"amphitheater" poems
We could scale
snow capped mountains
or tiled rooftops
We could stroll
the halls of grand art galleries
or the city's graffiti stained alleys
We could sip
wine from elegant glass goblets
or instant coffee from chipped cups
We could watch
gala operas and musicals at the amphitheater
or puffy clouds as they float by in the sky
We could look
up to the vast galaxy and its starlight
or down to the metro's sleepless city lights
We could listen
to loud pulsing rhythms at a concert
or to the steady beats of each others hearts
We could go
and roam the world all day
or just stay in each others arms all night.
I can't care less
on what we could do.
Every moment would be
Fun,
Adventurous,
Exciting,
Marvelous
Grand, and
Breathtaking
As long as you are with me
and I am with you.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
I thought I would be raising a glass to freedom.
But my counterparts didn't know that history had its eyes on us.
The choices seemed apparent,
Yet, we have been left bewildered and scrambling -
Wondering whether we did all we can.
My glass is raised to freedom -
The end of freedom.
History has repeated itself.
The beginning of the end.
And thunderous applause filled the amphitheater.
Those that have felt wronged have decided the fates of those that have had no wrong doing.
Two exes.
One overwhelming Y...
It's ineffable.
We may weep and mourn today.
We may weep and mourn tomorrow.
We may be frozen in the moment -
But our legacy isn't etched in stone.
It can be changed by us all if we choose..
These sleepless nights will wear us down.
The disrupted R.E.M. may disrupt our rest.
But we must only rest until we are capable to go on.
And when we move, we will move as a force of love.
Love will oust the darkness that has descended upon us.
Love will out.
Truth will out.
We will endure the worst and rise.
And then we will raise a glass to freedom.
We will raise a glass to all.
We will raise a glass and drink to the revolution-
The revolution that will be a beacon of light for those that need it most.
In a sea of red we will be the silver lining
In a sea of red we will be the light.
We will call those home.
We will call to those that need us most.
We will be united against the fear.
We will rise and rise and rise.
We will rise until lambs become lions.
We will overcome.
We will show them that we cannot be killed or swept aside.
We will rise up.
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry
split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire
pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail
raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char
thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july
smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem
stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace
quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead
past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack
sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone
cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Wondering the evening stillness
We left the bluebell beds
And the sculptured wooden rose
To trample the wearing pathway
Down to the campus amphitheater.
A patch of daylight brought the party
To look upwards where transparent rope
Made a crossing of wavering sun beams
A celebration of Art Installations with an
unexpected rhyme.
Downwards the plateau, a semicircle of grass
Melts into July’s empty classroom of books
As wasted writing and hours of hot fluttering
In a breeze with discarded wineglasses and cups
Await the sound of trumpets and a golden crown.
Love Mary ***
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 1:54 PM UTC
Silence in the waves,
Tether me front and center,
Climbs over this coast of mine,
Fills the amphitheater
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 11:06 AM UTC
A band without an audience
Two thousand years of history
An amphitheater
Vesuvius still is trembling
It always echoes through time
Eternity on the run
I hear **down, down. Down, down.
The star is screaming**
It shares its greatest secrets
Its always us and them
**And in the end
We're only ordinary men
How do you feel?
And if your head explodes with dark forboding too**
From the dark side of the moon
We'll set the controls for the heart of the sun
And call to you across the sky
We end to become echoes again
Vesuvius
Still
Trembles
At the glory of our music
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
Chop down the city lights of Paranoia.
Cathartic beads of sweat roll
off the horrors of your back
under the saggy breast lamps
in the pitched dreams where the nightmare kids
come to watch you sleep.
Somersaulting walls made of human tissue,
the love of your life overseas, and everything you say
comes out as water torture on hollow centers of hope.
poetry is dead.
Liars smoke ten packs a day,
social criminals stroll in marathons of perdition
across the rot of post-modern vices,
their feet stomp closer to watching faces under the bed.
'This is a story. A dream!'
Everyone sees the fire under the bed.
Watch-fires earthbound by every word
before it is said,
gagged in envy--brought to glow by spineless atoms.
Every sexless sun has a beard, a saved flirtation that singes
the vacuum of today's soul,
a dead dream because you didn't pull it from the brink.
No one has a name in poetry. A task. A point. An exit.
One bed-room apartments locked with pearls
visible only to soloist dogs.
