Best Theatre Poems
The flying sent projections free to see,
from adjunct Astrals singing bold decree.
Perched on Pisces’s cusp, forsaking Plato’s cave,
Puppets casting shadows, chancing me a slave.
They hang from dreams of higher forms, allures
Contempt in self when loving carnal cores.
Haunted by women’s passions kept in Spirits,
Dawns my sleeping stages now inherits
Marionettes aloft eternal twists
of spinning truths with lies recalling trysts.
Killing prone volitions, changing essence.
Chosen starlight’s beings guiding presence.
Upon a love in purest form demands,
Forgotten suicides of ego strands.
Risking Pirsig’s fate in Zen and journey,
Waging sanity, a bounty worthy.
The stringing of my soul and bracing seeks,
A pulling truth beyond this death it speaks.
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Alternating stanzas of iambic and trochaic pentameter
Applause dies
The performance is done
My violin rests
Alone In The Dressing Room: Just Before Curtain Up
Oh Yes! My career!.. It's behind me.
And the bright lights I’d worked so hard for
Now they’ve airbrushed my face
That looks so out of place
On that poster they’ve stuck to my door.
My name is no longer top billing
It’s been pushed further down out of view
By some rich kid who blogs
From his channel of vlogs
And gets paid just to like all this too.
The curtain goes up in five minutes
But I think it should really stay down
They haven’t a clue
What real actors do
On the stage in this backwater town.
I’m the oldest guy here in this cesspit
And this dressing room’s cramped and too cold
The 'luvvies' will shout
That I’ve sadly sold out
Unlike seats for this show so I’m told.
I’m supposed to walk out there all happy
To some kids who just couldn’t care less
And keep 'doing my thing'
And get them to sing
- I’m washed out, fed up and a mess.
A Knock On The Dressing Room Door: Not Long After Curtain Down
I just wanted to say a big 'Thank You!'
The three of us had a great time
I’m not sure where to start
So I’ll speak from my heart
We loved you and your great pantomime.
My husband and I brought our ill son
And now value what laughter is worth
We saw sickness displaced
By wide smiles on his face
Despite his short time left on earth.
You brought us much joy, light and comfort
From the stage to the seats where we sat
No medicine or pills
Can cure our son's ills
But for two hours - tonight - you did that!
Our theatre's curtains slowly fall
and gone behind them
the loveliness and all that beauty
we’d always known to be
too fine for such as we.
They were only ever ours to wonder at,
to touch, to taste and savour,
briefly.
Where they were is once again,
all that which is our own.
Reality.
no place can I hide
atoms of me circle you
hope without a trace
Dancing candle flames,
the nights flickering shadows,
whirl about and play.
They dance me to sleep at night
and sleep their sleep, in the day.
'Theatre Of The Absurd'
Catoptric Corridors of Time
Oh how the wounded waverly wander away from their hermitic heart
Only to meticulously maunder thru cumulous clouds that diffuse apart
The deflections of deceptions that build worshipful walls
Seen in Mirrors of errors displaying fathomable fetal falls
The soliciting silences succumbing to their cognitive cocoon
Inducing illusions forthcoming mirage’s of the monolithic moon
Dimensional decoding within the resurgent rhythmical rhyme
Catalectic exploding compositions in the Catoptric Corridors of Time.
02.03.2017
Theatre Of The Absurd ...Contest
Sponsored by...Kai Michael Neumann
I come from a family of thespians
Who turned hiding their problems into art.
Inside these walls,
We cry. We yell.
But from within these walls,
The sounds never depart.
Yet,
somewhere among the act,
I lost the talent.
My heart can't hide anymore.
My eyes sting, my throat burns--
They're all pretending
but my heart's just too sore.
What show will be my final?
In what performance will I truly break?
I keep pushing to my limits,
I swallow the pain but
I'm full past what I can take.
Things aren't the same,
They may never be.
But, that's okay because
the only person I really have is me.
I scream into the abyss,
and bleed on those who never cut me.
Yet, I tuck it all away
Like the world cannot see.
Maybe the biggest actress of all is me.
Acting as if the pain is transparent--
Like there's nothing to set free.
While those who really love me
stand at arms length,
As I push with all I have,
They beg me to let them love me.
Oh, how easy to see:
The biggest pretender is me.
Theatre
ancient, organic
previewing, staging, performing
Sophocles, Chekhov, Ray, Tarantino
filming, screening, releasing
modern, edited
Cinema.
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Date: 22 / 10 / 2016
THEATRE OF THE ABSURD
Puppets, all parts, perpetually working.
Tense strings, plucked, with novice fingers.
Ruby sawdust sparkles with the warm sun.
Puppets on strings, such silly things!
A play set nearby, a seesaw, those twins –
Hansel and Gretel, balancing between life and death.
The wretched sound of falling trees, pulled
from resistant roots - ground shakes violently.
The buzzing of saws, like bees in a honey hive.
Splinters of puppet bone, praying for relief.
