Best Staging Poems
Breezing purple vibes of nocturnal delight
Eventide’s afterglow blushes sanguine night
As leaves chromatic swirl, waltzing to alight
Bestowing gilded motifs on dreamy sight
Sprinkling ebullience on meadows aglow
Exuberant in celebration of celestial show;
Where crescent moon adorns opaline skies
Staging dancing stars for enchanted eyes
As constellations choreograph stellar art
Enthralling intimations of enamored heart
Embracing invitation of amorous dreams
Enticing sweethearts’ passionate themes.
Farther in distance, ocean ebbs and flows
Strumming rhythms cresting-tides compose
As together we rejoice gift of nature’s glee
On a leisurely walk, meandering carefree,
Tranquil in tease of zephyrs flirting along
Indulgent in euphony of nightingale’s song.
Hosting quietude we amble miles and miles
Adorning happiness glinting vigor of smiles
Engaging revelry, shedding travails of day,
Lauding harmony gracing nature’s pathway,
Purposefully musing in wonderment of time
Thrilling glamor of beauteous night sublime.
November 16, 2022
Poem of the day on November 18, 2022
Placed1st: Beauty of Night Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
the sun
low in the sky
yearns for a leap into night
as shadows squeeze their way into bedrooms
like shapeless dragons
for children
cocooned to an early bed
staging thoughts like puppet plays
on a wall terrain
of mossy caverns or whispering vines
that never merge dreams smoothly
when children imagine the huff and puff of shadows
like creatures swimming in circles
overlapping at a patchwork distance
before the painted black of night
quiets the pull of imagination
in the candy cane bend of sleep
Between frosty cobalt-cliffs, cruise-ship hesitates to pause,
Amidst ice sculptures echoing cheers of spirited applause,
Mesmerizing enthralled sights evincing awe-struck trance,
Lauding vast gelid expanse, hypnotizing eyes of romance.
Buoying on inlets, flaunting aesthetics of sculpted designs,
Dark blue glaciers rise for miles, as our ship gently aligns,
Watching seals resting lazily, ruminating on blocks of ice,
Empathetic of frightened sparrow decrying the crowd-size.
Gracefully ship circles around, as if staging a festive dance,
When in enamored glance, caressing hints of romance,
We praise motifs on water~ floating white cotton balls,
Where shards chromatic fall from frozen-tall bluish walls.
Miles of crystals adorning yonder, glinting cerulean blue,
Stack mounds of white contrast on distant emerald hue,
As Glacier Bay begins to fade retreating in rearward view,
When ship's whistle blows aloud, bidding a fond adieu.
A journey we treasure now in albums of cherished past,
Where moments unsurpassed, coveting-forever last,
Embracing precious memories evoking paradise on earth,
Glamorizing place-idyllic, luxuriating in cadence of mirth.
May 28, 2023
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: I Know A Place
Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve lies west of Juneau, Alaska and can only be reached by plane or boat. Glacier Bay was declared a UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE SITE in 1979 for the spectacular glacier and icefield landscapes.
She morphs into a sultry Summer's morn
garbed in a cloak of alabaster fog:
gossamer thin, and casually worn.
And echoing the croaks of a bullfrog:
She stops to carry on a dialogue,
with croaks too numerous to catalog.
Slipping on Her slippers of sparkling dew:
She inks an ebony horizon red;
as the sun rises in a sky of blue.
Shadows get resurrected from the dead:
while spiders dangling from a silken thread
spin dream-catcher webs that fill flies with dread.
Nature's a wizard at staging effects;
like vermilion sunsets, jungles of green,
and vivid colors of birds and insects.
Wherever we go, She's already been:
let's keep Her rivers, seas, and oceans clean:
Her mood can change; She's not always serene.
I hear Her whisper secrets to the wind:
like Spring's approaching, or the ice has thinned.
Horizon imprints blazing joy, where autumn blushes amber sky
Glistening meadows of gilded season, adorning tinted russet dye
As amethyst winds of eventide flutter leaves on crimson trees
Flickering rays of golden twilight, glinting sigh of ochre breeze.
