Mar 2020
Cry, puppet, cry!
The audience is waiting, the Puppeteer prepares.
Tiny posters frame the site. Their tiny print declares:
“Welcome To The World—The Comedy Begins”
(Yanked around from **** to tomb, derided from the wings,
a doll will try to navigate while tangled in his strings).
The stage is dank and dingy, the props and players cold.
Cobwebs cake dismembered dolls from sold-out shows of old.
The curtains part…the puppets bob…at last the show’s begun!
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons start their run.
Rise, puppet, rise!
Dangle in your diapers, in shorts and then in pants.
Pirouette for pedagogues who pan your puppet prance.
Welcome to the world, dear boy, the travesty begins.
Twirl for flirts and bullies, hopscotch through the haze,
trapped in something deeper than the basic script conveys.
Papa Puppet, Mama Doll, amazed at how you’ve grown,
pray someday you’ll make a little puppet of your own.
They sacrifice. They sympathize. They stumble to and fro.
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons come and go.
Dance, puppet, dance!
For deity, for family, for country and for home.
Park your pretty plastic horse outside your plastic dome.
Welcome to the world, good sir, the tragedy begins.
Good patriarch, good neighbor, good volunteer, good friend.
Fight to save that plastic grin and plastic cash you spend,
Greet each day with grim resolve, kiss Baby Puppet ’bye.
Fall in line in lockstep in your plastic suit and tie.
Fight to face the fake parade, collapse when day is done.
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons merge to one.
Die, puppet, die!
Cry for your conscience, left at the crime,
writhing in rhythm, twitching in time.
Welcome to the world, old soul, the final act begins.
Howl into the deaf abyss, as if the night would care.
Fight to keep your plastic faith, to hold your glassy stare.
Fight to force your hinges wide, to curb your quaking springs,
to clench your dummy fingers through a hail of severed strings.
A shadow grows.
The Puppeteer’s impatient eyes appear.
The curtains close.
Children’s laughter filters through the faint applause you hear.
The paint begins to flake and peel, the plastic eyes roll back.
The stars come out to ogle.
The seasons fade to black.
Thanks for reading The Seasons. NOW PLEASE CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO READ MY MAGNUM OPUS HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS, ABOUT THE FIRST MAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
ronsandersartofprose@yahoo.com
The audience is waiting, the Puppeteer prepares.
Tiny posters frame the site. Their tiny print declares:
“Welcome To The World—The Comedy Begins”
(Yanked around from **** to tomb, derided from the wings,
a doll will try to navigate while tangled in his strings).
The stage is dank and dingy, the props and players cold.
Cobwebs cake dismembered dolls from sold-out shows of old.
The curtains part…the puppets bob…at last the show’s begun!
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons start their run.
Rise, puppet, rise!
Dangle in your diapers, in shorts and then in pants.
Pirouette for pedagogues who pan your puppet prance.
Welcome to the world, dear boy, the travesty begins.
Twirl for flirts and bullies, hopscotch through the haze,
trapped in something deeper than the basic script conveys.
Papa Puppet, Mama Doll, amazed at how you’ve grown,
pray someday you’ll make a little puppet of your own.
They sacrifice. They sympathize. They stumble to and fro.
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons come and go.
Dance, puppet, dance!
For deity, for family, for country and for home.
Park your pretty plastic horse outside your plastic dome.
Welcome to the world, good sir, the tragedy begins.
Good patriarch, good neighbor, good volunteer, good friend.
Fight to save that plastic grin and plastic cash you spend,
Greet each day with grim resolve, kiss Baby Puppet ’bye.
Fall in line in lockstep in your plastic suit and tie.
Fight to face the fake parade, collapse when day is done.
The stars come out to ogle. The seasons merge to one.
Die, puppet, die!
Cry for your conscience, left at the crime,
writhing in rhythm, twitching in time.
Welcome to the world, old soul, the final act begins.
Howl into the deaf abyss, as if the night would care.
Fight to keep your plastic faith, to hold your glassy stare.
Fight to force your hinges wide, to curb your quaking springs,
to clench your dummy fingers through a hail of severed strings.
A shadow grows.
The Puppeteer’s impatient eyes appear.
The curtains close.
Children’s laughter filters through the faint applause you hear.
The paint begins to flake and peel, the plastic eyes roll back.
The stars come out to ogle.
The seasons fade to black.
Thanks for reading The Seasons. NOW PLEASE CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO READ MY MAGNUM OPUS HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS, ABOUT THE FIRST MAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
ronsandersartofprose@yahoo.com
