Best Theatres Poems
Solitary sun in sapphire skies,
beams its rays upon Earth's radiance.
A tepid breeze flows between
daffodils and bluebells, gently rocking.
Spring is in the air,
yet streets remain silent.
Masked men in green suits,
bearing arms, patrol -
perturbed by unsought peace.
Anticipating unauthorised motions,
they wander past eerie emptiness -
sleeping theatres, picture less cinemas,
sober bars, childless schools and unfit gyms.
Silence is disrupted by military vehicles
occasionally startling their comrades.
Echoes of continuous coughs,
hidden behind closed curtains,
prevent even the obstinate ones,
admiring scents from rousing roses -
whose petals are not idle in isolation.
Industry of death is thriving -
undertakers undertaking, grave diggers digging.
Crematoriums fighting coffin carpenters -
whose sympathies are disguised by greed.
As humanity evolves into ashes.
In the midst of clean air,
mother nature smiles,
bathing in tranquil purity of serenity
the only fire burning is the sun.
Silent One
Simple Musing
22 March 2020
You read in the papers you watch on the news
Coalition soldiers amidst as the killing accrues
In these theatres of war we lose many lives
In these wars of man only death thrives
But every so often there's a turn for the good
A life is saved they couldn't do what they could
The lives of a family murdered by cowards
Shot in cold blood bullets they showered
But from this tragedy a life was saved
It's of a little girl and a soldier who braved
A Chief Master Sergeant in the USAF
Allows mans humanity to kindly show face
This little girl who was saved was shot in the head
He stayed by her side for she should have been dead
To see pictures like this in the theatres of war
Maybe it's understandable to see what we fight for
An alleged soldier in wanton family wipe
What takes a soldier to become their type
My heart goes out to this little girl
And all the other children caught up in this war ridden world
Written on the spur of the moment after receiving a picture from Sara Kendrick
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php
Passions for expectations with life were none
Till the teenage accepted life as it came anon.
Went to gym, played games, attended school
Swam in the open sea, life smooth and cool.
Might’ve been endowed with great expectations
In gestation to perform later in life like everyone.
Sprouted while in the university educational zones
Both of literature and dramatics as milestones.
Both meted out in career as a university teacher
Not so easy but had miles to go in my endeavor
Was quite fortunate to meet the inspiring persons
Who directed me to perform the righteous acts.
I did meet my expectations later in matured years
Performing Moliere in his own country and theatres
Attending the poetry conferences in three continents
And honors in literature that missed in early periods.
Aimed for the moon but reached the sky amidst
Never complained about the wind like a pessimist
Never expected the wind to change like an optimist
But adjusted the sails like a down-to-earth realist.
+++
October 14, 2014
Form Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third Place Win
Contest: BIO by Regina Riddle
Parents so proud four sons they raised
From the Highlands of Scotland in the pre-war days
On their crofts they worked morning till night
Unknown to them then of a future fight
The Germans have invaded a country so free
Poland was taken, the world shaken visually
Britain declares war as our men enlist
To rid the enemy as the fighting shifts
Europe's engulfed in a feverish war
Many are dying to comprehend what for
Four brothers sign up to fight
Soon a mother will pray every night
Campaigns they fight in, these theatres of war
Witnessing horrors never seen before
In their garden at home on the family crofts
Lies a bed of roses with petals so soft
Then one day with a passing glance
A pink rose dripping red in deathly stance
Their mother turns to the gate she looks
Telegram in hand from the postman she took
With trembling hands she opens with care
Upon reading the message in tear laden stare
Their eldest son in Africa was lost
As many many others deaths global cost
Every day as she passes the rose
It's pink petals bloom her tomorrow's fear grows.
.
July fireworks bring together families and friends
for a much needed vacation from worries and work.
Picnics at and on the lake just for memorie's fond taking.
I remember the days of old when watching a movie
outside amongs't the stars and moon.
Playground equipment of a slide and swing
nestled right next to an entraptment framed
sandbox.Oh to be youthful and exuberent again.
Lightening bugs flickering into the night.
Today's movies consist of many smaller theatres
jam-crammed tighter together than a can of
sardines. An alignment of multifleck'd multiplex
light beamed shows across the screens.
Remember when Fizzies were the rage-Just
dropp them in a glass of water and sniff the
boquet of different fruit flavored bubbles would
tickle the nose. Ah yes, different flavors of instant
soda pop in a colored aluminum or plastic glass.
Just like Alka-Seltzer-only better tasting.
Can you remember back wearing shorts and
igniting sparklers and black pills of instant snakes
arising from the sidewalks or street.
Yes those times were just real amazin', and real, real neat.
I’m about to tell what’s an important story,
Of a singer who is sadly now long gone,
Whose story needs some increased recognition,
He could p’raps be described a special one.
He was born in nineteen forty two,
And sadly died in nineteen eighty one,
His memory and music though will never be forgot,
His charities and work continue on.
He made a lot of money, in America renowned,
At one point highest paid of all his peers,
And still the homeless charities do work that bears his name,
Despite him being gone for forty years.
At Height of fame he realised a fortune,
At times it reached 2 million a year,
At least a third of it though he did give away,
Philanthropy towards his causes dear.
In Britain there aren’t many who remember Harry’s name,
But some of his songs linger in their head,
They’ve heard about a morning DJ and cradles for cats,
And a better place to be than in their bed.
Songs autobiographical,
And others based on news that he had read,
At first he struggled for success like Mister Tanner did,
Ignored the critics views and what they said.
His passion was world hunger that was unacceptable,
He’d do what he could to eradicate,
The Harry Chapin Foodbank still stands proudly in his name,
And still relieving hunger to this date.
He always felt Long Island was the place to live his dreams,
Perhaps you’d say his opportunity,
To make a massive difference in the world to many folks,
Perhaps you’d say a better place to be.
He co- founded World Hunger Year,
With DJ friend that he knew called Bill Ayres
Congressional Gold Medal, a posthumous award
That later recognised each of his worthy cares.
On July 16th Nineteen eighty one his fate was sealed,
Going to a show in East Meadow, New York,
A truck crashed into him whose fault ended his life,
No more he’d ever sing again or talk.
That could have been the end of things, for others it sure would,
But Harry is the subject of this rhyme,
His legacy maybe seems as important as his life,
And not diminished with passing of time.
Theatres and student halls named in his memory,
Foundation chaired by Sandy, she his wife,
His legacy continues to improve the world today,
This story of a most important life.
Endless throngs flocking unto, the theatres....
As spending hundreds in millions of dollars upon these
Fantastical fairy tales ? Creation's tis all well although for truly
A bit aside her escapism, surely does one's heart as spirit this turn
In good although, I have a much more brilliant Truth; far beyound ~
The crystal balls witches warlocks magic wands barbie dolls glittering dust
Intergalactic warfare something and or another makes myself, Smile..
When I consider their jovial journey which encompasses this innocence ?
Be it simple folly these children playing amid, life's meadows chasing time's
Sunset as colourful clouds gather about her skies chimes of church bells resound.
Italian winds blow gently and smooth
Over hushed dusty remnants of lives past,
This once thriving city clueless of its fate
Lies frozen in time under hot blazing sun.
Chariots and horses stopped in their tracks,
Brothel patrons lie in silent passion
On lava beds of ashen cold comfort,
Slaves free of earthly bonds lie in timeless sleep,
Their masters’ tongues forever stilled from curse.
Nigh two thousand years of a forced respite
For countless lives ceased by nature’s great wrath,
Holy temples, theatres and great arenas
Forever preserved beneath a molten shroud.
Pompeian spectres roam their burial ground
Haunted by ancient Vesuvian eyes,
Watching and waiting until it’s time
To erupt her cruel rage once again.
