Playwright Poems - Poems about Playwright

By George (burn hing* hard), I Shaw tried to be a stinking playwright offers his unsolicited tidbits as scene courtesy the following virtually staged philosophical insight. Arch back like a professional ballet dancer to stand out from other pedestrian applicants seeking to fill my well-worn shoes that fit my little feet. Illuminate your soul via modest communication sans...

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A playwright crafts plays... right? let's coin the word "poemwright" it's understandable, at first sight it'll catch on (well, it might!) :-D...

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By George (burning hard), I Shaw tried to playwright offers his unsolicited tidbits as scene courtesy the following virtually staged philosophical insight. Arch back like a professional ballet dancer to stand out from other pedestrian applicants seeking to fill my well-worn shoes that fit my little feet. Illuminate your soul via modest communication sans toe tilly tubular sole...

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Aristophanes, my favourite Attic writer, When he had pen in hand, was a fighter Politics and poetics: his precious topics I know not politics, he loved but poetics Aristophanes, my favourite Attic writer, Clung this man to clouds I know tighter For his Clouds disperse all our doubts But his Birds shroud my eyes with clouds Aristophanes, my favourite Attic...

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I saw your wet dog face emboldened as a Herald upon your missing limb. His thick creases deeply lined between his nose, eyes and gaping mouth. The creviced, cutting, contours ran a moist mist black on your thick fur. I trace a finger in your dog's mouth and feel it's bark. Put both my palms round heavy jowls...

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I was once an actor, But the lawyer came. I was a fighter, too, But the referee came. They chased me throughout the forest. They kidnapped me from the wilderness. I was stripped to skin. I faced death. Now I am fenced within the prison of helotry. Now I cluster with the billions --- Fenced within the prison of helotry....

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What say you to a game of cards? But, sir, how much better you are! A game of chess, mayhap is bought? Sir, you are witty, and beat you I'll not! Then perhaps a turn about the hall? Surely not, for I will fall! How's your skill with arrow and bow? I should tell you to lay low! A sword, then, is your...

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Dulcet electrical-guitars playing as I draw graffiti on the sky-line. There’s more to me than converse shoes and These lonely brown eyes. This force within me is, Shaking- Aching. I am waiting to be written. I’ll be your masterpiece, and you can be my Playwright- Dress me up in dramatic irony. You can knock me out from setting to setting- Be the cause...

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There it is again the discomfort, not pain, no sickness. Not physical anyway, but discomfort so indescribable, Secured thoughts within my mind, no one knows. Raging, jealous, implacable wishes unforgivable, My mind constantly churning, desire of real reveling, Caught in a whirlwind of constant upheaval of life, Do others have these thoughts running about? Do they crave the ending of this discomfort...

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