"rehearsal" poems
She left Reno
in a satin slip
the color of hot coins
pouring from slots,
wearing chewed-up tennis shoes,
mirrors multiplying her,
the marquee burning out
letter by letter,
a hush pressed between her teeth
as if saving the last note.
I followed,
a gangly shadow,
mother’s voice in my ear:
"life is not a freeway exit."
But she was the exit.
She drove west
through a glittering throat.
In Tonopah she was a waitress,
red stains on her wrists,
sleeves tugged low,
coffee pouring thin as blood.
In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna,
halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass.
At a gas station in Needles
shimmering into a coyote’s shadow
and slipped behind the pumps.
Then movement along the fence,
low, quick—
gone again.
Casinos blinked like electric relics.
Truckers called her sugar,
greedy hands counting her ribs
as if she was the paycheck
sweating in their fist,
but she slipped away each time,
her silhouette already moulting-
a serpent skin, a smoke-trail,
a saint’s shadow burning off the wall.
By Malibu, the night
had softened to velvet.
The pier at Zuma
leaned into the Pacific
like a broken bridge.
She sang to me—
low, cracked—
then let the slip fall.
Her body cut into the dark tide,
no disguise.
I waded in after her,
ankles bruised by rock.
Water lit with jellyfish,
each pulse a warning.
I stopped where it deepened,
felt the pull take hold.
No exit left,
just the Pacific’s mouth
closing around her.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
Abandonment in the form of a 8 year old who's most loyal friend triped n left him to be beaten by the 5th graders
Abandonment in the form of a 10 year old boy, told to wait outside before going to the park only to wait an hour n see his siblings return in a sweat from the park.
Abandonment in the form of a 15 year old boy, told to wait in front of school for rehearsal only to be told a lie n wait there for countless hours while rehearsals were somewhere else.
Abandonment in the form of a 17 year old boy, told to come out to eat with friends only to return from the restroom n be left with the bill.
Abandonment in the form of a 21 year
Old man, who realized people aren't what they seem n abandoned them all.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
*Continuous change is ubiquitous
Scripting a new script for us
Without rehearsal we take the stage*
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
2 am coffee rings on my bedside table
procrastination at the expense of a letter grade
Nana's hand-stitched quilt has never felt so soft
But her funeral hit me hard
That quilt draped over her coffin
matched the color scheme
of the one she made for a little girl
who love butterflies and spring time
I remember pool side juice boxes
stuffed animals from a pretty lady
she was nice to me
her mom was mean to her
she cried at the funeral
Nana was a better mother to her than
her own ever dared to be
her sister found cigarettes
shes so thin now
I remember her lipstick
its always been red
it looks so red on her skin
the color of the ash
that falls from her stick
matching the skin of Papa
Nana's son
He sang at her funeral
He cried the whole time
Everyone cried
Not me
but I cant cry
Jade Green words
she read them
spotty reading with bad rehearsal
but I remember
her and I and him and my brother
juice boxes
quilts
that pool
its all her
and
I wish I had known her well enough
to miss her
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Prosecco cocktails, être pour la danse,
cassis pour moi avec limoncello,
madame, passion fruit, and blood oranges
très grownup, breakfast at Tiffany's,
she is all sunglasses and Audreyfied,
me and George P., struggling writers,
checking if i got enough cash
or have to exit smooth, just in case,
maybe we leave our
coats behind, as ransom?
lincoln center plaza cross-dressers,
past the opera,
the sun, a balmy thirty five degrees,
laughing at us teasingly,
cause tonight and tomorrow,
*********** all the day,
winter kisses
in case we forgot,
early March
first belongs to the Ides of Winter
Afternoon of a Faun,
another ballet, origin,
a Mallarmé poem.
(you begin to comprehend)
yes quite so,
a perfect synopsis of the day,
Acheron imported from Scarlett Liam
who lives in the U.K.,
but comes to choreograph here,
for gloria Americana
sundown, soul cold back,
"lest we forget,"
but the dancers bid us adieu
with a rousing waltz, frenchified,
La Valse, une poème chorégraphique,
by Ravel, bien sûr!
aroused and heart gladdened,
return home for
for veal chop love
two hours of *** banging,
kitchen banishment, (Yay!)
chanterelles steeped in red wine,
coverlet for a non-vegan tasting,
English peas, red and purple potatoes,
and for desert,
a diet dream of verbal exchanged of detailed
I love you's
He: I love you,
She (happy), replies: I love you more.
(this repartee ballet, has been rehearsal danced before)
He: Why?
She: Because you are kind and generous, to street beggars, my single friends, good and smart, love art,
and never let me down, and love my cooking, leave space for others when you park, go thru life making waiters and ticket takers smile and laugh, sleep for hours your head on my hip, write me crazy love poems about veal chops
He: What's for desert tonight?
She: A ****
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
I'm a Kool g rockin' coogis poppin' coochies
Haters get murked like Colhese my rap lease
Debutin' numero uno the heavy weight sumo
Born on Jupiter raised on Earth my heart's colder than Pluto
Mic judo flows stickin' of ya corticals
Check me in the articles I be the broken particle
Of the universal ya need rehearsal **** goin' commerical
I lay raps like a hearse flow for rappers funeral
I a criminal none keep gats by the abdominal rhymin' phenomenal the mighty Apollo
Blazin' my cocoa flippin' crime like Bardellino
One luv to my nino got it locked like a Vegas casino
We checkin' ya dough at the front door so stop ya show
Fronting and stunting once my nines get the hunting
Bullets spikin' like kickers punting raw taunting
Game hungriest similiar to the lochness
Mon-star far from subpar rhymes ride bizzare
A pharcyde takin' ya into a spiritual homicide converged to the angelic hide
Still a crime shame all of 'em say the same
Thing flexin' diamonds on they pinky rings yet another sad soul that sings sub siblings
To the underworld debators contract initiator so you can create a
Pace between the stage and the audience face
**** that rather keep a gat tucked in the front or the back
With wisdom to rack
Imagine that fools breakin' for stats? see where my heart at?
Diggin' reachin' into the minds of the youth with the brutal truths
Chippin' my tooth
From killin' booths once I plot ya will ya loose
bringin' the ghetto blues and cruising *****
Still a sober jealous God am I call me Jehovah
Tactics of a Cobra one strike it's over
Venomous ridiculous hataz so conspicuous
Hatin' us only to anger my artillery surplus and who bust?
More rounds than Matt Dillion coatin' ya brains
With my lyrical penicillin stealin'
Back the spotlight
Catch the bright sunshine that stares into my mind
A Pharoah prophecy laid in the back of me
Head til I touch my final resting bed I'll embed
The realist **** ya ever heard shooting a bird
To all my enemies I blast at 'em with as the bullets herd
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
middle of rehearsal and she says,
“mix it up! stand by someone from...
a different section.”
making eye contact with that choir boy,
secretly wanting to stand together,
wondering if he did too.
so without hesitation
i moved.
one quick glance,
determination in our eyes,
we were ready;
and we plunged into our song,
harmonizing to the soprano melodies,
making our voices climb and sink
back into our lower ranges,
supporting one another.
the entire medley-
my voice strong
his voice stronger,
my adrenaline rushing
his calmness securing,
my exhilaration rising
his soul smiling.
nearing our triumphant conclusion,
closing together in perfect unison.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
Don't wait, because life goes faster
than you think and worrying will
never change the outcome so enjoy
life now because this is not a rehearsal.
Time goes on so whatever your
going to do, you had better do it
knowing that to live is the rarest thing
in the world as most people just exist
and that is all.
Every morning that you wake up you
have two choices and that is to
continue to sleep with your dreams
or to wake up and chaise them.
In the blink of an eye everything can
and will change because nothing
ever stays the same in the game of life
and every time that we embrace a
memory we meet again with those
we love and those we have loved.
We worry about tomorrow like it
was promised and we wonder
why that if time is infinite, why
is there never enough of it?
Accept the sweet and the bitter
along with the joys and the sorrows
that enter into your life everyday
because tomorrow isn't guaranteed
so stay patient and accept your
journey knowing that some walks
you have to take alone.
