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Troy Feb 2020
"What will you do with your theatre degree?"

I will work day in, day out
To become someone else
To tell a message
To the entire world
a story

I will crack open the skulls
Of many making them
Rethink things
They once thought they knew

I will show everyone
Who doubted me
That they were wrong
And I have the capability
To do anything I please
As long as I believe in myself
And work hard

"I don’t know."
Derrek Estrella Feb 2020
The ticket inspector,
Or, collector
Otherwise known as
The Ticketeer
Anticipates me foolishly
With great stalactites of sweat
Immersing him
I deny him the pleasure
And stroll into the washroom
Arthur Clack Jan 2020
As she steps forward to take the final bow
and as she steps back into the dim amber glow of the fading spotlight
that once shone so brightly
she realises this is her last
she looks out towards the applauding crowd
their eyes twinkling like stars
their claps roaring like thunder
the velvet curtains close
leaving her in darkness
leaving her Alone.
M Grant Teague Dec 2019
5 till curtain
5 till my character rises again
5 till they spill my guts
5 till smiles hide death

Thank you 5
I hate you 5
A Theatre nerds dread and delight.
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2019
I hardly journey there anymore.

Those ruins are far and distant,
Far and distant, and black and grey.
Relics are moon rocks in the frozen landscape.

The grand façade of the pantheon has
Crumbled into sand. I could crush it all into
Dust beneath my heel.

The mind itself is an eye, a camera obscura,
Lit not by the moon—
That old pinged marble—

Over whose surface I skim in my tiny submarine.
The lunar scene fills my vision,
Film noir.

I spy the cold garden. In the heart of it
Gleams the litter of my chicken bones.
My cowardice the wicked reminder,

Consequence of the role I performed
For the impassive audience. I underwent
A sea change in the theatre of their minds.

On some other plane
Holy voyeurs peer through spyglass,
Seeking to undress the celestial paramour.

Such delicious vacancy—
**** statue in an arena of eyes,
Gristle picked clean by vultures.

The air is ****** dry. Cold stars
Abound in the black sky.
Smeared ink the lingering impression,

Smudged thumbprint.
Only down the road the theatre show,
actors and crew the flowers they throw.

And only one man seated down at the back,
no applause from the palms of his hand.

And red curtains this time fall and unveil,
what I should of felt from love for sale.

And don't shine those lights on me.

And you did.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
A parent in a supermarket aisle
slaps her toddler hard and
the child screams in pain and shock.

A teenager walking along a busy street
drops the wrapper of his chocolate-bar
on the footpath.

A woman in a cinema-theatre
in the middle of the movie
calls on her mobile-phone
her son to tell him about the movie,
disturbing the other movie-watchers.

A man walking his dog along a street
takes his dog off the leash and
the dog barks aggressively and lunges
at frightened pedestrians.
Prerna Singh May 2019
My puppet
Feeds on Fame
It stammers while remembering
A handful of names
She sleeps with her curtains
Wrapping all her pain
With strings made of nerves
And warm days made of rain


She can control
All her thoughts
And untouched soul
Which remains hidden behind the plot
She is a puppet
And she sees with my eyes
And understands with her brain
And if she speaks of rebellion
She would be abandoned
And killed



She would rather betray her dreams
A character at last
Amongst laughter and tears
She would see them
Cherishing her exploitation
In stories she'd receive no love
And appreciation
Oh but she would live through.
A flood for the emotionless
A puppet.


-Prerna Singh
With strings made of nerves
And warm days made of rain
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