The lies that Pinocchio told - stubs compared to this.
The darkening of the witch’s wood, with terrible treats.
Wooden toes, stumble and tiptoe, over windswept limbs,
sending shivers through their gnawing cold bones,
as twigs fly and snap, popping of puppet props.
Leading the way, Ali Baba whispers “open sesame” -
They hide in a craven cave, whilst the forest implodes.
Perpetual motion, like watches, ticking of time-bombs.
Pinocchio cracks jokes, like he’s done this all before.
Treasures glisten in candlelight, “what have we done…”
Whispers of a forest saved, puppets clamorous in mine -
Their eyes like multicolored jewels, hideous in the gloom.
Redwoods run with stilt-like legs, banging at their door -
Begging for one last kindness, followed by sudden silence.
They arise at dawn, the parade of puppets on strings.
Silly things, characters performed by naïve children –
playing at war. They hear a cackle, as she, lures them inside.
Guard down, until the urchins ears bleed, with screams of kindling.
2/6/2017
Whose brain?.......
Did you put in?......
Abby Someone....
Let me think.........
The label... on the jar....
read....Abby Normal....
I think.........
A creative monster.....
living inside..........
....................her head.
Who;
Does labor?
in the
Laboratory
of a
Creative Life?
It is.......the......
abnormal brain.
Sewn together
under
experiments....
With ;
Thoughts streaming
under .......high....
electrical currents.
A lightening......
fast speed........
In a moment of
.............. Ideas.
(inspired by)
"Mary Shelley's......Frankenstein"
her quote
"Beware; for I am fearless and therefore powerful."
and
Mel Brooks. "Young Frankenstein." Movie.
We
..protest the right of others to protest
while defending our right to free speech
shout down the voices of others
exercising their right to speak freely.
.. pick at the feast of democracy
like children playing with their food
in cafeteria-like rebellion
dining on peace while waging war.
.. rush past a fallen flag
to pick up litter
tape it to our bandolier
of PC “merit” badges.
..riot in the streets
reeking havoc and destruction
upon our neighborhoods
and our neighbors.
..slander those who do not think
as we do, act as we do
question the motives of all
but ourselves.
..pray to gods
unknown
to those who pray
to other gods.
..walk past one another
unable to speak
for fear a greeting
may be offensive.
..huddle – herd like
in our “comfort groups”
fearful of
a stampede.
2/2/2017
submitted to – Theatre of the Absurd – Poetry Contest
The crowd awaits, for the
most auspicious of nights
...Standing ovations & red
roses, ready to be put in flight
Conductors & maestros alike
ready their positions
The echoes of my thoughts
seem to harbour an omission
Strokes of brilliance are
always ready to strike...
As I open my eyes a facade of
insanity catches my attention
& the roaring crowd puts my
thoughts into suspension
Frail & near death, with the
piercing gazes they throw
I put up an audacious piece of
display worthy to be called a
show....
The Theatre of Shadows
Welcome to the theater of shadows
A place where there’s no time and space
No heartbeat, no shine
No rhythm, no rhyme.
Yet the place is full
Everyone seems eager, yet so dull
Their eyes glazed
Their souls chased
Their innocence has faded
Shame glitter on their faces
Frozen with fears
No melody to their ears
Yet they keep on coming, yearning
To watch love’s greatest performance
But the stage is bare, there’s no one there
No solace for their despair
3RD PLACE
Loss of an Innocent Mind - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
for the third class life is surrounded by, not a single affirmative element but utter negativity, it may be a condemned one, yet is still worthwhile living the life because in the total negativity one can disavow everything just like an absolute authority
for the third-rater is always treated by those around one with contempt, the life may be miserable, yet is enjoyable because the anger i swallowed in every moment of my life and kept in the depth of my heart with tears can be spewed out at any time, in anywhere, just like a most powerful tyrant
to impress others, may be impossible, i flapped the wings that actually i didn’t possess; the beauty of life was then however, it doesn’t matter if i was a performer of first class theatre or of third. even with those inexistent wings, i was able to fly boastfully in the spotlight dazzling colorful air though for a little while
although i searched for a way to wonderland and went after a good and ripened time for harvest, the soul rent with grief and mortified, alas, i was always wound-up to standing in the damned same starting point because no matter
how hard i searched, the way to wonderland was nowhere on earth it never
existed for me, no matter how eagerly i went after it, the ripened good time was never there for me to harvest; nonetheless, even with deeply wounded heart, i was able to find the moment of peace at the point where i started off was, may be my numbed sensitivity, caused from the debt too great for me to pay off, caused from the destitution never be filled to flee from it
“why don’t you laugh at this ludicrous fool’s tears?” the fool being ousted from even this filthy third class theatre which was filled with rowdy audiences! “why don’t you cry for this helpless buffoon’s laughter?” mimicking Caesar with antic,
‘et tu, Brute!’*
even in this crucial moment
of losing my one and only vocation the buffoon ever had
*William Shakespeare. Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 1. ‘You too, Brutus!’