Monologues Poems | Examples

GOSPEL OF A CURSED WARRIOR

I converse with my demons.
The monologues are endless,
Dark confessions on scraps of macabre memories.
My mouth stays shut after uttering blasphemies,
I terrorize my ghosts with the darkness of my fantasies.
I stumbled before the gates of hell,
It's too late — I'll end up in Lucifer's furnaces.
The journey will be chaotic until the final breath,
No consolation, only incurable wounds in this infernal abyss.
I smile at the angel of death like those fanatics ready to die for a few virgins.
My humanity embraces all the demonic facets of its spark,
Forever at war with a legion of the damned,
A procession of curses on the highway of immortality.
A few impure souls to sacrifice on the altar of repentance,
Pharaoh's blood to cleanse my dignity,
To be a slave for the glory of my oppressors — impossible.
To brandish arms — a saving urgency.
Throw me a banana, and I'll send you straight to the doorstep of my ancestors.
I learned to handle weapons of war in a banana republic.
I'm on alert, like those sleeper agents.
Servitude and submission are forbidden.
I preach peace, justice, and harmony,
But I do not fear the horrors of chaos.
My existence traumatizes my enemies.

Cosmos

Cosmic dust carpets the night sky
Like glittering snow blanketing billowing pine trees,
Captivating our deepest thoughts.

Inner monologues break their dams,
Flooding our consciousness with fleeting questions—
Of what was and what still might be.

Existential queries fly by like shooting stars:
Why here? Why this planet, this plane of existence?
Only to disappear in a flash, leaving no trace.

For we are so small within the emptiness of galaxies,
Yet we hold onto hope that there is more beyond what can be seen.

For even the death of a star breeds life—
From scattered ruins comes the calcium that builds our bones.

Within the silence of night, we come ever closer to tranquility.
Let the glow of moonbeams wash over you.
As each star has a pattern of its own, so do you.

Wipe your tears, sweet child,
Whilst the balmy breeze wraps around you.
Let your past evaporate like a summer rain

The Silence Screams

A fleeting vision and aura
Hidden
Deep in the recess of my mind
Under the cover of darkness
Toying with my psyche 
Reading my mind
Undisclosed thoughts
Inner monologues
Coaching
Guiding
Escaping reality for a fleeting moment
Feeling my soul spirit
Whispering
Softly,
So softly.
Words escaping from my lips,
Echoing,
Bouncing around like an electric current—
The jumble of my brain,
Like a jigsaw puzzle,
Searching desperately for a missing piece.
A link—
Broken.
The silence screams.
Empty.
A hole where my heart used to be.

Mental notes

My mental notes are like those from a psychologist
Full of monologues and constant wars between myself
Cause most times I'm undecided whether to take the high
For I'm used to the lows that give a mean punch 

My mental notes are something of a cry of help
Of a character stuck in he's ways
That it's hard to try and change
Cause it will be like straying from what he's known 

My mental notes describes all the chaos
The beautiful madness that creates perfect peace on paper
Cause it all boils down to a harmless paper 
And all the harm it can do is cause a long paper trail 

My mental notes belong in a mental hospital
Cause I see things that normal minds don't
I hear words speak, and that's not normal
And I make words speak to you once you read them 

The PO£T

A personal Sermon

Dear heart,
Please take a break
I know this feeling, I have had this feeling before 
It soothes at first, beguiling flings
Which shines, too
Sometimes brighter than goddess Theia
I know the comforts, the placidity it yields
And the euphoria!

Dear soul,
Stop the inner monologues
I know them, I have heard them before
With their potent, clean blade of satires
They chop pathos into cruelty, dubiety into actions
Listen to how it urges me into a chance, now or never!
Volition, I can hear the whispers. Volitions!

Dear mind, 
Avoid these thoughts
I remember them, they’ve run here before
Scattered into ways of no pattern
Tearing asunder the accords binding the soul and mind
Here, they boast of the utility they bequeath me
Chary, here, I must be, and slow I must tread
Forasmuch I owe the better of me to them
But hey! Avoid these ones regardless.

Dear self,
Collect these fragments and mend them back
For you’ve lost yourself, broken and scattered
Blend symphony from these discords
And  for once let you speak as you, dear self!

A Visit from the Grandkids

They look at you with their shiny bright eyes
They smile at you through their adorable styles
They run around the house doing cute little mischiefs
They fill your heart with so much delight

They hug you with soft soothing cuddles
They charm you through their sweet gabbles
They make you laugh by their innocent giggles
Aren’t grandkids simply marvels?

They entertain you with their amusing dialogues
They treat you with their pretend-play monologues
They amuse you with their hilarious stories and talks
Aren’t grandkids simply a bliss to your heart?

They make you think by their curious expressions
They help you stay focused by their enthusiastic observations
They enhance your knowledge by their naïve questions
Aren’t grandkids truly an inspiration?