No sorry for vagueness or shut-mouth or bleeding upwards. The meter is running....
to the pharmacy
because it could be pregnant with all the possibilities.
And the whole amphitheater wants to hear one line, the life changer you brought
--here it is: Forget your name.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
*Nature welcomes you with an embrace
The wind playfully caresses you
And the crescent moon still visible
And the sun playing hide-n-seek
About to rise, coloring the flaming sky
In the amphitheater of celestial sphere
There is the drama unfolding of a new day
All the spectators, waking to the spectacular
Applauding, as a tribute to the grand illustration
Of abstract paintings, with a rich hue
Dawning on us whith a new plot to enact
The sunrise guiding us with a new ray of hope
Birds leading the way, helping us dream
To reach higher and cross new horizons
I am also a spectator in the crowd
Thronging to face life, as new day has dawned*
© Amitav (Radiance)
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
He is the Colosseum,
With high walls built up that have withstood centuries of harsh winds and violent storms.
He is looked upon with such admiration, this looming citadel of aestheticism, and is unmatched in any respect.
All who pass pay reverence to this fortress of great strength.
At first, navigating the Colosseum is a daunting task,
But as I started to wander down his narrow hallways and stroll past his looming arches,
I began to learn my way around and figure out just what it was that made him so magnificent.
And then, Thank the Deities,
I wandered upon the brilliant stadium of his heart.
But sadly I came to realize that behind his stable facade was a decaying sight, for his walls were crumbling on the inside.
The stones that were built to protect his fragile insides served a different purpose, to mock him of the storms that have hurt him in the past.
He was hidden behind this fortification and writhed in the cold darkness, alone and scared.
He was afraid to go out and fight, convinced that the violent storms outside that have battered him so, will surely come again.
I pity his soul, for having to take the time to put up each monstrous pillar, put down every concrete block, and fill every crack with cement.
He felt that this was necessary in order to be sure that no evil forces could hurt him ever again;
He was filled with hatred for the world because of what it had done to him.
But as a dedicated warrior, I musn't let him be scared any longer.
He has been gracious enough to let me into his life, into his amphitheater of a soul.
He is my Apollo, and I want to show him how beautiful the cosmos can be.
So I will be his gladiator, and fight for his name.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
I had a premonition in 1972.
I had this awful feeling
that sometime in the future
there would be only one
national park, instead of the 64
we have now, left in America:
10 square miles in the remote
northwest corner of Montana.
I just finished watching on PBS
a video of John Denver, in 1974,
performing in the Red Rock
Amphitheater located in the
Rocky Mountains. That was 49
years ago, but to me, John Denver
embodied, even if unwittingly, the
emergence of concern of the bur-
geoning existential, catastrophic
threat of climate-change Earth now
faces. Few have taken bold, proactive
measures to save all living creations
on our only home. Al Gore and
Greta Thunberg come to mind readily,
but, in reality, the multinational
corporations that still rule Earth
deem profits over prudence, let alone
curative, worldwide action. John
Denver died in a plane crash in 1997,
49 years ago. Jesus, John! Why did
you have to die so early in your life?
I, and the rest of the world, hope
my premonition is never realized.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 5:09 AM UTC
I board a public bus
A graying bus driver is a woman and then morphs into a man
A normal experience within a dream
My eyes glaze over as I assume a state of aloofness
As I tend to do when surrounded by unfamiliar people
As some sort of defense mechanism
As if the otherworldly look in my eyes
Will thwart the formation of an ill intention forming in the mind of a stranger that occupies the bus with me
Just in case
Two older men are on the bus
I don't validate their existence
When I am aloof
It feels like I am the only person truly alive
Everything gradually grows dimmer
As my inner world roars as loudly as an amphitheater.
The bus drives for hours
I've never been on this bus before and I've never been to the town I am traveling to
I'm going there to check out a church
Even though I'm not a Christian
Hours pass...
I start falling asleep in my dream
The bus has no stops
Finally, the bus reaches the end of its route
I am dropped off in front of a CVS along with the other two male passengers
One scruffy old man leers at me and smiles at me
But I act as if I didn't see him
I have no idea how to get to the church
It's getting dark
All that is around is the CVS, the bus stop, and a road with an onslaught of cars driving in either direction
Why did I make this hours long trip if I didn't even know exactly where I was going?
