A light instrument flows, ink darkness; folded within
Flowers; a painless, healing, prescription of treatment
Such secure grounding, found; in glowing obsidian
Happiness; gives sharp antithesis of lifes oblivion
Tectonic; the plate layer produces a fiery quill of lament
A light instrument flows, ink darkness; folded within
Waving; a molten brush of colors, results cascadian
A surgeons gift; to be given, a unique scalpel of torment
Such secure grounding, found; in glowing obsidian
Emotional eruptions; give way to a physical custodian
Islands of hope; from a mind, of seas with dubious intent
A light instrument flows, ink darkness; folded within
Feelings so igneous; venting becomes it's guardian
A healing phase; melting purposely cooled stone indent
Such secure grounding, found; in glowing obsidian
A cinder cone; written to perform acts so tragedian
Dormant, till; the next event of this calderas' fulfillment
A light instrument flows, ink darkness; folded within
Such secure grounding, found; in glowing obsidian
Categories:
tragedian, earth, emotions, extended metaphor,
Form: Villanelle
I think I'll open a tragedy club
where people can come to weep
I'll tell the saddest stories around
admission will be cheap
I'll call the venue Tragic Relief
where heartache is the norm
and "open mike night" amateurs
can mournfully perform
To be a standup tragedian
has been a lifelong dream
No longer caring to cry alone
I might even form a team
We'll bill ourselves as "Wailing & Tears"
and tour throughout the land
We'll have them bawling in the aisles
til they can hardly stand
They'll cry a mighty river
at our films from year to year
We'll throw in fresh cut onions
just to wring out every tear
Appearing at my club some time
to do a special show
the hottest new tragedians
will tell their tales of woe
No matter if your background is
from denim or fine silk
we'll gather round and cry all over
puddles of spilled milk
So take a break and come on down
and turn your joy to grief
Just keep your eyes peeled for the sign
that says Tragic Relief
Categories:
tragedian, dark, humor, irony, nonsense,
Form: Rhyme
Fall, fall, and fall again.
You want me to fall and break my bones.
All while I bleed and play your middleman.
Sticks and stones don't hurt my bones.
Darling, you're just a fool.
You think I'm as weak as before?
One, you're not cool, and two, I'm not a tool!
Who knew your weapons made me stronger?
Only your worst nightmare knew.
My pride will always shield your stab wounds.
This beautiful world of mine is bright, not blue.
I'll never welcome you to it.
I'm not going re-live the past.
Perhaps I was a little girl,
nonetheless, our history has passed.
That little girl has grown up now.
You can't remove that from me!
Haven't you grasped what you've done?
From a fragile princess to a wise queen -
this war has been settled, my old friend.
Fall, fall, and fall again.
I'll continue to fall, but not for you.
It's the way I can rise as a tragedian.
Thank you for the tragedy, it is my art.
Written On: July 3rd, 2017
Contest: SUMMER SOLSTICE PREMIERE CONTEST any form,any theme, max of 25 lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
tragedian, confidence, courage, encouraging, endurance,
Form: Free verse
Death by Turtle
(An Eagles Snack Kills Aeschylus)
With light along the quiet beach receding
Sun and sand sink on obfuscated facts
Great tragedian figures don't live forever in the past
Along the shore where Sicilian eagles lift their wings
To drop turtles from on high to crack a shell wide open
Where Aeschylus walks by
Turtles can not fly
They fall on strangers or someone famous
Perhaps a bald man who writes Greek tragedy
Just another rock according to a hungry eagle
The day goes south and sour for poor Aeschylus
Mundane walks should be as simple as a thought
Without objects falling from the sky on him
How strange is fate, a tragic twist, a comedy
Death by turtle is never kind or even great
But sure is quick
An eagles snack kills poor Aeschylus
The turtle survived but walks with a limp
Slower than usual and was never taken in for questioning
Poor thing lives with sad memories
We think the eagle quit the hard shell industry
Too many injuries
*Authors note: This happens to be a historical fact. Aeschylus was bludgeoned to death by a turtle dropped from on high by an eagle.
Categories:
tragedian, animal, appreciation, celebrity, change,
Form: Free verse
Tired of talking too much
I wish to rest my rhymes.
Now is time to give ears
To your titanic tale of tears.