Shut It Down

If it seems like government 
Is out of place
The ideal is to slow it down
to a snail's pace
Instead of getting business done
Slow it down so nothing is won
Take out time to smear a face
Using ethics to bring disgrace
Point the finger, use their race
Dysfunctional being the style of lace
Plan useless monologues
Take up time, cause a fog
Make clear to the participants
This must be
Before they govern
They must be sin free
So far as I know
It must be told
The only thing to pass
Is some type of dress code
We need Republicans to be Democrats
And Democrats to be Republicans
Take the side of God
Or the Constitution
Lobbyist are not the solution
Neither are judges
Seeking prosecutions
We once saw the answer 
Was the Oath
How sad are we now
For great men
Not to quote

A Stony Place To Sing

Eyes in a half-opened gaze
Catching their breath after hacking up sea water
Reflections of the sun bouncing as they bob 

'To sing' clearly defined next to my name
I embodied melodic movements and spoke in song
I hypnotized people with my garden of a heart
Each vine enveloping them in rhythmic laughter

Eventually you trapped me in this stony place
Moss hiding secrets of truth and misperceptions
I slip every time my pruney soles try to climb out
As my body skids, I can hear the garden's song
It's song sends me back to before I was conscious

Maybe that little girl is still here
I know my family still holds onto her memory
She teases them through a song, a joke, a story
And they become convinced she has returned
Picking warm cherry tomatoes, saving dying worms
Performing monologues without an audience

For a moment, I am in the heart of the garden
Eventually, it begins to drizzle and I slip
I trip over the vines that once carried me
And, once again, I am washed back to the stony place

Take Back the Mind

We have handed over control
to a phantom, that insane inner voice
we name the 'ego'.

Listen not to those demanding monologues
look not to their twisted reasoning.
Do not fight with its recitations
give them no credence.
Such thoughts come
from the invasive roots of fear,
do not feed them with attention.

Don't identify with its words,
it will talk to us
as if it were our own true thoughts
yet they are not, they never ever were.

Turn your mind away
neglect and ignore
the ego's attempts to persuade
and coerce.

Our real thoughts emerge
from that space we create from silence,
there the ego holds no sway,
there its mad dialogues
can be easily expunged
with just a simple and knowing smile
of pure awareness.

Mmmmmmmm

Misty Moist meticulous mermaidens
manipulate manuscript movement
modalities making monumental
meteoric metamacroorgasmic mind music.
Monoku monologues mesmerize male-strom
multiplayer milkshake mitochondrial
metaphysically montaged Mirror Mirror memories.
My my my me mine.

Coda

D   r    i      f       i        n         g

observations from faraway places
dreams drawn from Beta born curios
traveling through limitless faces
distant glow of conscious realities

from here I see
wedding rings around Neptune
        sleepwalking awake
          weightless again
          the ebb and flow
of Light year therapies
meditative monologues
threadbare Thetas
           my return Home
            Alone----together

Saving

You cannot save me 
From old age, a traitorous prostate, 
Wine and the distance of wasted time,  
Careful sensual memory loss,  
The compulsion to be awake at nights deepest, 
The fragility of remembrance, dangerous dance, 
Ice nor autumns drying leaves. 
 
You cannot save me 
From funerals,  
Uncommon monologues, 
The time to dwell on the yellow photos 
Of a stranger’s life, nor the  
The consequence 
Of regret and the lack of poems. 

You cannot save me, 
From misplaced longing, 
Empty victories, privileged defeats, 
Unwanted kisses,  
Lost fears, 
And ever-shortening days. 

You cannot save me, 
I have no need, 
In the realm of the undisputed 
I have you.

Bet You Don'T Like To Read Poems

Nicely penned poems are very rare to be adored.
The brilliant wisdom expressed through words is always being ignored.
People care less about sharing what poets want to convey.
They care more about the issues of others; have much more things to say.

A rhyme royal poem is nothing compared to a Facebook meme.
A disdained Dizain is more silent than a Twitter’s scream.
And so my folks will give you thumbs up for a cleavage post.
They get more a thousand hearts than a magnificently written prose.

If poetry can only flabbergast the world once again and trend,
Its words can be passed through ages and transcend.
For what is worth to listen and read is a literary masterpiece.
Not to mention my neighbor who shares rumors online; I never get peace.

If all that is going on in the media can be transposed to poetry,
It would make books of elegies and dramatic monologues in my country.
But I can sense the people’s loss of interest; many poems are ignored.
Nicely penned poems are very rare to be adored.

Note: I always feel that my friends on social media have no care at all about poems that I posted. I don't know but I just find things really very weird.

Oversize Ego

She's in love with the sound of her own voice
The pitch the tone the octave
Her one favorite topic is herself
She loves her audience captive and attentive
Their politeness is nothing short of adoration
Convinced there's no topic more worthy of the podium
She pictures herself filling the city stadium
Why else would she practice delivering monologues
She constantly craves to hear echoes of applause
Won't entertain the thought of nothing less
Imagining thunder of roaring standing ovations
She's bold she's grand she's totally delusional
Many have tried to break her but she's steady won't back down
She stands tall like a medal winning million dollar baby
She's always been daddy's girl and can do no wrong



AP: Honorable Mention 2022

Posted on February 20, 2020

Metaphors, Euphoria and Paranoia

Here I am-- again
Grabbing my pen, scribbling my pain
Into bleeding and excruciating words
That might end up killing me.
Damn, I need to let this out! 
I need to release all the dramas and doubt. 
My pen cries of simile again
Fighting considerately  in vain, 
Creating make-believe stories, 
Drowned in almost vivid memories. 
I try to ensconce myself
In awesome poems and proses
While gripping thorny roses
Trying to fix my broken self.
Metaphors that speak euphoria, 
Rhymes that sound like paranoia, 
Stanzas full of painful battles
Writing frustrations with beautiful titles--
Out of melancholy or perhaps emptiness--
I locked my soul in unreal happiness.
I opted to unspoken dialogues
Where I never have second thoughts on monologues. 
This is how I silently wept. 
This is where my thoughts are kept.

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