"performers" poems
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Street performers.
Busking. Panhandling. Begging.
An artist’s most submissive position.
Music’s all-powerful mystery beholden to pocket change.
Until a blind man, guitar in hand,
On the Blue Line platform,
Plucks from an unsuspecting heart
An unmistakable theme-
“What can you say about a 25-year-old girl who died?”
An unmistakable love story...
One bill and some coins in his collection basket,
A mysterious, gentle reminder-
Dynamics come wholly undone.
I drop in my all-powerful dollar,
All aboard the train.
Down here and now will I
Write for the first time in nearly three years.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
Hypnotic music, joyous sounds surround
The fans, all entranced by the performers.
The drummer happily bashes and pounds
Everything he sees shaped like cylinders.
The hi-hat steadily keeps the rhythm,
The bass drum makes a thud, quite powerful.
The crowd can't help but nod along with him
As he makes these beats so insatiable.
The cymbals create such fearful crashes,
And his finely tuned snare shoots roaring pops
Hurtling towards the off-guard masses,
This manic madness just can't seem to stop!
What exactly does he have left to prove?
*He simply wants to see everyone groove!*
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
*Two performers debating on a quirky time capsule stage
Evaporating the barriers of time with their improv
As the spectators breathe life into their routine with no turmoil*
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
Rascals, ruffians and rogues alike.
Slumming the alleys with their slurs,
And sewage rats.
Across the streets, just beyond the performers.
The dames of paradise carrying flowered parasols.
*A ***** she is. Stupid Alessandra!* one said.
The hooligans hugged each other with glee,
As the women struck each other,
With their spiteful words.
Filthy, is the life of the cleaner souls,
And rich, is the life of the poorest minds.
Alas, the weirdest of them all is God.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Maids at noon
Performers in the eve'
Maria and Ayla worked,
For every penny they stole.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Forged by Hephaestus himself, tempered in Satan's heart.
It moves too fast for the normal eye to see,
But leaves traces of moon glinted footsteps in the fissure of heaven's breath.
In the harmonic tune of clashing instruments, an orchestrated chaos is present.
The chord from the bowstring beats time on wooden shields.
To this, their blade waltz continues.
Their cadence unmatched by surrounding performers,
The maestros continue their viperous style.
Just as a painter cannot take away a stroke of the brush,
A swordsman cannot take away a stroke of the blade.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear.
It is the oldest trick in the book.
Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it.
Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act.
The trick is always done by a stressed magician,
The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick.
They hide under the pretence of being stressed.
They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives.
Never quitting
And
Always over rehearsing.
The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing.
Until it becomes like a habit,
Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act.
That they are too obsessed to realized they had become addicted to it.
They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it.
Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it.
The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing.
The trick is like every other disappearing magic act.
First the object is lit on fire with a light,
Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well.
Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale
And ...ta da.
While the Smoke rises
It is estimated
14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing.
However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
Put on the old LPs tonight, Alex,
from a time long before you were born.
Top of the queue was Petula Clark
belting out Don't Give Up,
defiant as an alley cat in a street fight.
Remembered how in her heyday,
she'd been forced to conceal
the fact that she was married ---
all performers being mysteriously
virginal in those days.
Thoughts segue several years
to my time in the service and
a female lieutenant who was my OIC.
Served a 20 year career,
but never knew a finer officer.
She realized leadership was saying
the things that made you want to follow.
Just after making captain,
due to pregnancy, she was forced
to terminate her service career.
Today, women routinely travel in space,
perform extreme surgeries,
design skyscrappers;
one just might become president.
And somewhere in the tenements of NYC
a young poet spins metaphor
straight from the streets and the cosmos,
constructing a world in lines
we'd all wish to enter.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
Come one, come all
We together, create the greatest circus of all
You. You. and you as well
Stop by and see it happen
All of the glitz and glamour
They're fighting, over center ring
Silence please.
For the performers concentration
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 12:49 AM UTC
I like my frame
They match me well
I wear them with style
Others are hung over
Hide the black bags
Wear them on a drunk night
That's not right
Shades worn on summer days
Watching the game
Performers rock them on stage
Keep them cool and coordinated
Wear them with proud
You could wear them to stare
Look around but look cool
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
I've experienced the exuberance of youth.
Through endless summer days, of blissful childhood ignorance.
I have drempt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was mine, most any night. I was to live, forever.
I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation.
And to such a degree, I have tasted the bitterness of rejection.
I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be ******
I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose
was to spread their premise of the brotherhood of man.
I have seen them chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth.
I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for their notoriety.
I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'.
I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms.
I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's.
I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished.