If only I could cross the wide street to get to the other side where the bus stop for the bus back home is
But I can't
The cars were driving at fast speeds and their was a constant flow of them
So I stood in that nakedness of uncertainty and abounding possibility
Stuck and calculating
As the sun set over this foreign place I ended up in
All because I was seeking some purpose
And yet, it brought me so far away from home,
the comforts and luxuries and certainties of home
Yet, when I awoke, something deep and vital within me knew
That I will never find my purpose within the comfort of my home.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
The depictions of
the gods are headless.
The pillars have crumbled.
The spirit has atrophied
and the wonder has gone.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Aion.
Profaned by order and rule,
rigidity takes the place of passion.
In the name of culture,
the wealthy get wealthier.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Plutus.
Blind to what is before them,
passerby’s idolize themselves.
The ancient amphitheater;
a backdrop for plastic portraits.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Narcissus.
Power shifts in the modern age.
Worship changes form.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
It’s 1:21am on a Thursday night and there’s no rain
where there should be.
There’s no weeping over the seven-colored earths
and the erosion of the skin is building up.
I have a mouth full of stumbling words,
nervous and absurd,
like wax flowers and plastic china cups;
bottles of placebos.
I have masks on the walls
and body parts on the floor.
Dim light from violet lampshades painting worlds
with minimal effort, but with profound meanings
that pretentious collegiates speak over bearded elders
while stuck in fishbowl towns, separated from the oceans of
metropolitan beliefs.
*Pulling nail fibers from fingertips with crooked teeth,
a habitual ritual christened from a darker half.
Waves of feral multitude plunging the streets
As riots of people made of fire chant the names of fallen angels
And personified martyrs.*
Episode after episode of plot-thickening exposition,
the weight of which is but a feather to the pull of the moon.
To **** my privates to a saddened resolution that’s
sweeter than a mutual **** for the sake of love.
*Penetrating me with needles as thick as bones,
Brittle as sculpted phalluses made of teeth.
Drilled out from the cavities and clamped iron
that make me grind and ******
In my sleep
out of nightmarish extremity.
Or persistent calamity.*
She’s dead, wrapped in plastic
And fountains are pouring mercury
Profuse silver-stained drooling
Ostracized from sane certainty
*The thunder of guttural bellowing
In the chasm of bed sheets,
where leather bound demons
split ***** hands under ice knifes
Muffled voices
And embryo faces
Tearing out primal smiles
Tied with black laces
In a public amphitheater.*
She’s dead, wrapped in plastic
And fountains are pouring mercury
Second time I’m seeing it drool
With a last moment of certainty.
It’s 1:41 on a Friday morning and there’s rain.
Finally.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
i was sitting drunk alone in a yellow flannel on a dirt
and patch grass hill beside an empty picnic table when
you sat down said hi my name is sam and i'm tripping face
that was no secret judging by the size of your pupils and smile
i asked to borrow a layer from your lip-gloss and
you happily obliged after verifying i had my circle-circle-dot-dot
you laughed hard and said you'd never been this high before
when you let me finger you on the ferris wheel with
the scene from the hill a distant seven minutes in our past
you watched with tears in your eyes
and smiled as i pulled my body
away from your candy thighs when the ride stopped
and stuck my sticky fingers back in my mouth
you said you listened to music better with your shirt off
and sure enough your ******* perked up like antennae
when my fingers slipped under
your half-shirt like an innocuous splinter
in the great pink epidermal amphitheater
you proved to be a nudist burlesque queen wearing
a hailstone necklace and a gold coin skirt that jingled
when you walked or skipped or rubbed your *** on me
i felt so immediately attracted to you
and i still do i can see you when i close my eyes
dancing free in a delicate psychotropic mushroom haze
whispering slap me silly as we walked hand in hand down the hill
you kept talking about your girlfriend being jealous
of my fatal blue eyes as the music drifted like breath
between us your hair was heavy with the smell
of mushrooms beer sage and rain
we took several overpriced shots of tequila and i lost
another six dollars in drink tickets when
we spent a whole dj set lying in the grass in the dark
with the lights from the stage spraying over
our heaving naked sweaty chests with my
hand in your gold net skirt and your tongue in my ear
the clouds were knotted ropes of wet white cotton
the sky became the sea and your fingers found my
feverish lips like a cool prayer
i looked up through the oak tree porthole
to find the strangulated sky
whirling in on itself like water
in a washing machine and i
let a dolphin carry me away out to where
the waves were boiling and wild
the stars salty and deep
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Her friends made an accord
To bring her cariad
They met
They embraced
with blissful laughter
The day carried on
They went to the portal's entrance
Outside
He was preoccupied
By the device he held
Outside
She met another compatriots
Who played their mischiefs
With slippery liquids
They caused chaos
And an accident happened
With a child
Who fell
The girl came to rescue
And held the kid until
The pain was gone
And
She looked at her cariad
Waiting for something
Something or someone
She looked at her
Parents
And they urged her
To enter the amphitheater
With her platonic frater
So she went
And waited outside
She faced the fragile glass
Facing her own reflection
Tucked her hair
Behind her ear
And called her cariad to go with her
In a place she felt home
And then
Through the looking glass
Waiting for him
She saw
The way he waved
Frantically
Implicating
An urgent
Goodbye
So she went outside
And saw
Her cariad
With a fair woman
She knew
She was the Eros
While she, the frater
Platonic, should be Platonic
But what's with that look?