N ever ending water cascading continuously down
I ncredible beauty nestled in a small quaint town
A lways bustling, a town that rarely does not sleep
G ambling at casino. will you jump for joy or weep
Arm in arm couples walk and gaze at the wondrous view
R ediscovering their love, they cherish each other anew
A magic mist fills the air as it crashes into the gorge below
F rom far and wide people visit to see the fascinating water flow
A mazing rainbows are seen quite often, a sight to behold
L isten to the roaring waters and let this natures beauty enfold
L ively shows at the many theatres are guaranteed to beguile
S top by for a visit I guarantee this town will make you smile
16/03/2015
Old soldiers in the firing line,
Community clubbing time,
Let's honour them in rhymes,
Now in the vault of the unleashed,
Their courage released,
For the job, they were the right men,
The flower of past generations,
People to treasure, through the ages,
In theatres of combat, such stages,
Designer beers wanted here,
On Anzac Day, we give them silent cheers.
The floor drips towards the sky.
The walls fall, the seats rise.
With every emotion the room reacts.
Silence, the theatre has always lacked.
Blood, sweat, and tears backstage are shed from the actors,
But all the audience sees is happiness and laughter.
The Stage tells the stories, and no one believes.
They ask, “How could people so dismal create something so happy?”
The Walls and the Ceiling back up the Stage’s claim,
But everyone that hears it says it’s a lie, and walks angrily away.
The actors aren’t happy that their secret got out.
At the theatres Walls they scream and shout.
They yell things that can never be unsaid,
Then go home satisfied, and turn into bed.
The theatre could never house people so dark,
So it shuts its doors with a loud bang, and locks everyone out.
The droplets of rain drip on the roof covered ceiling.
The Stage and the Walls begin the process of healing.
The house today is empty still, shut out from everything and everyone.
Though many have tried, no one has succeeded in making the Theatre and the actors once again one.
From my penthouse here in Manhattan
I observe crowds of bodies all in fast forward mode
Through slightly dampened windows I watch fascinated
As locals and visitors cramp into one “Big Apple”
More people in Manhattan than my four neighboring boroughs
I am just an unknown local or tourist to most
Later I sit among strangers and friends on black plastic chairs
Near the porcelain figurine of Elvis, the King
Enjoying my Southern Country breakfast with a NY bagel for an extra dollar
In EJ’s Luncheonette, below my building, on the Upper East side
Different races, skins and religions harmonious
A multicultural city that never sleeps
Times Square magnificently lit at night
Bright lights all colors of the rainbow flicker
Broadway theatres and shows all famous in their own right
Central Park or Central “Perk” put us forever on the map, all thanks to six Friends
The rivers Hudson and Harlem bind us all together
As we chant to each other “Have a nice day”
If you ever visit you will have no reason to be
Bored in Manhattan
She is a young terrified girl.
A waning light in the dark
A true citizen of a wrong place;
A real burden to self
An epitome of depression
The embodiment of resentment.
Eyelids glued by the pus
That oozed, then clogged her vision;
The flies that feast on her sore body
Buzzing their ceaseless gratitude
Her breath comes…tarries…returns
Hope in both future and present,
Squashed and vanishing
She is deserted and quaking
She stares into the future
Laden with nothing
But impossible possibilities.
Amidst shame and morose
She remembers a song.
Not a song sung on a merry-go-round
But a song her mama sang for her
On days like this one.
A song meant to rekindle hope
When none’s left.
With the last energy
Still left in her frail spirit
She sings the song
Her mama sang for her.
With the scrawny legs
Dotted with scaly scars,
She gets up to limp on ahead
Like a blind man groping
Into a world of nothingness.
At first she sings with shyness.
The song her mama sang for her
Wakes up the courage in her chest.
She hums the song with passion.
Every note and every pitch and every rhythm
Blowing new breath into her dying lungs
Creating a new African girl.
A new life is born by a song
Sung by a mother
To her woe-stricken child.