Pleasing sights, saffron colors merrily bounce, staging air-dance
Whirling leaves in panoramic vistas, hypnotizing glance of romance
As fiery gamboge hills oscillate, waltzing tenor of autumnal zeal
Dazzling lovers’ enchanted hearts in maple tree’s scarlet appeal.
Cooler weather permeates, graying charm of shortened days,
While browsing prairies of browning fields, cattle lazily graze;
Families gather sharing stories, crowding around warm fireplace
As festive season ushers in, serenading divinity of solemn grace.
September 12, 2020
Autumn–Fall Rhyme Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
A poem unlived
is a poem merely written --
sustenance our words
let the body digest with heartfelt
regurgitation – a poem unlived
is a poem merely written
as well as tasty center, a healthy chew
needs skin-like peachy, tickly sensation,
emotive mastication – best often
lost when discarding fussy peelings
also feelings
a poem unlived is a poem merely written
endless editing...crumblings tossed
our salads before the main course
heavily garnished
each poem with a dipping
thread link – we warm at
the lava lip...deep, glowing
convulsing start, long before the page is stirred,
shaken – ready for bubbly tip
a poem unlived is a poem merely written
the sea we sail both tranquil and rage
creation an unkempt voyage of possibilities,
a nameless work rocks back and forth
cradled it longs to escape wild fluctuation
and transverse,
seeking theme and form – sanguine
transfusion, repetitively jabbing for fluid release
we call upon the mariner, captain, surgeon of
ancient crafts -- muse of many incarnations,
sage, fool of countless courts – both wallflower
and dancer – homebody and restless prancer, where
we have been and yet beam
to go – uniquely fermented we uncork
for a spotlight blow, for grand revelation
introduced with a toast, a click, a sparkly
crystal glow
staging both our fond darkness and
light – an author preparing to take
literary flight
a poem unlived
is a poem merely written --
like stopped midstream
without a river flow, banks
turned away
tepidly applauding….
A stagnant sip before the
moved-by lauding….
Though poetically smitten
dearly kittened
a poem unlived
is a poem merely written...
Lyrics are timed to music
Out there - a distant shore
I’ve seen your face before
It’s De’ja`vu with thoughts of you
Then feelings of a loss, come tomorrow
Sometime - another place
I’ve seen - your smiling face
It’s De’ja'vu of thoughts I knew
Love is meant to be, not the sorrow
I searched, beyond the stars
I looked beneath the moon
I know JUST KNOW - without a DOUBT
My heart - will show me soon
Oh way out there - a distant land
That’s where - my love began
Now De’ja'vu fills thoughts anew
So happy again - come tomorrow
So far, beyond that star
We’ll kiss far beneath the moon
I know, without a DOUBT
My heart will show me where soon
I’m sure, with wings I’ll soar
With love, I knew before
I’ll spread my wings I’ll learn to fly
And never ever again - be broken hearted
Oh we can fly with wings on high
Then never ever again, we’ll be parted
Synopsis of total De’ja’vu play that these lyrics were composed for:
The lives of two lovers was torn apart way back in the 14th century when she was banished. The interference could have caused a Pattern shift of Destiny in the Loom of Time. Could a certain couple be the same star crossed lovers that have searched for each other through many lifetimes over the centuries?
A wise mystical character from the bygone era is a keen observer and blames himself for not intervening. He also wonders that since the Earth is the cradle of humanity, would humans have progressed past the cradle in this day and age.
Foot note:
Ron and I love musical theater. After seeing a disappointing play, he rose to my challenge in regard to the comment he made that he could have written better. The result was De’ja’vu, a Romantic Musical.
I wrote the lyrics in collaboration with him, but due to the enormous staging costs the music was never written and we abandoned the project.