Jon York
2016
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
does a lion lie do lies settle here,
beneath these sheets in these nested enclosures,
i've found myself strewn upon? or corridors, from i to places
never invented?
or just clusters of stars,
too distant seven things
from wherever i found myself, burnt oceans into sand;
or what breathing was, two glimmering points.
or emptiness?
there you were, a sign of rehearsal,
pulling life down, on trails hung or omen, or,
in perfect lines from just kind of nothing
each &every; spark in the sky at
all.
*nine. sharp.
am i
always just
this unmotivated?*
do i truly perceive
the embedding nothingness does this get
from life, or just in dream still? any easier?
i'd rather find
myself at
the bottom of the ocean,
some
days,
i guess. sorry.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
There are days
When I look at the week before me
And only see the list of things
To be completed and checked of
No joy, simply a methodical process
I call life
But I had an exam this week
For dance not school
A change in the schedule
Stressful, yes
But also an accomplishment greater than my average week
And as I came out of the exam
I remembered why I put myself through hours of rehearsal each week
Because when I perform
I am alive
I am full of an energy
High on the sense of pride and self-esteem I don't feel any other time
Feeling like, for a moment, I can do anything
It doesn't last all that long
But that's is okay
Because now I've remembered
And I won't forget again
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
Having a Coke with You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the **** Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
by,
FRANK O'HARA
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
The young Musicians are at rehearsal...the ladies and the lords will soon gather in the music chamber...and Caravaggio's musicians will play them some music and sing them various songs...but first, they must rehearse...
The Musicians at Rehearsal
Let us continue…
Let me tune a little of this lute
while you peruse the notes
and you clear your throat
And what’s our Cupid doing?
Crushing grapes again between his teeth
Let us rehearse well
to render a song of softness
and ease and grace
A song of love
with sweet music
that will charm our guests
And we shall present it
in the private chamber
of honored lords and ladies -
and we shall sing like angels
and one of us will be as Cupid
dancing and flying as fancy takes him
Let us hurry now
though let us not forget polish
and pace and perfection…
come, let us again rehearse together
...and soon the ladies and the lords will arrive...and the musicians will perform and sing their songs of love, passion and sadness...
...and the ladies and the lords are seated in the music chamber...and Caravaggio's musicians play and they sing a song of love and passion...
Song of Love
O luscious Ladies
and brave Sirs
the clouds join
with one another
and the streams sing;
the birds sit amorous
on the branches
and the trees sway
while the flowers spread their scent
in the air
and the bees dance in a daze
ah, Ladies are made for men
and men for women
and each so shaped for perfect fits -
embrace then the lover beside you
O Sirs pick the red berries
on the lips of the luscious ladies;
and O lovely Ladies,
yield to the embrace
of the gallant beside you
and feel flowers bloom within -
for men are made for women
and women for men
and each so shaped for perfect fits
O embrace and kiss
dear luscious Ladies
and most accomplished Sirs
for Cupid seeks that you make love
and produce heavenly cherubim
who in turn, nights and days,
will make love like you do
now in this chamber of pleasures
...and so ends the first song...and the musicians prepare to sing one more for the charming ladies and the elegant lords...a song of sadness to end the night...
...the beautiful ladies and the lords want more from Caravaggio's musicians... the musicians are always glad to oblige..they sing their song of sadness, of loss and love...
O this ecstasy we call love
O this ecstasy we call love -
what is it?
why do we crave it
when there is such pain
that weighs on the body and heart?
O this joy we call love -
what is it?
why do we fall
when there is so much deceit
and betrayal?
why do we love
when there are lies
and hidden motives?
O this curse called love -
it has dried my heart out
and my being is smeared
as cloth with oil and grime;
my best times have been taken away
and there is left only
contempt and scorn
and derision…
O this darkness we call love -
what is it?
why do we still move to it
even as it teases us
and leaves us broken
and forlorn?
...and it is time to go...and the ladies and lords bow and they depart...some depart hand in hand...silent...some depart alone, sad and contemplative...
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
Soft lips, unspoken
Staring blank
Around again
Word by word
Replaying the scene
Dramatic
Hyperbole
No rehearsal
Pastime practice
Pastime haunting
Pastime caring
Pastime's gone.
