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Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Journey


The yellow brick road stretches out in front of me;
I think it’s time to go fetch Dorothy.
I am the Tin Man whose heart has been stolen;
I am the fearful lion who can no longer roar.
I am a scarecrow without a brain, alone in a field.
I am what I am; my love life is no more.


Gone is the goodness of past lovers and love.
All that remains is a shell; I am a husk.
I am a ghost inside my mind’s prison;
I see many colours inside a prism.
I am somewhere over the rainbow;
I must make a decision.


What next on this journey?
I listen to Journey.

I’ll take the midnight train going anywhere…

It takes one step forward to start a thousand mile journey.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
JT Apr 2018
****, OK let's do this one more time, if this goes wrong again then we'll just have to go with what we've got

Alright let's go.
I think you should bring the boom in just a bit closer. Yeah no that's too close, it's in frame - oh. Yeah that's it. OK, sound
Check
Lights.
Check
Camera, rolling.
Uh, scene 74, take 21

Action.

So kid, I uh heard you wanna be a rockstar. You know it's a tough profession, you're gonna have to deal with these thousands of people wanting to be close to you, and you're gonna have to make sure you choose the right people to come close. Oh and the talent you need to be a true rockstar, you sure you got it?

Yeah!

Atta boy.
is this even poetry?
frankie Mar 2018
scenes replay in my mind and it feels like our feature film is a remake of the broken romance i starred in last

i told the writers to change the plot
make the lover the protagonist and not the devil throwing jabs at my heart
i told the director to change the shot
make each seen la vie en rose instead of a black and white silent film
i told the costar make the camera believe that you love me instead of deceiving it and making the audience see how much you strive to hurt me
i told the lover please, make me feel the love you were casted to display
make me beg for your touch, crave your kiss and make your lips taste like honey
make your embrace feel safe and not like a war zone
make me believe that you love me but this time mean it.
Darius M Buckley Mar 2018
Roses burn with intensity,
Each peddle opening wider.
Reveal the flame within,
Let me taste the sparks you hide there.
Hands touch when words can’t explain,
Hearts beat when music can’t exclaim.
Two as one, let us come together in this garden.
The branches hardened by years of fear, now bend into my hands, Pulling me in deeper.
There’s a symphony in my bed.
The moans linger in dissonant color.
My heart beats like a drum every time I touch her.
Hours and hours, moving through time.
Moments of silence, when you were mine.
This poem was written for a short film called "5" about various aspects of the male experience. The film is a "visual poem" that brings each intimate piece to life. This is probably the most raw and revealing I've ever been in my work.
Diana Y Mar 2018
A hope, so bittersweet.
The passage of time, so palpable.
A bed sheet drapes over man's shoulders;
People die but time goes on.
Somber house
Lingering soul
"Who we are; where we go?"

Ethereal.
Louisa Coller Mar 2018
From a poet to another, here is my proposal.
Both a poem, yet offering, and I'm not joking!
Imagine your words written on screen,
well let me tell you my friends, it's not a dream.

I am offering you a 'Little Letter', to share your talent far and wide,
for today I'm starting a brand new project for all of mankind.
We write a poem for someone we knew, or something we hold dear.

Then montage flashes, an actor still, saying your words with passion.
For I ask you, hand in hand,
would you like to be a part of this?

__________

If you have read this far, congratulations!
I just wanted to say, as someone who loves poetry and starting to get into the love of filmmaking. I want to combine our two interests. I am creating a visual, slam poetry montage short film series called 'Little Letters', this series is about poems dear to you, about someone you knew or know and of course topics or objects you treasure dearly.

If you want to take part, feel free to email me at: louisacoller@outlook.com.

If not email, feel free to send me a facebook inbox: https://www.facebook.com/LouisaColler

I can't wait to start working with you amazingly talented people.
I am accepting poets to come and help write the series (you will be credited), as well as any potential actors (West Midlands location).
Laz Farrell Feb 2018
Can’t get my head round the email
“Help me get it right”
“It’s why you do what you do”
“What you do best”
“This will wipe out the opposition”
After much soul searching he took the role
A fugitive who lives with an urban family
An honest story that comments on our times
Or an expensive risk?
It’s a case in point
I could tell you stories you couldn’t print.

A deal was made
Much needed publicity
This one can’t miss
A sure fire winner
Lavishly budgeted?
Almost everything was shot at the ranch....
I Remember the poster in the foyer
“The Goal of the assassin”
“Two ****** hours”
Initially the subject of media ridicule
An eyesore trashed traded or hauled away
Luckily fast forgotten
It died a humiliating death
Jeff S Feb 2018
Wordsworth bubbled in my cellophanate bath water
yesterday, at the candled hour.

whilst horse tails whinnied from Joshua Bell—
Tchaikovsky in brood, 1878.

Oh, but if I had thought to Bogart the whole affair, well,
I'd be a modern Michelangelo, a downright da Vinci—

a Dostoyevsky before the dawn—

propped between the cold **** and the hot,
wet behind the ears.

Then I turn the note-the page-the scene:
Don't try this at home, they echo in the shackles of

celebrity. A drowning horse has sounded better
than their confession of our normality.
Chase Graham Jan 2018
Our love is a bad scene
of a movie,
passive lines, unsavory
characters
and this gaudy
bedroom lighting
wreck any idea
of realistic drama
and if the audience applauds
when the credits roll
only you
can take the blame.
Bread of
hearth that
wreathe my
wire bare
the byway
that always
wits our
touchstone here
and paint
her screen
that market
dream with
nature while
fantasia is
always rapture
again while
wholly political
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