The lyrics for this piece have been tweaked to ‘La mer’, also known as ‘Beyond the Sea’ and one of my Dad’s favorite songs. (Wish he was here, he would have composed the music)
Sorry folks, if and when we find suitable music to the lyrics of the Grand Finale, I’ll post it
For Miranda Lambert’s “Inspired” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
I wanted to write for this contest;
But my muse was staging a protest.
“Take me to the sea,” it pled,
“In this house, I languish, dead;
Put me in touch with nature, a forest.”
“Don’t stare at a screen, confined by walls;
Locked inside, my inspiration falls.
Surely there’s a babbling brook
Or a valley’s overlook.
Give me something to work with,” muse calls.
“If you fail to respond, I’ll attack
As you’re sleeping in a room black.
Thoughts you will never recall
Cannot upon your page fall;
Without me you’re nothing but a hack!”
Here is part two, thanks for finishing it
Still in his hand his sword a shining
Struck quickly through the tendrils twining
To free his foot with speed a blinding
He fell upon the ground and leapt
beyond the branches' claw
Grabbed from his waist the pouch that kept
his magic ring to draw
So placed around his finger long
The nether world he breached
With power from a heart that's strong
to Lilith's form he reached
That's when he saw her body glowing
the holy light his eyes to showing
The weakness in the branches blowing
For within the tree he saw the face
a mask alive with dread
And swung his sword to strike that place
and sever off its head
Its eerie scream cut through the night
a most unholy sound
And in its haste to join the fight
dropped Lilith to the ground
So through the night the battle staging
As in a dance his war was waging
'gainst evil now his sword was raging
Now evil's strength is in the dark
and weakens with the sun
The trees retreat into the park
soon broke into a run
The stranger leapt into its path
to make it stand and fight
The tree screamed out its mighty wrath
to see the morning light
By light of dawn its spell was breaking
Into the earth its roots were taking
A mortal tree the stranger making
Now death came to the tree that morn'
a triumph over fear
But children heed this tale to warn
that evil's always near
For Lilith and the stranger won
because their hearts were true
Would they have seen the morning sun
if either had been you
So go to bed your faith a keeping
and know that evil out there creeping
won't come to you while you are sleeping
"Where does it hurt?"
She asks, clipboard like a shield,
pen cocked like a firing pin.
"Here," I say,
pointing to the silence just beneath my ribcage.
Not the lungs. Not the liver.
The place where sorrow goes to calcify.
They send me down long corridors,
all white noise and flickering fluorescents—
like memory on a bad day.
I wear a gown that opens in the back,
like every conversation I regret.
Inside the machine,
I lie still as a kept secret.
The MRI growls like an old god,
searching my insides
for evidence of war crimes.
I think about the shrapnel—
not metal, but moments.
The look she gave me
the night everything broke,
like she was already ghosting
through the wreckage of my voice.
I tell the technician:
It’s there. I can feel it.
Each breath razors against it.
But the scan is clean.
No foreign objects. No narrative.
They call it “psychosomatic”
like it’s a compliment,
like my body is staging a play
my mind refuses to direct.
Back in the doctor's office,
she says, "There's nothing inside you."
And I laugh—sharp and wrong.
Isn't that what pain is?
The something that feels like everything
and shows up as nothing?
I ask if she can x-ray a metaphor.
She doesn’t smile.
Just types and nods and offers
a pamphlet on stress management
as if I haven't already built
cathedrals from my coping mechanisms.
I leave with no diagnosis—
just a quiet war still raging
beneath my skin.
A soldier in peacetime,
saluting ghosts
that never made it
into the file.
blueberry hued moon
lullaby on stardust waves -
solaces embrace
all the lighting dimmed
cryptic fairies azure blue -
audacious staging
*Image of Hallmark Channel by Giphy.
Chimed Upper Room
Chimed new day shines...eagerly corrects an upper room looks,
An attic improving rapidly...promotes roams of diligence,
Lacks found bordered leathered album...trapped topped a cornered desk.
Cutting edge mounts an Everest...Grand Canyon grooves a pass,
Emptying a corridor...grants patience traces of sweat caught brow,
Weighty whatnots slothfully shift...relief of prized treasure.
Lives confined--stilled in a photograph...bound neath grained-hewn film,
Reviving breaths aids wiping palms...adjusting dust rules idle air,
Widen pupil's gaze...proffers freedom to locked memories.
A leisurely dance of fingers...entertaining a page,
Courses from staging consequences...flips driftingly e'er so oft,
Cherished persevered poignant times...plus occasional laughs.
Age feebly trades a gentle glance...to sights of swept-up youth,
Niagara Falls revisit eyes...interlude recalls Wordsworth,
Rousseau swells the lulls...till Longfellow's maiden turns a page.
A soothing thoroughness applied...o'er sovereignty once claimed,
Delighting a soul wanting remembrance...effervescence inched rise,
Bestilled processing images...icons pageants the heart.
Strokes into yesterdays...fulfill a distant emptiness,
Once existed in certainty...consequently in dreams of need,
Now physically held...persuades rising tips of a mouth.
2020 July 30
*2nd Place*
Dusty Old Memories
~~Constance La France: Judged 2020 August 06
At the crowded book store
People are lining up
Eying an autographed copy
Of a newly released bestseller.
Enthusing front of the line
Are the scholarly readers,
Critics, and the like:
Aspiring headline makers.
Some have read the reviews,
Some know author's bio.
Staging erudite conversations
Are members of book clubs.
Showing off signed copies
Are those of a special class.
They've just the spot
On their antique book cases--
Reserved for appearances.
February 1, 2019
Placed first in early February 2019 contest by Brian Strand
Oh how I miss being six;
No problems that couldn't be fixed.
Important decisions of cavort;
Was which hill to make my fort.
How to make the stray kitten follow my lead;
So that " It followed me home" was an honest plead.
Trying to guess with an experienced hunch;
What was the mystery meat in the school's lunch.
Hand catching craw dads and small fish;
Waiting for the first star to make a wish.
Mud pies and tea parties by invitation only;
The little girl's private teddy bear ceremony.
Splashing in puddles and climbing trees;
Skinning my elbows and knees.
Picking wild berries and black heart cherries;
Staging my own revolutionaries.
Making shapes out of clouds;
Laughing and singing out loud.
Wishing for rain but not chancing the odds;
Sacrificing my sister's barbie dolls to the rain gods.
Under a patch work quilt, snuggled safely;
With my feather tick pillow I fall asleep gayly.
My mother wraps her arm around me like a shawl;
And whispers "Goodnight and sweet dreams Doll".
On Wells Street in Chicago, is a sweet comedic treat.
Second City Theater for laughs and where many found their beginnings on plain stage, their life's heartbeat.
No "Phantom of the Opera" no lines, no costumes, no staging.
All actors had to do was improvise.No heavy make-up, yet one in an
instant learn how to disguise.
As in jazz, whether Brubeck or Davis, we all played off one another.
No fixed lines like Henny or famous the Smothers Brothers.
I never understood this magic of improvisation,
But once I learned it, what a phenomenal source of excitation.
This was a true gift how to act in the now.
It has served me in relationships, as I can't be a fake no how!
The censor that dances in your head keeps you from being free,
as if your head is stuck in a tree.
Most get stuck inside their heads, improvisation sets you free.
~Biography~
Poetess is Graduate of the famed Second City.
Was on stage for their Childrens Theater Troupe every Saturday for two years.
After that, moved on to be a stand up comedienne.I was trained by Tom Dreesen and Tim Reid("WKRP in Cincinnati."
I worked clubs in Chicago. Later in San Francisco, at Holy City Zoo. **Women comedians in the 1970's were not to be gross as they are now.
Tim and Tom were the only black and white comedy act ever. No grossness was ever displayed...best experience of my life!
Dedicated to Tom Dreesen and Tim Reid. Tom went on to be the opening act for Frank Sinatra and helped in the HBO movie on Frank. Also, launched The Comedy Store in Los Angeles. Both humble men....and friends,