Stay here with me.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
379
Rehearsal to Ourselves
Of a Withdrawn Delight—
Affords a Bliss like ******
Omnipotent—Acute—
We will not drop the Dirk—
Because We love the Wound
The Dirk Commemorate—Itself
Remind Us that we died.
2.4k
You said you wanted to be an actor
Well you got the part
You were playing your character so well you made me think you actually loved me
But you didn't, it was all just scene one right?
Play rehearsal to you I guess
because you never cared about, me never loved me
i’m nothing to you just a temporary setback when she’s not there but
even then I don’t exist to you anymore
I’m nothing but a background character
You don’t even look me anymore
and it hurts me to hear that everything go so good between you and her
I want to break down and cry on the spot
But that’s not in the script is it?
It doesn't matter to you, you only see her
I’m fading into the background as I watch the rest of the play
you never cared it was just one scene in the whole grand play
I want it all to stop
I can’t handle this anymore
I want to yell cut and end this agony
It all hurts way too much
The plays over and done with
I fell for someone who wasn’t even real
I lost all feeling of reality after that
When the curtains closed and it was all said and done you took a piece of me with you
Now i’m left here with part of myself missing
Part that I’m never getting back
I feel so ******* broken
I don’t want my life anymore, give the role to someone else…
and even after all the **** that happened throughout this stupid play
I still love you…
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
Is this not what it's all about?
Waiting in the wings,
stretching, turning, churning,
anxious and adrenal,
living for the dream,
wishing for the dream,
being
the dream,
dancing on beams,
beneath the streams
of lights and fans,
arrayed like a bird
in tulle, crinoline, silk, satin and linen
white plumage,
acting only on command,
the music soft and flowing
their frail, slender figures
take to air,
arms and legs,
torsos tender,
slender necks,
wisps of downy hair,
melding colours,
sights and sounds,
the stage a pedestal of fate,
their beauty
captured
in gilded cages
for all to watch and see,
recaptured yet again,
by the artist on the easel'd window
of his canvas,
a maestro of sorts,
tapping his baton-brush,
coating the blankness with sweet
inspiration,
like angels heavenly
brought to earth,
serenaded by strings,
life from the blankness begins,
covers the void,
bejewels the mind's eye
and beckons the ballet
rehearsal to begin,
yet shall in oil paint now
and for all time
never cease to be...
"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."
Edgar Degas
____________
Inspired by the painting by Impressionist artist Edgar Degas,
The Rehearsal.
--to view the painting:
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/degas/ballet/degas.rehearsal.jpg
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 3:24 AM UTC
I have observed that history rhymes,
with no exact repeats each time.
As foreign nationals flock to fight
For ISIS and the Caliphate.
It seems I’ve heard this tune before
When socialists fought in the
Spanish war.
That dress rehearsal for World War Two
That played out on the Iberian plains.
Then Communists and Fascists fought
and idealists were slaughtered for their dreams.
Now in the village of Kobane
Its U.S. drones, not **** Planes,
The Kurds expel the men in black
Who leave behind their friends remains.
Foreign fighters by the score
won’t need their passports anymore.
They fought against America,
Is this a second Guernica?
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
There Is Something Impossibly Impulsive About The Body We Wore.
Like A Costume On Stage, Every Change Felt Like A Quick One.
We Were Ripping Layers Of Cotton and Silk, Away.
Never Naked, Just Feeling Like Maybe You Might Of Left With A Little Less Than What You Came With.
We Stood Back-lit, Like Stage Props.
Held Frozen By Spot Lights, Unable To Reach Out And Touch Each Other.
Afraid.
Like We Might Break One Another.
The Ridged Lines, Hard Pallor Skeleton, Like Road maps, Through Broadway, And The Whites Of Our Eyes.
We Were A Balcony Away, Dusty Velvet And Aged Satin.
Palms Prints, Like Sheer Silk Gloves, Elbow Deep In Our Own Self Obsession, A Hallway Of Mirrors, One Thousand Watt Bulbs.
A Cast And Crew of Only You.
We’d Turn Down The House Lights, Dim The Emptiness Behind Our Eyelids, A Box Office Value, Of The Number Of Souls You Couldn't Keep Captive.
Always Realizing You Were Alone, An Underage Tragedy, Ad Libbing Our Way Through The Only Auditions That Mattered, The Ones We Needed To Make Something More Of The Masks We Wore.
There’d Be A Black Out, Long Enough For You To Get Your Bearings.
Realize This All Didn't Have To Be An Act.
There Would Always Be Red Glowing Exit Signs, Easy Outs.
But We’d Learn That You Can’t Be The Understudy In Your Own Life.
There Would Be The Curtain, A Dozen Gold Tassels, To Raise.
Break The Fourth Wall, And Divide Your Insides Apart.
Draw A Line, A Call For Places, A Dress Rehearsal, A Last Chance To Get This Right.
You’d Come To The Sound Stage Reaction.
You’re More Than A Performance.
A No Longer Tried And True Type Cast.
Please Take A Bow, Darling.
Make This Stage Worthy, Standing Ovation,
Say It.
Over rehearsed,
Side Scripted Lines,
Welcome To The Masquerade.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
~
Restless shield,
disassembled by the Serpentine's endearment...
Dormant Garden,
ambushed to bloom alluring hues...
Hummingbird,
flying overseas, painting a veiled sky...
Enigmatic rehearsal,
*yearning for what? The sweetest ****
~
© Christina Philipe
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
Subtle melody, find solace
as fingers ride the wind like wings.
Side walk top hats are my wallet,
as heartache grips the listening crowd
and just like that, the wind too sings
along with my torn fingered strings,
that fly like heartache sung aloud,
and come alive like Spring.
My fingers know which notes to tear away.
The violin knows what wind it needs for tune.
I'll rest the base against my neck and play,
Street corners my rehearsal room,
in coldest winter or sunniest spring;
In frigid night, in scorching day,
I'll play. My blistered fingers know the way.
Seasons come and go astray.
Plucking fingers freeze and burn.
But everywhere by bow resolves to turn,
the wind follows, waiting for my word;
His cue to take the stage and sing
songs that come alive like Spring
and my smiling fingers know which string
will permit the wind be heard.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Breezes stir the linen curtains
Vases of lilacs, azaleas, daffodils, buttercups,
Daisies, and many other flowers
Sit upon your nightstand
The butterflies dance in your room
And brighten your days
With warm honeyed rays
Of sunlight falling down
Liking the curtain of dusk
Falling down after its rehearsal
Of day is over
Tiny Fairies sprinkle pixie dust
All around your room
In hopes of you feeling well again
Pedal harps never sounded prettier
Than when they cheered you up
And filled your days
With a moment--a spark of joy
Horses gallop as if to encourage you
To feel better again
They're glad to have heard
That you feel better again
All you need is to take a little time
Glitter never sparkled
So bright and bold
As it did for you
Unicorns never flew so high
In the mystical world
Than it did that day
And I never felt so good
As I did when I heard
That all you need is
A
Little
Time
And you'll
Feel
Better
Again
!
!
.
.
.
~Marian~
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
I feel more sedated than alive,
Defying reason and questioning reality,
It’s like morbidly walking through
The endless fields of familiarity.
Slowly losing the ability to feel,
I can no longer distinct what is real,
Cold melancholy and apathy creep in my heart,
My existence becomes shrouded; like a rainbow in the dark.
Testing the bounds of sanity,
Human excess and passion flood the mind,
Releasing any bonds of any kind,
As I’m consumed by the snakes of vanity.
Laying among the ruins of my life,
As my paradise plummets down to Hell,
Because the confusion of chaos defeated me,
With kind words of reverence.
“Pride cometh before the Fall”,
As narcissism festers in self-loathing,
The feeling which makes your soul crawl,
Will cause intimacy to be exposed like clothing.
Fear is a thief for whom I hold no grudge,
And pain is a rehearsal for death.
I looked down at the abyss and took the lunge,
As my world was compressed into a single last breath.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Halloween
Dress rehearsal for
All Souls Day
All Saints Day if you believe
Day of the Dead is coming
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:55 AM UTC