I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today.
I have lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
I want to learn to whistle
Like my daddy did.
I wanted to learn it since
I was a little kid
You know, you put two fingers
Just inside your lips.
No, not the whole fingers
Just the very tips.
With that kind of whistle
I could stop a fight
Or call a taxi to me
On a rainy night.
I could whistle while applauding
Let performers know
Whatever they were doing
I enjoyed it so.
It works well during sports
Like a referee’s call.
The way I whistle nobody
Would hear it at all.
If I had a doggie I could call him
Then I whistle really loud
And he would come running
I would be so proud.
And of course I could tell
Somebody walking by
That they were pretty hot and
They had caught my eye.
But if I try to do that now,
They have to be
Not further than a couple
Of feet from me.
You’ve heard that kind of whistle
In shows on your TV.
I wish that kind of whistle
Could come from me.
So, I wish I could whistle
Like my daddy could.
Maybe someday I will learn.
Knock on wood.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the George Washingtons
of my generation.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the Thomas Jeffersons
and the
Benjamin Franklins who
aren't afraid to dream of
words that haven't been
created
and things that have
yet to be
designed.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the
Revolutionaries who
have yet to be
born.
For the Paul Reveres
who have yet
to take their midnight
rides
one if by land,
two if by sea.
one if by land,
two if by sea.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the
modern day
Lewis and Clarks who
explored a land beyond
exploration's eye.
For the Sacagawea guides that
guide from a shining sea
to a sea of gold.
For the immigrants who
traversed waters of salty tears
made solely of their own fears.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the slaves held captive
not by their captors,
but by their own fears,
hopes,
desires
and dreams.
Afraid to pursue a land
just slightly beyond their own
R e a c h.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the conductors of the railroad
that was unseen.
The one that ran not on
coal and steam,
but the one that
ran on
Dreams.
I wanta write a poem for the ages,
for the Teddy Roosevelt
conservationists
and the Stravinsky
concert pianists
and the Maya Angelou
performers,
and the,
people.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the soldiers battling
for a cause they didn't
even start.
For the lives that gave their
lives for a cause,
because they believed in
The cause.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the Daddy who's still
looking for work,
For the Mommy who has
given up
Hope.
For the widow and
her orphan,
For the soup kitchens
that can't
stay open long enough.
For the failing
Economy.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the mustached
man in Germany
rising to a power
ever Grand.
For the nations willing to
ignore it if they can.
For the day that everything
changed.
December 7th, 1941
will forever live
in infamy.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the unconquered Jews who
fought back.
For Anne Frank and her
family.
I wanta write a poem for the ages
For the modern day
Martin Luther King
Jr.'s.
For the ones
who
Aren't afraid to challenge a
System designed to
fight against them.
For the
modern day
Claudette Colvins.
The ones who
aren't afraid to sit down
to make a stand.
I wanta write poem for the ages
For the modern day
Buzz Aldrins
who are
altogether underrated
Just
because they came in
Second.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.
A poem that speaks louder
than words
and goes beyond
generations.
So I wrote a poem for the ages.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
She comes,
and she goes.
She comes,
and she goes.
And I just seem to stay,
in the same exact place everyday.
While she goes off to see the carnival show.
A life full of joy.
Cotton candy, stunt performers, and trippy tents.
Won't you please soften the blow?
She comes,
and she goes.
She comes,
and she goes.
Spin the ghost of time around,
like a revolving door.
What has this all been for?
All the days bought and spent,
wonder just where those kisses went.
Hope they leave home before the Sun will glow.
And the stars hide behind it's rays.
And fall into false days.
Won't you please soften the blow?
She comes,
before she goes.
And before she comes,
she dances beautifully on her toes.
She's alone and she's cool.
She's enough to make you feel a fool!
Words being said.
Flightless birds sitting in bed.
Wonder if she will go,
or if she will stay.
Guess I won't know until a day oh so far away.
Wont't you please soften the blow?
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 5:52 AM UTC
The club is small and dark and hazy
like the veiled comedy of minstrel performers.
Those dingy lights do little for the atmosphere—
dangling hemp from clouds of cigarette smoke.
This hole is filled with the classy of day and the
sassy of night—a real “blue material” kinda crowd.
Harry, the manager, after calling quarter and five,
booked some awful oleo acts just minutes before
“places!”
—The crowd sits on their hands ‘til they’re numb
and lame like the fish they watch flop on the boards.
Two acts down followed by some soot-covered
clown’s lazzo about who’s who and what’s what.
Give me a break! The crowd wants fresh fish to fry—
Girlies in pearlies with spun out legs that tower
the torsos they’re pinned to. Give them that
New York Style Cheese-cakewalk Variety Act!
