While you sleep,
we are the tide coming in to smooth the sand,
leaving the beach perfect for morning.
We are like birds building nests in the dark
gathering, arranging, making ready what you'll need at dawn.
The janitor's mop is a paintbrush erasing the day's scuffs, stroke by stroke.
The baker's hands fold dough like sheets on an empty bed,
tucking in tomorrow's warmth.
The nurse holds vigil like a candle that burns all night so others can rest.
You wake to a table already set,
a fire already lit, a path already cleared
not knowing we walked it first in darkness,
our footprints disappearing behind us like snow melting at sunrise.
We are the moon's workers,
the dream's stagehands,
the ones who polish stars you'll never see falling.
At dawn, we slip away quiet as fog,
and you inherit morning clean as new paper,
forgetting that someone held the pen all night,
writing your day into being.
The last curtain came down
one evening at nine
its drapery falling
to signal ‘it’s time’
The theater dark
all stagehands have gone
alone in her presence
my final swan song
The exit door opens
a new crowd appears
applauding me onward
past laughter and tears
With one final bow
but never so sure
eternity clapping
— forever’s encore
(The Bryn Mawr Theater: August, 2025)
Her sweet smile lights up the afternoon screen
Dancing her way into America’s hearts each day,
With special gifts to the completely unsuspecting
Christmastime is replete with a massive give-away.
Take good care of yourself. Be kind to everyone.
To be mean, or put down a famous guest is taboo,
But her delight is in embarrassing her contestants
A wrong answer will force them to wallow in goo.
When the lights are turned out on the lavish set
And the stage crew is sequestered until tomorrow,
Some of the underlings will experience her wrath, for
Any perceived mistake must be paid for in sorrow.
One must watch the program carefully to see
A tinge of sadism masquerades in innocent play,
Behind the seemingly harmless veneer of fun
Lurks a nefarious force in the afternoon of each day.
This star takes delight with raucous laughter in scaring
Stagehands, the crew, and celebrity guests, too,
So subtle viewers may not realize what is happening
Like me, they will stop watching her show when they do.
EIGHTH PLACE WINNER
Written February 13, 2021
For "Bitter Satire" Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Until now, the skies were only blue or gray.
But today, wrathful Cacus set the sky ablaze.
Today, the spectral smoke choked ochre sky mirrors
exploding wildfires unleashed below.
Today the tarnished jaundice sky measures
the crumbling Constitutional edifices,
the raging roving injustice burning
everywhere across the land.
Today as thousands are driven
from their homes, the pestilence
spreads across the land,
killing hundreds of thousands.
Today the sooted grimy sky
reflects the deceitful lawless tyrant,
all his crooked crony stagehands,
his white nationalist army of tormentors,
as their raw sewage floods the rivers and streams
of our theories.
Today this climate rampage
has nothing to do with climate change.
We bask instead in the political climate
of aberrant delusions.
Today this inferno in the sky,
this ceiling of hellfire,
suffocates our oxygen of dreams.
Below, the Constitution provides
kindling for the flames
ingulfing our democracy,
the fuel for our conspiracy wildfire,
our rite of passage
to the underworld.
Published: Dissident Voice 10/18/2020
Overcome with anger
He grabbed a knife
Ran to the front
Of the auditorium
And lunged at the little clown
In the centre of the stage,
What followed was a violent struggle
Between the little clown
And his assailant
Screams and cries
And what appeared
To be a fatal stabbing,
But this was all an act...
The hysterics
The screams
The cries
The knife,
Even the little pool of blood
Trickling from the centre of the stage,
It was all an act...
Graphic, realistic
A very convincing piece of drama,
So much so
That when the curtains
Were drawn together
And the auditorium was empty,
The stagehands came
And carried the little clown's body away.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2006.
Posted 10th April 2019.
Striking colored lights dazzle
Her dynamic dance routines—
Wearing stagehands to a frazzle
Illuminating live scenes
Spotlighting three tambourines.
Her shimmering white tights cast
Opalescence unforeseen
Climaxing one last bright blast.
Caryl Ramsdale
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved.
Verse Poetry Form
July 29, 2011
"HUTAIN THIS ONE..." poetry contest sponsored by nette onclaud
~ 1st Place ~
08/03/2011
Like dodging darts in the dark
Like dodging darts to the heart
Don’t say what you really mean
Not too smart
Just know your role
Do your part
Lights, camera, action
Let’s pretend satisfaction
While the crowd assumes
The show will resume
Cause I don’t care about you
I just want to please the people
Uh oh, before they predict my intuition
Let’s take a brief intermission
Turn the lights down
Don’t make a sound
Stagehands take your mark
I need you to keep the crowd
In the dark
Set the mood
So we can start the show
But not too soon
I don’t want them to know
Even though I know
What’s supposed to be
I like to mess with reality
I’m an artist, naturally
I like fire, obviously
So I’m going to move this thing
Right on
So just play along
The master of her domain
She controls the stage
I call her surprise mistress
Her surprises are quite endless
While the crowd watches in awe
At the brilliant scene
Only I know what happens
When you don’t see
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