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K Balachandran Oct 2017
Storm clouds sound their gongs aloud,
call the whole world's attention to the ensemble
of tall,dark,handsome actors lined up for a
performance spectacular
Lightening gives cryptic signals at times,
of the change of scene,rain lashes with a sweet vengeance,
till the clouds relent,and go light and white.
The cloud theater had it's ritualistic culmination,
the expectation of imminent plenty soars,
rushing streams fill gushing rivers that get
swelled,roar delighted all the way to ocean
Steve Page Oct 2017
My stomach retracted,
shrank into a black hole,
******* in any courage
that had been stubborn enough
to hang around.

The mic stared at me,
back lit and back dropped
with the steady throb
of anticipation waiting in judgement.
I gripped it
as the lifeline and shield
that it had become -
as I let loose the words
half remembered from an eon ago.

And after a blur of feeble utterance
I fell into the envelope of applause,
part filling the void within and lifting my heart,
until it reached my mouth,
ready for my next poem.

My stomach hesitated,
but held its ground.
...
For all you brave souls out there behind the mic.
archwolf-angel Sep 2017
Someone once told me
That a stage was the best place for us to escape
We could express truth
No secrets
No hiding places
Just sweet and safe honesty


The stage
Soon became a place I called home
A blank piece of canvas
My own creation
My own world


Spotlights in line
My voice heard
Loud and clear
I lived a life...
...tedious but fulfilling


But my monologue ended
And I left the stage
I did not turn back...

*...And now I'm homesick
I gave up my dream of being a theatre actress, and now I will always look back and regret it.

Will I regret... giving you up?
Thomas Conlan Aug 2017
Trapped inside this cranial ride,
I watch from eyes determined to hide.

From your lips,
your body,
your sensual touch,
I find the feelings are too much;

I shut myself in.

The sin of such a travesty is too much for me to take.
So I sit inside my skull and fake,
the only way that I know how;
I dance around your moves,
speak my lines, and bow.
I put on a play and perform perfectly
to distract from my abnormality.

These open eyes reveal lies of a cowardly man in disguise.
Who locks himself in his head alone to practice every ****** and moan.
samihah wildwood Jul 2017
you are
the depth in the backdrop
the swirling dust motes in the angled lighting
the soft ascent of velvet curtains
brushing against a bare stage

as well as
the lead role

— backstage | the whole performance
you set yourself up for the things you convince yourself into being
Cherisse May May 2017
No matter the spotlight and attention
Or the sea of applause
Or the congratulations from everyone
You still think I don't matter.

No matter what performance I do
Or show I make
Or the difference it makes
I still do not matter.

No matter
What talent I have
If I wasn't him
I'll never be good enough.
i'm sorry.
Martin Narrod May 2017
Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weight some surprise them, in an integers shock-appraisal. Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the *****, grab at the ***** thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their *******, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2017
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I execute it all for pay.
My daily trade is killing time.

I slice the day up like a lime
in sections green and silver-gray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

I'm practiced in this pantomime,
proficient, quite au fait.
My daily trade is killing time.

Like a hit man in his prime
I knock off the hours of the day.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

Yet killing here is not a crime;
it's merely the established way.
My daily trade is killing time.

No. killing here is not a crime;
it's the toll road through this fray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
My daily trade is killing time.
As a person who likes to stay busy, I hated it when, after 16 years as Audit Director at a university, I was transferred to Assistant Controller working for a person who truly earned her title as "Controller". Since the decision had not been hers, she resented it (as close as I can figure, anyway) so she held back on assigning me work or letting me do work, even when she talked about being swamped. Also it was a large office and I couldn't help but notice a lot of "goofing off". The situation was grist for the mill for this poem...and luckily didn't last long. I left and went in a whole new direction and have been my own boss ever since. :-)
Druzzayne Rika Mar 2017
The echo was all around
there was violin playing in the background
The colour were red , brown and yellow
And strong emotions were going in flow
The place was candle lit
The show was on ,the stage with act
Silence and hands ,ready for applause
All enamoured by magnificent performance

But in midst ,there was slight mishap
Entire drama halts with one mess up
And everyone's attentions on the disrupt
All the efforts went to waste with the interrupt
Everyone forgot the show , and voices rose
The enchanted crowd now are indifferent
The performance became ordinary from brilliant

A small thing going faulty can make your efforts go awry
A small mistakes might makes a big difference
A small wrong can undo every rights
cait Mar 2017
i watch each act
you're putting on
i clap at intermission

but i can see right through
your costume
yes i can truly listen

with every laugh
you belt out
i hear you loud and clear

while the rest of
the whole audience roars
in your skin you shake with fear

you've put on this show
too often
not enough rest between nights

that you and i both know now
you're imprisoned by the
spotlights.
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