Best Staged Poems
Staged or Stagnant
The gathering of people,
from here and there,
and everywhere,
made possible
by time.
What is important to each person,
yet more important to another,
then the one that is waiting
to hear?
Silence is not possible,
the sound of breathing alone...
a storm of air and wind.
Whispers turned to screaming,
left in echoes for the past to reflect.
The question of why,
never considered.
No one brave enough
to ask.
What was let loose?
How did it happen?
Who gave them permission
to put us all at risk?
Stand your ground when the dogs come,
they will be hungry.
Hold tight to your morals,
and do not give in...
to temptation.
A staged presence, and we your crowd
You, a strutting cockerel proud
This but an act nearing the end
We dull creatures suitably cowed
Your voice a gentle thunder cloud
Lights dimming over rows you've plowed
Hide from the spotlight, lies avenged
A staged presence
Your recitations growing loud
Frantic pacing, your will unbowed
Lean on costars as their best fiend
Disappear as curtains descend
Face made up, your burial shroud
A staged presence
-----------------
Trying a new form tonight
Poetically fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped amid holy water retention,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick psycho, yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
half past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans sugar's acid trip,
anointed of rose red
bloody false pretenses
dancing off center
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions of cobalt blue executions,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms of engaged poetry
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated grand delusions
Each night I leave my blinds up just a bit
A distance calculated to perfection
I live for those mornings where the sun rises
And blares suddenly through my window
Drenching and kissing my sleepy face
Flooding me with a swift deluge of gold magnificence
So very still, I refuse to move a fraction of an inch
It’s a most overwhelming sacred and sublime ritual
Opening my eyes as slowly as possibly I can
And breathlessly greeting the rising morning sun
Savoring each moment of its warm embrace
Knowing the feverish moment is ultimately so fleeting
When my eyes can feast on the splendor
Of glorious colors spilling over the horizon
The symmetry of crimson, tangerine
Pineapple, butterscotch and daffodil
The most magnificently flamboyant production
Staged for my ultimate delight
Till residual taste of honey and marmalade
Vanish from my lips with every atom of me
Profoundly invigorated and energized
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on July 17, 2018 for contest DUSK OR DAWN sponsored by EMILE PINET - RANKED 3RD
After Midnight Musings - impromptu
cleverly staged
the way you are
slinking in your
trinket-ed skin
oozing pure milk
and manuka honey.
cleverly staged
the way you are
slow as molasses
a flaming lick of
hot lava, the
epitome of life's
thirst-
life's thirst for
a mere droplet
to be overcome
by your
charming ways
the way you are
cleverly staged.
Woe Be Not Unto We
In This New Staged Reality
Despair sought a captive audience;
Hope showed up instead.
Faith handed out flyers. And
She gave grab bags for free courage.
Remembrance was the opening act;
His recall loaded with ‘That’s A Fact!”
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived 400 years of slavery.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived the hanging of strange fruits.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived KKK burnings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We have survived the jim crow droppings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
We’ve survived unjust shoot downs.
The blood flow of memory flowed over: Yes!
We have survived all debilitations injected on us.
Intermission has come and gone;
Veil curtains have opened on Act Two.
The stage has now been set. And
Shakespeare has duly been put to shame.
The new tragedy is merely an old reality.
And we’ll survive this ‘trumpt-up’ eddy too!
The curtains will close again;
But it’s not the end.
Remember, workers die;
But the work goes on.
Survive, we always have;
Survive, we always will.
The reality show is over;
Wipe away the laughing tears.
Get up, grab your grab bag. And
Let’s get back to work!
If there be any virtue
In all this—please think on it!
The cleansing heat of the midday sun
Warms my soul
The ladder proffered down to escape my hole
I sit, we sit, they sit
The aches take their toll
Is it novel,
or the persona of
writing a book
Is it accomplishment,
or the ability to
brag and to strut
Is it knowledge,
or the prestige of
having a degree
Is it passion,
or a fire blown out
in the breeze
Is it devotion,
or the favors
your hope seeks to buy
Is it emotion,
or an act put on
while others cry
Is it loyalty,
or the badge you
can wear on your sleeve
Is it heartbreak,
or just words feigned
to con and deceive
Is it strength,
or the muscles that bulge
in your arm
Is it beauty,
or the makeup you wear
when you charm
Is it vision,
or a view from
another’s back porch
Is it time,
or the minutes and hours
you torch
Is it courage,
on the backs of soldiers
who paid
Is it love,
or an image
just mirrored and staged
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Another wave of whispers.
met the vibe.
Excited.
What was wrong with people?
did they realize,
implications of something bad?
One might have it,
that translates to excitement.
Found Poem: Kate Brian- Invitation only
chrome reflects tanned hips...
saliva on hungry lips
beer from the stage drips
How powerful the thunderstorm
that rocks the earth and lights the skies;
beyond control, in mystic form,
a battle staged before our eyes.
Sandra M. Haight
~4th Place~
Contest: Arbitrium Divisa 6
Sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
Judged: 01/27/2020
One stanza from my poem,
"The Thunderstorm," posted on February 17, 2018
Link: https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_thunderstorm_995194
Despair sought a captive audience;
Hope showed up instead with faith—
Handing out flyers with grab bags
Of treats of sweeting courage:-
Remembrance was the opening act:
Its recall was loaded with, “That’s A Fact!”
The waterfall of the blood of memory fell:
We’ve survived 400+ years of slavery;
We’ve survived the hanging of strange fruits;
We’ve survived the KKK’s bombing us;
We’ve survived the Jim Crow’s droppings;
We’ve survived unjust shootings and kneeings;
We’ve survived all debilitations spewed upon us;
Yes…the waterfall of the blood of memory fell:-
Intermission has come and passed on,
And the curtains opens on Act Two:-
The stage has been set and checked;
And the mind checks Shakespear out;
The new tragedy, merely an old reality:
We’ll survive this “Triumphed-up” eddy too:-
The curtains will close again
But it will not be the end:-
Remember, only workers die,
The work still goes onward!
Survive…we always have…
And survive…we always will…
Virtual awareness review is over;
Now wipe away those tears of apathy
And get up and grab your bag and go
Do what you need to do:-*
*N.B.: If there be any virtue in all of this,
Open-up you mind and think on it:-
Off
the
record
spin briefing-
becomes a rumour
Despair sought a captive audience;
hope showed up instead.
Faith handed out flyers;
gave grab bags for free courage.
Remembrance was the opening act;
its recall loaded with “That’s A Fact!”
The blood of memory flowed over:
we’ve survived 400+ years of slavery.
The blood of memory flowed over:
we’ve survived the hanging of strange fruits.
The blood of memory flowed over:
we’ve survived KKK burnings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
we have survived the jim crow’s droppings.
The blood of memory flowed over:
we’ve survived unjust shoot downs.
The blood flow of memory flowed over: Yes!
we’ve survived all debilitations injected on us.
Intermission has come and gone;
veil curtains have opened on Act Two.
The stage has now been set. And
Shakespeare has duly been put to shame.
The new tragedy is merely an old reality;
and we’ll survive this ‘trumped up’ eddy too!
The curtains will close again;
but it’s not the end.
Remember, workers die;
but the work goes on.
Survive, we always have;
survive, we always will.
The reality show is over;
wipe away the laughing tears.
Get up; grab your grab bag;
let’s get back to work!
If there be any virtue
in all this; please think on it!
The morning quickly,
the afternoon slows,
the night stops...
The morning feeds,
the afternoon tasting,
the night licks...
The morning prepares,
the afternoon portends
the night falls asleep...
In life there are scenes
continuously staged... !