The listless listeners of this K.A. circuit let out a
snake-like hiss, en masse. (The only show stoppers
are off the billing, stage left at some other club!)
The manager thinks fast like a quick change act—
Harry snatches a prop from the nearest kook—
In a long brown bathrobe, with a broad brown cane.
He hushed the crowd of loud, jeering jerks, in one
swift swoop of his leg-breaking, knockout **** called
The Vaudeville Hook.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
Walk slowly across the dance floor
Feeling the rhythm of music pulsing
Alone
Dancing to the sound of music
Adrenaline driven
Until exhaustion
Peering at those around
Those who have a partner
Slowly dragging lead legs in circles
To show the courage of not being afraid
Watching the soldier kiss his girl
Watch the performers captivate their audience
Watching the gowns sway
Watching as the lights dim
And the music halts
I dance alone
To the sound of music
Playing in my head
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
Did you ever see those circus performers with the spinning plates?
Plates on poles spinning, spinning, spinning
You could never understand how they kept so many up
spinning, spinning, spinning
Just as one is about to fall
you can already hear the crash in your head
the shattering of porcelain on the ground
they spin it again and it stabilizes
just barely
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Grace flows between her fingers,
As her body flows with the rhythmic beat of the song,
Feeling inches and inches of passion growing inside her limbs,
As she loses herself in the beautiful dance of perfection
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
This dot kami’s ‘Nam when I see you’re all neutral
To futile lords still passin’ Acts of Removal
Pretentious performers as if upon stages
Of casting call characters caught up in cages
Like ****** who off-shore **** the poor on vacations
I’m diggin’ up dirt on the founders’ plantations
When bail-outs are ballots and bullets are mallets
Why not be a rabbit hole in Hefner’s palace?
And dare call it talent, a gift or a passion
Just model behavior for slaves to a fashion
Show running the breadlines when crimes are a dime
In the dozens of ***** Weinsteins on your minds
Instead of the felons when court is in Sessions
Instead of the under-oath treason confessions
In rapid succession they feed you the buzz
Until nobody cares what the debt ceiling was
When the roof has been raised for the privatize party
The right wants us dead and the left shows up tardy
I’m sorry “you people” are making me sick
Guess I’ll just pop a pill from the cabinet pick
Like has-been Michael Flynn’s and these Ex-Tillersons
Resource hogs cloggin’ bogs up with smogs of odd jobs
They’re the slEASIEST Slytherins still seemin’ Jesus
Pro-life until *** aid is the fetus
Egregious excesses of who the **** needs this
Huge 2nd place trophy wife ivory tower
Big guns for a stickless diplomacy coward
Here’s my golden shower tricklin’ down your faces
You blatantly ****** repeal and replacists
You war-profiteering, grand **** of old Racists and fakers, uranium cacres
Still stuffing the stockings of doomsday clock-makers
With melting North Pole lumps of coal-hearted cash
‘Till every last Christmas trees nothing but ash
As the fascist machine builds its pyramid scheme
On the dreams of the themes of your Disney World screen
But the credits will roll as the talking heads stroll in
The shoe bombs of Terrorist’s livelihoods stolen
But I leave ‘em spinnin’ like Christopher Nolan
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
People say that I'm foolish,
a bundle of velocity.
These magnificent stylings,
the simple joy of being me.
Stares curious and curiouser,
cocked eyebrows and murmurs.
Astonished minds bleat society,
cower from smiling performers.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 1:12 PM UTC
People wobbling in the heat haze like a real time hall of mirrors
Street performers sing & flamenco & mime
The snap of digital cameras & excited chatter outside the cathedral
Sangria cold & fruity as it slides down easily
The tram glides past the beggars & hawkers
Gypsies’ curses in coarse andalucian as rosemary favours are repelled
Excited Asians watching every move Large Americans loudly exclaiming their delight as the light fades into dusk
Now the Feria comes alive all lights & ferris wheels & music so much music
Men on horseback women ride sidesaddle all in traditional dress
A throwback to a time before bailouts & austerity
Sing & Dance & Eat & laugh & joke
As dusk becomes evening the ottoman turrets light up
The cooler night air seems to remove inhibitions as people from different worlds celebrate humanity with cheers & smiles
Muchos Gracias & Bueno & Buena Noches in various accents fill the night as the spell is broken
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Music is a complex language communicated bye the heart an soul of its performers.
Beats and rhythms communicating emotions that we have lack of words to describe.
someone who can understand music
In all its forms and beauty
Is someone who can understand me.
And the deepest parts of my soul.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC