Long Screenplay Poems
Long Screenplay Poems. Below are the most popular long Screenplay by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Screenplay poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: May 13, 2025, for contest by Robert James Liguori
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On the golden steed, dreams catch flight,
In the sunny flame, rings of final sigh ignite.
A pale horse and rider fit through the haze,
Echoes of silence amid the shadow maze.
A raven melody on the burial ground,
Listen to the spooky melody where souls abound.
No sights emerge from Earth's frigid embrace,
Wind slashes across ashes in an endless chase.
However, haunting tunes excite my soul,
Your voice is an echo, drawing me whole.
Beyond life's veil, we interact with grace,
With God on our side, age shields its face.
I trek into the freezing mist in quest of light,
Mourning darkness hugs humanity tight.
Sunless days drag back dreams of the dead,
Demons sans souls laugh in mindless stead.
Focus on the raven call and pray for Earth's life,
Must humans explain everything for throe strife
Find a wayward child and follow the wild north,
Fear the black raven and adhere to the wise forth.
He spent an obedient portion of his life on Earth,
Dancing to the sound of the elderly man's mirth.
The dread felt by those who bear an oath,
In the text, he authored the screenplay for loath.
Be honest and ask them the right requests,
An outcry for liberation, a prayer for a life quest.
Despite the events, lives have come to a halt,
Ended before it started when the crowd exalt.
I hear all waking dads crying as a crow flies distort,
Life of the firstborn of mankind will be cut short.
Cruelly facing risk is the panacea for each dilemma,
As we hold in nonviolence, some are clear to edema.
Every man's heart from the dawn of time,
Having to live with seduction and crime.
Ascending in the valley of demise, shadow,
Knowing that I will bear my final air arrow.
Embrace the Valley of Death with dignity,
Despite the effects, we will act with divinity.
Join me as I lead you into the depths of death,
Yield me your soul and I will sip my last breath.
O, be honest and ask them the right requests,
An outcry for liberation, a prayer for a life quest.
Despite the events, lives have come to a halt
Ended before it started when the crowd exalt.
There is an aura for the moment looking gloom
Closing in on climatic resolution known as high noon
Weather was dealt the color grey
Heavy clouds outdoor on this day
Blocking the sun from peeking through
Temperatures hot relatively cool
Glaring distractions are wearing nature’s shades
School year ready to hand out final grades
But months earlier an invader came out from the mist
Tying socialization wrists
Being a star taking the stage
Putting the world in a household cage
A viral infection
Criminally contagious facing nation’s united rejection
Traveling the world Covid 19 threatened global protection
Eluded handcuffs reality not having any vaccine injection
When international health did its inspection
A sick situation projected to fizzle
During summer when the north sizzles
A southern pop
Where CDC acts like a cop
Wrote the screenplay strategizing how to make the pandemic stop
Forcing the apocalyptic mission attempt to be a box office flop
Today they will try to collect money
To combat this issue defined ‘not funny’
Four go fore the green
Setting a sporting interacting scene
An opportunity to raise funds
Using an entertaining spectacle when is done
Donors will clap for those that have won
Then as the sunsets
Fast autos will fire off their jets
Under the light signed off by the moon
Creating the thought the holiday is not ruined
Flashy, colorful and cool
Racing at Charlottes’ speedway NASCAR’s crown jewel
Six hundred miles they will speed
Making it southern hospitality roaring like the General Lee
Hopefully, the Sunday message will be comprehended
No need to be defended
When staring at the military graves in rank and file
Knowing yesterday ended with Coca Cola and a smile
Slaves of wages for generations
long forgotten in history’s screenplay.
Each hand for a moment has held
the torch.
The people are waiting in lines.
All toilers have resisted.
All skins have felt the blaze of blood.
The people are waiting in lines.
While trash still clutters the streets,
while starving stomachs
roam like rabid dogs.
The people are waiting in lines.
Our tears have been cleaved
and parceled,
sold like floodplain to the blind
by corporate politicians,
while the people are waiting in lines.
We are lured to live among the cushions,
to rest here where the river rises.
No markets can be called free
while hosting inequality.
The people are waiting in lines.
We medicate to escape,
numbing to the barbarization.
No economy can be called just
without democracy.
The people are waiting in lines.
We shall watch for clues.
We will know the signs.
Every torch shall rise.
The people are waiting in lines.
Published: Dissident Voice, August 2, 2020
The ringmaster left
but the carnival stayed in town.
Erect, proud, empowered people
stride by living the Crayola dream.
Awash in color, characters in the screenplay,
the scene played with aborigine like dream walkers.
No surface left to its utilitarian plight,
all stroked and stoked with the creativity
of the artist, all crooned to by boombox
and skateboard smack, or the concrete
slap of a mariachis’ feet.
The burnt bright white light shivers
to a Hendricks strum, and the caffeinated come
one by one hooked in to hook up,
to the juke boxes sixties twang.
Children play on Aztec snakes rising
from a soft foam of green with
mosaic skin and glass eyes
freed from the restrictions, the confines,
the confounded, gay, straight, bi, free
bleeding poetry.
Ivana and Ivanka
and other daughters with mothers
midst matriarchal families with U.S. herstories
might be troubled
by the Trump Administration's corrupt substitution--
supremacy of White
when both sacred and sexual life is so clearly all about
purest transparency of Light.
When this transparent Light
fills political backrooms
and personal bedrooms,
all Earth remains a Sacred Tragic/Comedy Stage;
takes on a more intimately personal
and yet also a greater economic and political
CoPresence of vulnerable Light.
What do we practice,
practice,
practice
making greater
and more naturally-spiritually extended love
in our bedrooms
and our backrooms?
What have we practiced,
practiced,
practiced
making even more supremacy of fear-mongering White
heterosexual males only on top always
raping and pillaging lives
of mindless patriarchal complacency?
About Win-Lose dualistic interpretations of White is Good
and Black is NotWhite is Bad
sacred scripture
in White-dominant
segregated
mistrusting bad-faith communities,
Yet Win-Win transparency of cooperative Light
is so obviously YHWH's wondrously divine
FullColor ScreenPlay
Opera of His/HerStoric CoOperations.
In the middle of the war ...
World War one...
a horse in the middle of the barbed wire caused
to a cease fire ....
With a white flag
a soldier from one side
came to his mercy ...
On the other, a soldier,
an enemy becomes
instantly a friend
and brings pliers ...
The enemies, now friends,
come together to release
the horse.
A singular, human moment ...
The two cut wire here and there ... and
release the animal ...!
work done,
shaking hands
saying goodbye both came back
to the trenches to
they war again ...!
PS. Based on a scene from the film WAR HORSE - 2011
Screenplay Lee Hall and Richard Curtis, based on Michael
Morpurgo's novel of the same name.
Here a text created by me, alkas poetry
Drama
Crashes, collisions, stealing, killing, lying, living and dying--
When I thought of the drama
I felt compelled to sniff the storms
After with I no longer wish I wasn't born
The whipping seemed happy entrusting drama
Drama
I heard a shocking, documentary hitting
All my soul within me outfitting
With such a passion for fitting
I had dreamed of quakes submitting
The whipping seemed happy entrusting drama
Drama
I heard a narrative, right slamming
The melodramatic melodrama mouthing
My mind always strays to volcanoes
Back into my memories thrusting
The whipping seemed happy entrusting drama
Clasping and clasping with my collage
And the screenplay never chipping honors
My mind always strays to aurora picture perfect
That palate plate tectonics, that palate plate tectonics
The whipping seemed happy entrusting drama
4/28/19
They said the screenplay was complete
Filled with scenery and dialogue that was artistically sweet
An entourage was cast
Star’s children from the past
Having the marketable photo look
Picked up after flipping through a modeling book
It was like an eighties high school affair
Dramatic conflicts without a scare
Like if the pictures in the fashion magazines could move
Physically talented images having nothing to prove
Fluffy fables
Dependent on designer labels
Watched on cable
Was the social thing
Before graduating planning the wedding ring
Getting ready for the stork
This was learning relationship blocking work
Releasing aggression
Setting the proper impression
Now today the creative problems are replayed
Allowing youngsters to learn a perceived lucrative trade
Should today’s parental guiders feel the guilt?
About the teen drama genre the Republican Presidential era built
Say no to drugs the leader’s ladies visual theatrics did campaign
“Stay at home and watch us you will never get blamed”
When their children’s script arrives
And the kids decide to give it a try
Remember Millie the dog might have penned the original first
Only for party like rock stars attitude making the inflated balloon burst
I inhale
watching a movie trailer on Youtube;
I can smell it, feel the salt on my lips;
So many memories laced in the taste;
In the air
mixed with the script of Hollywood,
Buttery smooth you’re reeled in;
Frame by frame, you just devour it;
Each moment
hours of magic that sizzle off the oil;
The noise of the machine crackling
the scent wafting, enticing an entire building;
Waiting in line
screening prints til’ all hours of the night;
Cleaning, counting, even robbed at gunpoint;
Unleashing more than a scent as it pops
filling me with flashbacks;
Rolling through the screenplay
So many memories laced in the taste;
I can smell it, feel the salt on my lips;
Popcorn.
Penelope Alecknavage nee perskin whose death aye assay
to comprehend, this son of the late Harriet Harris -
November thirteenth 2016 marked her eighty first birthday
if she still lived these last eleven years - instead met crossway
where grim reaper awaited - though my mum sought to delay
futility to accept Pyrrhic outcome - homage pep rally
thru poetry n essay
writing, and finding cadence of words
helps me (with powder milk biscuits)
gather courageous foray
and means to grapple with demise
of a loved one, and hence my gray
matter sifts thru childhoods' end,
where remembrance of hooray
amidst claque of chattering aunts, cousins, and uncles
the fuzzy interplay
of Penny racing at dog speed across lawn of family home
cordoned off via a jackstay
looms in forefront of my mind,
vulnerable to grief most people sad - me, oh kay,
reckons cessation of life = equalizer of sorts
when significant person without breath doth lay
Tom foolery deft hands of motley crue prestidigitation
playing game versus sobbing as corpse
driven to graveside viz motorway,
where belief at such stark catastrophe - nay
numbness pervades next of kin survivors
especially when passing occurs pre-holiday,
yet no matter whence one departs
bobbing along River Styx to unreachable quay
mourning iz broken with nary sunny and Cher full ray
to warm earth, wind and fire - seeking soul asylum,
trying to blink away ill logic cheap trick re: acceptance,
but inxs of tears for fears begs scene 2b screenplay
not hard rocking coldplay accursed reality
terminal illness ushers helplessness cuz part of ourselves
agonizingly rent asunder, which psychic tearaway
far exceeds any physical pain, and will underlay
the immediate future, which bodes hollow
with the sounds of silence
despite informing musicians or veejay
to lighten moody blue -
boot invariably bono fide, green day,
Lady gaga emitting beat,
per the human league (plus the culture club
of heart felt village people affiliated with goo goo doll
traversing into nirvana)
creates clangorous discordant ringing
increasing nostalgia for loved one lost before yesterday!