Best Theater Poems
summer theater
summer plays her part
never misses lines or cues ~
fall waits in the wings
8-27-20
Last night I dreamed I was weeding my vegetable garden in the Drive-in theater, while people wandered back and forth from snack bar to their cars.
While pulling weeds, I saw a banana slug and was about to squish it when I realized it had legs. It was an eight foot monitor lizard! I chased it around the grounds and finally caught it and put it in the car. Then I went back to my garden to see if that huge tiger salamander was still there. It was!
I decided to go home with the monitor and the salamander when I realized, oh no, my little dog Daigoro was in the car! I got all frightened the monitor ate him, but he was perfectly all right. The rest of the dream was trying to drive home with Daigoro under one arm so the monitor wouldn't get him.
The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.
The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.
The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.
The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.
The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.
The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair.
The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.
Random thoughts flutter across a page
And take shape in verses of expression
Reflecting the notions of the poet/sage.
While the actor repeats upon the stage
Phrases acting out playwright’s impression
Random thoughts flutter across a page.
Both painting portraits of love and rage
In concise words, the writer’s profession,
Reflecting the notions of the poet/sage.
Visually the reader will absorb, engage,
Theatergoers easily observe the passion
Random thoughts flutter across a page.
Poets create images like a bird in a cage
Their poems coming in and out of fashion,
Reflecting the notions of the poet/sage.
The value of writers the public will gauge
Sometimes without the proper caution
Random thoughts flutter across a page
Reflecting the notions of the poet/sage.
Written May 13, 2022
#51 on the BEST POEMS LIST
June 12, 2022
All of us are born ignorant and some
Of us remain that way I'm sad to say.
The knowledgeable flourish and become
The shepherds, the dumb just piddle away
Their lives like sheep in a grassy pasture.
The ignorance in our society
Exists through our own design I am sure
To guarantee an apt propriety.
Without the sheep there can be no shepherds.
Therefore a symbiotic relation
Plays in the theater of the absurd.
There is no suitable explanation
Don't even attempt to state a notion.
Our roles are predetermined one by one.
They are like two beam lights that claim the stage
on a hot summer eve in the middle of a makeshift
floor parkette made of wood, varnish, and lights that aim
They are more than two American dollies dressed
in French lace and boudoir lipsticks
They are idols of the theater talking through
cables and conductive material.
The imagination of the viewers soar as they lose themselves
in the dark curtained stage, where reality has gone dormant
The only sound they hear is the tingly sounds
of unfolding fans made of feather and paper,
by the old vintage theater Madammes who cluck and gossip
in hushed tones when the first dolly gives the other dolly,
a soft kiss.
The End.
I knew you well many years ago
So full of passion
A cathedral where multitudes
Of lusting souls gathered
I watched intently at the images
You allowed me to see
Such a majestic creature
Towering high into the darkened sky
You gathered the light from a million stars
To power my imagination
A haven for teenage love
Your warm summer breezes caressed my heart
You showed me laughter, joy, love and sadness
I was your legacy, and I worshipped you
Time faded my memories
Progress devoured your simplicity
I lost youthful desires, hopes, and dreams
Replaced them with responsibilities, anxiety and conformity
I left you to die alone
Discarded like an animal’s carcass on the side of the road
Rotting in the rain and sun
Slabs of your silver skin decayed
Fallen to the ground to reveal the bones beneath
Tree limbs from the encroaching woods
Stick their boney fingers through the gouges
Like demons trying to pull free
From their eternal darkness
Nature is reclaiming you…
There is no one left to care
Many summers ago going to the drive-in was such a thrill
for me. Those long hot summer nights seemed to
disappear while at the drive-in. A trip to the concession
stand was what I really looked forward to, more than the movie
sometimes. Waiting for that old sun to go down, seemed to take forever,
then the cartoons came on, Popeye, Casper the Friendly Ghost
was seen most of the time. There were always at least three movies
sometimes more. Dollar night was great, where a whole car load got in
for just one dollar, no matter how many were in the car. Later as a teenager
we sometimes would stuff the car like a can of sardines. Other times we would hide
two or three people girls and guys in the trunk and then after we were inside they would
jump out and get in the car. After a while they caught on and had somebody watching
and they threw us out.
Many memories of my mom and her good friend John taking me to the drive-in,
we all had a good time. Now those are sweet memories i will never forget. They are very
few drive-ins and they cost so much that i have not been to one since 1969
when my wife Judy and I were just going steady, we saw the "Love Bug" with my mom
and her 5th husband Art.
Such sweet memories drive-ins were.
Written 8-16-11
He was sitting alone in the corner
In a little cafe at the painting of Monet
And was talking to imaginary friend
About thinness opaqueness fear
Sensation of heat cold anger despair
Cruelty he claimed is the language of reality
Not the barren lame poetry with vulgar
Metaphors hiding behind empty words
Cruelty was the only honest way
To open the hidden heavy doors
Into suffering human soul and heart
And talk about things that matter
Through shamanic art of reaching
Deep into the guts of true teaching
And bringing light to the dark corners
That have never been lit before
Actors dancing in overpowering way
Manikins with terrifying theatrical faces
With empty eyes staring at the audience
And drilling through their souls
Objects of strange proportions
Surfacing in a dreamy scenery
Of unrecognizable ghostly world
Of the modern stage transformed
By the means of the theater of cruelty
It is the only way to be honest
To himself Artaud claimed
And believed
He was right
He sacrificed his life
To this idea
And died lonely forgotten
On the bare floor
Next to metal bed
That stood at the door
He tried to open so hard
In a madhouse
Where magic of theater
Truly belongs
2#
Silence spoke to me when i was feeling very, very small
...
I
What if this life is a play,
and we the actors each day,
an insane play for sick and sadistic amusement.
II
Oh, then life would be nothing,
existence would mean not a thing,
all our pain and suffering just a absurd plot.
III
The dead just discarded actors,
our life determined by chapters,
a chapter written by a mean, evil higher being.
IV
Perhaps this life is an experiment,
for some species entertainment,
in a theater absurd where we are zoo animals.
V
Or maybe whatever we do,
we play our part then its adieu,
our destiny planned, each path, our story written.
VI
We are part of a theater absurd,
we play a part word for word,
oh, wouldn't such a play be a sad, sad, sad read.
_____________________
February 2, 2017
Poetry/Verse/Theater of the Absurd
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 872-099-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspired by the contest, Theater of the Absurd
sponsor, Kia Michael Neuman
Eighth Place
which is concerned
might convey
the necessity
and in it's
urgency of it's need
to coney these
thoughts
as concerns to
vocalize the
need of proper
means of having
words to form
nd be spoken
in the sweet
rhythm of speaking.
Verb and vowel,
adverb and adjective
that each conjunction
support, those words
that need support.
the urgency and concern
and the lack of causing each.
these words
came from the
audancion of
the orchestra :band and
sontress and malo-cantorouss'.
those who
need to shave
do so.
the nappy headed folk,
who need those
nap's straightened, let's do-it !
get the kink's and snag's relaxed!
tonic aint just for your brother.
and Honey, use tanning paint.
the seamstress will be here
shortly, write your request,
and tell the Tenor's the
USS Frigget Ship's donated
there mass, for the
fabric for their shirt's.
they smell like fish,
"did someone
sit on these shirt's"
people, people
get with-it !"
movie night kisses
lips are greasy from popcorn
PURE RISING ACTION!
1#
i entered mysterious space – endless multidimensional maze
...
Spring Theater
cherry blossoms watch
earthlings worship reborn spring
baptized by water
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~Honorable Mention~
Contest: Traditional Haiku
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 03/12/2015
.