A look of regret
A look of pity
A look of apology
On her cariad's face
As she approached and saw them
Her heart heavy
Falling in the pitch blackness
Of Oblivion
Where self deprecating
Self loathing
Self pitying
Dwell
So she closed the distance
Greeted the fair woman
Who bothered only with a side glance
At her
And so they went
And she
With them
In a brief walk
Before they went away
Until
They parted ways
Again
With her
Cariad
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
If I ever see you again,
I'll close my eyes forever
And keep your image cemented to my eyelids
If I ever hear your voice again,
I'll record it and lock myself in an amphitheater
Play it on repeat till the end of time
If I ever touch you again
I'll offer myself to the covenant,
Your sweet embrace will be the last thing I feel
If I ever love you again,
I'll dance with the devil,
For no woman can be this sweet,
A succubus in disguise
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
You came to me in a dream,
O Specter of Sensibility,
to help discern the distant
drowning dirges of dying doubt
We walked—our party’s steps
quite quicker than our own.
As the gap grew greater,
they disappeared into the night.
All alone along an amphitheater’s path,
my ghostly guardian gave life
to the story I had wished to hear.
Clarity obtained—each player was one of us.
Eyes straight ahead, she didn’t break stride.
The waves of her voice took charge,
powering the reels that play,
saying, “So, you slept to know?
“I’m here for you and you alone
so you could see me in reality.”
A proper lady she was,
so small talk preceded needs.
She went on to tell of how,
“patience at present is prudent.”
“And purposefully perplexing,” I thought,
listening in reverie.
“Just as I return oft in your dreams,
so too will what I embody come back.”
She was cold so my arms became alms.
We sat in acceptance until the crowd caved in around.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
On this cold November night
Salman Rushdie shook my hand.
An irate Ayatollah had
pronounced a fatwa on the
man
He seemed at peace, this hirsute fellow.
in his bespoke suit from Savile Row.
He signed some copies of his book
then his security man said he must go..
The lecture hall had been half full.
Perhaps some had been scared away.
I had come to hear him speak.
Freedom of speech must rule the day.
Outside Colden in the dark
an amphitheater is tucked away
A stage sunk in a bowl of grass
where Greek tragedies might be played.
Which tradition shall prevail?
I wondered to myself that day.
Will acolytes of a murderous cult
Sweep Euripides away?
A Moslem horde poured through the gates
when Rome fell for the second time.
The Divine Wisdom was defiled
and Constantine Palaeologus died.
I turn my collar against the damp
illumined by sodium vapor light
I think on Arnold's loss of faith
and ignorant armies that struggle in the
night
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
The dance of Amphitrite
I used to see
When I lived by the sea
Which in turn saw me
With her ever azure eyes
Below clouds, camphor-white
Her tides used to rise
With the coming of the night
And descend slowly
With the advent of light
I was welcomed everyday
By her king's white horses
Who galloped by her bay
I used to watch with wonder
The seagulls by her quay
Zephyrus, the west wind
Caressed her wavy locks,
Composing mellifluous harmonies
(The songs of the sea).
