appendage lying motionless. 'The deeds are, but no doer of the deed is there'
Unhindered you respond to grow your faces of weathered hounds and masks of weeping playwrights. To remind me when I walk these woods 'mere suffering exists, no sufferer is found'.
Aristophanes, my favourite Attic writer,
When he had pen in hand, was a fighter
Politics and poetics: his precious topics
I know not politics, he loved but poetics
Aristophanes, my favourite Attic writer,
Clung this man to clouds I know tighter
For his Clouds disperse all our doubts
But his Birds shroud my eyes with clouds
Aristophanes, my favourite Attic writer,
Men by his pen fly so sky high lighter
His Frogs I hear, Brekakekex croak, croak
My nose now tickles for his Wasps - poke
Jan. 17, 2021 (Originally posted on Dec. 16, 2020)
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (43)any form any theme Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Brian Strand
There it is again the discomfort, not pain, no sickness.
Not physical anyway, but discomfort so indescribable,
Secured thoughts within my mind, no one knows.
Raging, jealous, implacable wishes unforgivable,
My mind constantly churning, desire of real reveling,
Caught in a whirlwind of constant upheaval of life,
Do others have these thoughts running about?
Do they crave the ending of this discomfort as I do?
Or do I implore further understand of my dissection.
It is not evil that plagues my mind, only guilty deception.
No danger to me or the world flows from this entity.
So how do I rid or caress this placid demon unto me.
It has always been a part of me, why, I sadly ask thee.
Jealous of the peace that others seem to have within,
Separated from the rage others have in unlawful ways.
I spend days, weeks, and years forever wishing its truth.
Though it deceives me, it also delivers sanctity.
Each gift it brings to me, also it leaves resentment.
My heart and mind always in constant battle, I see.
No one else may or can vision the anxiety inside.
Occasionally I tell others of what I can feel and see.
They just say I am a joker, a playwright of life.
I am silly and full of too many different conclusions.
These days and nights, I brood over my jealousy.
I may not like or enjoy what I could become.
I will not allow this entity to destroy my soul.
Maybe it is here to enlighten; I must succumb.
A playwright crafts plays... right?
let's coin the word "poemwright"
it's understandable, at first sight
it'll catch on (well, it might!) :-D