She opens her eyes
To see new horizons.
She now sings for the tuxedoed
In big theatres and operas.
The world is too small for her name.
The new girl is a fat shadow of her former self.
When she sings,
The world sings along.
The future for her
Is now laden with gifts
As promised in the song
Her mama sang for her.
Sprawling green gardens super
Brilliant, breezy cool weather
Bustling busy night life
Clubbing culture that does strike
Thriving tech talent pool
With culture uniquely cool
Fastest growing tech hub
City of many clubs and pub
Millennial-friendly city rocks
A magnificent megacity just laughs
City of Lakes and names many
The Godly city with fame sunny
Bars to forget worries of world
Hub for headquarters is its word
Silicon Valley of subcontinent
At high altitude stands straight
Capital city of Kannad region
With clear and crisp vision
Rock capital of the country
Vegan-friendly o so dainty!
‘Bangalore Literature Festival'
Litterateur’s grand carnival
Many a dog o just bark
To compete with BARC!!!!
(Bangalore Amateur Radio Club
Besides being a capital pub)
Birth place of Rava Idli
So sweets are from Udipi
Startups, Quicker and Rapido
Birthplace of Bangalore Torpedo
First city to be electrified
Bangalore is diversified
Land of Nobel nominees
Theatres with matinees
A cool metro with altitude high
With which cities never vie
Mouthwatering brunches
And vegetarian crunches
Delicious craft beer
Cricket and leaders’ cheer
Placid and glassy lake
Even at night it’s awake
Super silicon-valley
Like a Comet of Halle
A pensioner’s paradise
Home to super silk saris
With full of novelty
A demographically diverse city
Mix of unusual history
Bangalore is a great mystery
The Indian Science City
Now the most livable city..!
What a way to get first rank..!
Like a beauty Queen revamp
The City of Gardens does rock
In its glimmering night frock
Victorian architecture being so
‘IT’ just vies with London lo..!
A Pensioner’s Paradise once
Now the Hub of Headquarters
With many a placid and glassy lake
It’s a fast growing hub tech
Diverse is its demography
Great is history and novelty
The most livable city ours
With brands, beers and towers..!!
McRaccoon had a plan to steal again… He would usurp all the theatrical arts.
No holding back, mind running high on ambition, he’d rule Vegas, from the start.
He would dominate Sigfrid and Roy, with only a plan and his illustrious, smarts.
But he needed our help… Did we dare help out? Or would he break our hearts?
When we heard the plan… We cheered him on…He really was so very amazing!
Riding high on a dream… He could win with his scheme, and the right connections.
So GrandFather Troll, made a quick call… to Norway… and all of his relations!
After a time, deals were struck; contracts were signed…yes, for use of their dragons!
Now, backers were found, financing his show, with first pick on the strip, as a bonus.
We couldn’t believe, what we were about to see, Dragons were coming to Vegas!
For a year and a day, he’d have his own way, but, naturally, we’d monitor his boldness.
After all, they had to get here, without incident, so preparations had to be flawless!
Publicity well known, and security in place, MCRac rode into Vegas on the dragons.
He and the Trolls set the dragons down, amid applause, and yes, jets circling above us.
The President, allowed nothing less, to protect his people, he admitted to being cautious.
Instead of danger, found… the dragons allowed everyone to touch them, in celebration.
The Trolls were there, to make sure everything went well, as Hollywood bowed asunder.
And McRac, signed autographs, with a shortened new name more befitting, his grandeur.
Finally, everyone won, McRac was set for years, and our worries, had been unfounded.
The dragons, you know, are now publicity hogs, and frolicking, so don’t miss the shows.
Our actor Trolls, who flew in with McRac, are the hit of the strip, in their very own show.
And guess who’s got the best seats in both the theatres?
To Sigfrid and Roy: your show must go on. But, if you can’t beat us… come… join us!
And to all else, I’ll be home, at Troll Lake… as will the rest… sooner or later.