The heart that was under constraint
Needs to be unburdened.
My grief-stricken lap waits for
Your grieving grievances.
You, the only speaker and I, a patient listener,
Numb but nod at your each nuance.
Let my heart beat for last
To eternalise our momentary meeting,
I with my muteness
And you with your long-awaited lyrics.
Dew drops fall from your dark eyes
Moistening your rose petaled lips
That sometimes part in a smile.
I, a tragedian of your tale,
A respondent to your reactions
With a heavy heart wipe my wet eyelashes.
Like a pair of love birds
We look lovingly at each other,
Pine over the pains of the past
And fear of the fruitless future.
Little choice we are left with
But to flow like two rivers
Yearning to meet but to end in the ocean,
Our destination, mingling together.
Categories:
tragedian, desire, destiny, life, love,
Form: Alliteration
Erato whispered in Man’s ears
poetic words that he could hear;
they are ancient as Greece itself
which became Man’s only real wealth.
Aeschylus heard her wordy waves
that sparked his tragedian plays.
Her soft words waft Man’s atmosphere
producing a William Shakespeare.
Today her words still ride the wind
murmur in the ears that listen
by few of the plurality
who pen or type their poetry.
Her words have yet to reach my ears
I’ll write in silence I can hear.
Categories:
tragedian, mythology,
Form: Verse
The Great Beauty
by Odin Roark
How short lived
This laughter made for releasing
Buried in the tragedian
Locked in the universal clown costume
We
You and me
We might watch Fellini’s balloons part
But the message of La Dolce Vita
Has faded into paparazzi history
Or perhaps
Never was
But
Taking up the Master’s baton
Paolo Sorrentino runs like a gazelle
His Great Beauty
Revisiting the question
A man lent to us
Provides a moment
Where one’s man for the ages
For our lifetime
A sufferer for both woman and man
Torn between the paternal instinct
And imagined freedom…
Becomes alone
Yet all-embracing
Such a price
We might say
Italy’s microcosmic decline
Man’s countenance on trial
His worth awaiting
A Christie's auction
Everything with its levy
Yet
What price the good life?
The good life seldom realized?
The kind lived
Then rebuked in
The Great Beauty?
Oh to seek
The unanswerable
Not the self-cocooning
Of “I know”
And the peace of inner-nothingness
Sublime’s secret
Like Sorrentino’s protagonist
We all live in bubbles
The question is about choice
Your bubble
Or
Mine?
Categories:
tragedian, life,
Form: Free verse
Inside their souls grows an imagination turning concrete.......POETRY
Memory grows in fondness and nostalgia, remembering...........PAST
Mindful of time passing, migrating to unforeseen distance........ EVER
Omen of an illusive dream, of masses yearning for a vision....PEACE
Renegaded, represseed, reposing in hope, unable to find..........LOVE
Tragedian stages the pose to act out his new silly trick...........TABOO
Advanced technology is not a blessing, but a curse to all.......... FEAR
Loquacious talks convincing Nations that his intentions are..TRUTHFUL
Pacific minds unifying the implacable roars of many voices...JUSTICE
Economic strides to make way for an age of prosperity....... AMERICA
Revering the wishes of the Natives who lost their land..........COUNTRY
Sudden triumph for the bold American troops defeating.........TALIBAN
Odious racism dividing society, which needs true unity........ HARMONY
Noble thoughts define the fortitude of valorous souls.............HISTORY
Shakespeare's plays are very efficacious in their scope..........WORDS
Categories:
tragedian, imagination, peace, people, science,
Form: Verse
Can thou's heart not see
The tragedy
Can thou's ears not hear
Melpomene's melody
This is not to end in despairing my lovesome
But to be a lovers tale
Never to be told by tragedian
Forsaken by thy lover
lovelorn I shall be
Can thou not see
it is your heart that sings her melody
Do not fear uncertainty
For it is your rib that has created me
An I who is here to shelter thee
I shall never banish thy to the cold
For it is your heart that warms me
Do no forsake me
I have done thou no misdeed
For banished to purgatory I shall be
Can thou truly not see
This is our tale to be told through out the centuries
Two lovers destine to be
I beg of thee
Do not let us fall victim to
Melpomene's melody
For our love undone would be her victory
Categories:
tragedian, life, passion, me, heart,
Form: I do not know?