He brought with himself,
Ships, salts, sand
And faraway lands'
Numerous stories
The swash and backwash
Were like the ballet of nature
Performed by the sea
Which I used to see
As the sea saw me
With her ever azure eyes
As her tides used to rise
Sometimes low, sometimes high
In the Amphitheater of Amphitrite
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 6:46 AM UTC
Emptying memory:
The sun does not block out
The stars,
The soul did not absorb them
The water vanishes the fire,
Petrified light,
Executed dust of old flesh
In a tomb of earthly thoughts;
The Sol centrally corners the eye,
Blinded by the word
In a litany of days,
Crushed hopes fall on nocturnal
Flesh,
Old as Cain and Abel
As smooth as assassin pagans,
Kissing the eclipses
In a fit of rage on a wounded bird,
Theatre of peoples
In a cosmic garden
Impaling moons
And guillotining the planets,
Eating fire on burning lips,
A thirst for living water
And a wisp of gentle air,
A swarm of deities with
Overgrown origins in a circus
Of faithful,
The sanctum was exploded
With idealistic dogs licking
Their own *****
The amphitheater of man
Stained with repetitive slow thoughts,
Drunk with light
Hidden in shadows.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Jack Squat, Tom, **** Harry, Average Joe, John Doe and Mr. Smith
Decided to switch gears and do something neato
Instead of the usual nada and zilch
They went to go figure out exactly who's who in the zoo
And sure enough that's exactly what they did
They penetrated the mantel
Separated the crust
And stimulated the core
The Missionary positioned herself on her knees
And prepared to pray
They became metamorphic
They took the high ground
Ingenious
Sentiment
Fraternal twins
Both lived in eternal fret
One practiced fretwork
The other joined a fraternity
They both found each other years later at the amphitheater
They let their recessive genes surface
And clean the surface of their distressed jeans
Insane
In pain
Invain
My vanity
Is insanity
I'm panicking
The Golden age took place during My darkest days
Undisclosed illness
Indisposed
I left a bread crumb trail back to the poster board of my heroes and heroines
Masterfully
Mastery
Call me a maverick ,aster
Ask for me
Can't keep track of me
Can't keep up with me
Up keep
Big Mac attack
Crunch wrap supreme
It's not mystery
I'm a machine
Keep it clean
Make it shine and sheen
When it counted
I was unprepared and dumbfounded
But you'll never take them alive
They're already dead on the inside
I throw my voice
A slip of the lip
Plate tectonics take place
Volcanoes erupt and coat the viceroy in ash
Cherish it
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Night Thrill
Opened eyes see unseen things,
different worlds revealed all at once,
can’t you hear them?
Coming to life with ease,
breathing and living just as anything else.
The trees begin their dance,
flailing their arms,
leaves falling to the ground,
patterns making stars, snowflakes, simple beauty.
Walking through the hollowed buildings,
silent and empty in the lull of the night,
only soft cries and yells can be heard
as the beasts run wild.
In an amphitheater, vast and desolate
darkness captures the hardwood floors
and renders all life from the place,
moments from collapsing.
Footsteps across the dusty stage,
squeaks and creaks heard as the curtain rises,
a rusted chair decays on the surface,
the once living prop, struck from its glory.
A strong gust begins swirling,
rushing over the cracked floorboards,
bringing the stage to life
under the feet of a Shakespearian player.
The scene is set and not a moment too late,
a motley audience of demons and ghouls,
witness the defining moment,
a humble servant of the stage
relinquishes mortal form and ascends.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
She sells to me
Bittersweet
The symphony of seas of
Concrete
Life
Off shoreline
Timeshares near volcanoes
Sally old Betty
Once sold seashells
Drowned years before
What sold me had me
@ hello poetry:
The other shore
A flight
Amphitheater life
&
Home
Seashells on the
Seashore...
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
The river flows
and giggles.
Sails wide unfurl,
the man in the bow
allows the horizon
to be born in his eyes.
In the man's hands
there is a land,
a shore,
for him to name.
The river flows
and giggles.
A willow in a sand bank
is no geography,
only a choreography
in the amphitheater.
The river giggles
and flees, in its flow.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Breathless
You too could see
That this heart isn't your playground
Even though you promised
Are you safe?
Are you loved?
Your environment
Has taken care of you
And you speak
You speak only as you know how
Surrounded in the amphitheater
Amongst the friends and foes
I am not there
But I'm on my way
To your corroded memory
The gutted consciousness that is your mind
Night after night of questions
Left me unable to answer your repose
Tranquility
A source foreign and fragile to me
Never made voltaic by the moonlight
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC