"rehearsals" poems - Hello Poetry

"rehearsals" poems

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.

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Jun 6, 2014

Jun 6, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC

thalion-voronwe-aearion

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.

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acting on a stage, she builds with each step, step, step, stepping, the floorboards trail behind her feet. they form from the soil, the earth breathing beneath, wooden planks sprouting between her toes. she sings in a voice strained and trained, her diaphragm strong and core rumbling in single breaths. her skin brushed with pigment, cheeks tinted rouge and lips scrubbed till pain, gold-dusted on her bones rays reflecting and blinding from her beauty. stomach she ***** in, twenty-four seven, always prim and proper, a perfect specimen of femininity, her blood flows in a viscosity unique only to the elite. fingers down but she lacks words to throw up, she's silent, an empty vessel, her lips meant to be a two-way gate but nothing flows either way. her skin sunkissed turmeric, her irises tapioca pearls, hair flowing and falling from her face toasted nori on the white rice her dress. daily rehearsals of sixteen odd years practicing lines; memorizing them, repeating internally, the stage she builds like a church her loves oppose to the act, but she builds an antidisestablishment forcing her audience of parishioners away from her.

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Aug 23, 2018

Aug 23, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC

acting on a stage, she builds with each step, step, step, stepping, the floorboards trail behind her feet. they form from the soil, the earth breathing beneath, wooden planks sprouting between her toes. she sings in a voice strained and trained, her diaphragm strong and core rumbling in single breaths. her skin brushed with pigment, cheeks tinted rouge and lips scrubbed till pain, gold-dusted on her bones rays reflecting and blinding from her beauty. stomach she ***** in, twenty-four seven, always prim and proper, a perfect specimen of femininity, her blood flows in a viscosity unique only to the elite. fingers down but she lacks words to throw up, she's silent, an empty vessel, her lips meant to be a two-way gate but nothing flows either way. her skin sunkissed turmeric, her irises tapioca pearls, hair flowing and falling from her face toasted nori on the white rice her dress. daily rehearsals of sixteen odd years practicing lines; memorizing them, repeating internally, the stage she builds like a church her loves oppose to the act, but she builds an antidisestablishment forcing her audience of parishioners away from her.

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This year, Spring has been stopped in its tracks. Incessant rain has driven life underground, so as a diversion, we're putting on a play. It's not the real world, rather a representation of it. The director is a control freak, so her role is perfect- she can dictate without having to act. Rehearsals take place in the Philharmonic Hall where the local band used to practice. But the young have all gone to the city looking for work, so the drum kit in the corner stays shrouded in a black cloth and the unplayed snooker table supports our props. On the stage, the backdrop is dominated by a church. Its steeple points to God only knows where, aiming to instill pure thoughts. Impossible to believe, its true aim is to inject fear into its people- depending on your point of view. The main player likes to be different. He turns up. A vain attempt to give some structure to his life. Late as usual, he's unshaven, and drowsy with wine. No one can decide whether he's in character or himself. Waiting for our cue, we stand on the narrow balcony, flicking damp cigarettes into the river of rain below. Eventually, we all change, put on our monstrous armour, become the same curious creatures following the same script. Except one.... who refuses to change, deciding in his own mind where he will play his part. So he pulls on his proofed coat and heads out for the bar. Outside, the power is off. The streets are silent. Even the cafes have closed earlier than usual, tables and chairs left out in the rain chained together, like prisoners crying for release. He slips along the cobbled streets, chanting his lines in time with his own footsteps: 'There are more dead people than living....the living are getting rarer.' Even he's not sure if he's quite himself or still in character. Briefly, the clouds part to reveal the cold light of the moon, the only thing in which he has absolute faith to guide him on his way. copyright © Caroline Grace 2013

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Apr 26, 2013

Apr 26, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC

Rhinoceros ( a tribute to Eugene Onesco)

This year, Spring has been stopped in its tracks. Incessant rain has driven life underground, so as a diversion, we're putting on a play. It's not the real world, rather a representation of it. The director is a control freak, so her role is perfect- she can dictate without having to act. Rehearsals take place in the Philharmonic Hall where the local band used to practice. But the young have all gone to the city looking for work, so the drum kit in the corner stays shrouded in a black cloth and the unplayed snooker table supports our props. On the stage, the backdrop is dominated by a church. Its steeple points to God only knows where, aiming to instill pure thoughts. Impossible to believe, its true aim is to inject fear into its people- depending on your point of view. The main player likes to be different. He turns up. A vain attempt to give some structure to his life. Late as usual, he's unshaven, and drowsy with wine. No one can decide whether he's in character or himself. Waiting for our cue, we stand on the narrow balcony, flicking damp cigarettes into the river of rain below. Eventually, we all change, put on our monstrous armour, become the same curious creatures following the same script. Except one.... who refuses to change, deciding in his own mind where he will play his part. So he pulls on his proofed coat and heads out for the bar. Outside, the power is off. The streets are silent. Even the cafes have closed earlier than usual, tables and chairs left out in the rain chained together, like prisoners crying for release. He slips along the cobbled streets, chanting his lines in time with his own footsteps: 'There are more dead people than living....the living are getting rarer.' Even he's not sure if he's quite himself or still in character. Briefly, the clouds part to reveal the cold light of the moon, the only thing in which he has absolute faith to guide him on his way. copyright © Caroline Grace 2013

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I watched you dance around the floor With beads of sweat dripping from your face You had tears in your eyes It was perfect, you were perfect The place was packed with 800 people All of you prancing with emotion But i could only see their shadows Because i couldn't get my eyes off of you Every move you made was ******** You spun around, you arched your back You stared across the room and into the spotlight As if you were a slave seducing your master You had your green shirt on That hugged your body so well And I blushed as i gazed at your perfection The moment the music stopped playing You looked up at me and smiled You waved and you started to walk towards me You were saying something but I couldn't hear you I replied but I couldn't hear myself either I didn't know what we were saying I watched you walk away to join the second round of rehearsals You were set to perform that evening, I couldn't wait I could have watched you all day I would see you up on stage and I'd be proud as others see how amazing you are I doubt you know that I think you're perfect And by perfect I mean beautifully flawed You held my hand before but I never told you it made me wonder If you did it because you wanted to or because it was cold I planned to wear my white dress for you, the one with the lace and all And I planned to hand you a bouquet of flowers, but not roses Red tulips and yellow chrysanthemums, probably Or better yet hydrangeas. I don't know. I was hoping that after I slipped in my white dress And after I bought you the flowers And after you danced And after they saw how amazing you are And after I handed you the flowers That maybe we can spend some time together and maybe you can hold my hand again I hope it won't be cold so I wouldn't have to wonder, either And maybe this time when you look at me, you wouldn't look away But instead press your lips against mine What I hoped for the most was that I wouldn't wake up Because if I did, I'd have to dream this dream again till I get the ending I hoped for I don't mind seeing you every night, having all this happen again But I can't wait for the night when I'd find out how it ends

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Nov 29, 2012

Nov 29, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC

turtlelovingnewyorker

I dreamt of you

I watched you dance around the floor With beads of sweat dripping from your face You had tears in your eyes It was perfect, you were perfect The place was packed with 800 people All of you prancing with emotion But i could only see their shadows Because i couldn't get my eyes off of you Every move you made was ******** You spun around, you arched your back You stared across the room and into the spotlight As if you were a slave seducing your master You had your green shirt on That hugged your body so well And I blushed as i gazed at your perfection The moment the music stopped playing You looked up at me and smiled You waved and you started to walk towards me You were saying something but I couldn't hear you I replied but I couldn't hear myself either I didn't know what we were saying I watched you walk away to join the second round of rehearsals You were set to perform that evening, I couldn't wait I could have watched you all day I would see you up on stage and I'd be proud as others see how amazing you are I doubt you know that I think you're perfect And by perfect I mean beautifully flawed You held my hand before but I never told you it made me wonder If you did it because you wanted to or because it was cold I planned to wear my white dress for you, the one with the lace and all And I planned to hand you a bouquet of flowers, but not roses Red tulips and yellow chrysanthemums, probably Or better yet hydrangeas. I don't know. I was hoping that after I slipped in my white dress And after I bought you the flowers And after you danced And after they saw how amazing you are And after I handed you the flowers That maybe we can spend some time together and maybe you can hold my hand again I hope it won't be cold so I wouldn't have to wonder, either And maybe this time when you look at me, you wouldn't look away But instead press your lips against mine What I hoped for the most was that I wouldn't wake up Because if I did, I'd have to dream this dream again till I get the ending I hoped for I don't mind seeing you every night, having all this happen again But I can't wait for the night when I'd find out how it ends

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Black out, fade in, spot light on the boy with his guitar. Dim light, dim blue flush, she sits in the corner,wishing on her imaginary star. Same stage, same adrenaline, same passion but time never intended for them to meet. She plays on her role, and he strums away at his gig. Sound of guitar coming from his window, no audience and no standing ovations. On rented wings, she takes flight, no rehearsals, no scripts,just tucked away passion. In his camouflaged green, he wakes up to his responsibility. In her traditional prints, she's all set for the working society. The clock strikes twelve, it's the end of two thousand ten. He's at the eating place and she comes by with her friends. He's sitting at the corner and she's at the other end. Their eyes met for the very first time, when they reach out to shake hands. No lights, no stage, no audience and that adrenaline. Just the boy with his guitar, strumming and in his room she sits, watching. She talks about the plays, the roles and in his room he strums, listening. No lights, no stage, no audience, just he and her,and their spoken adrenaline. Twenty-six February, two thousand eleven. He and her, like a match made in heaven. You know what they said about heaven and earth? A new chapter begins for the guitarist and the wannabe actress.

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Nov 15, 2011

Nov 15, 2011 at 1:04 PM UTC

The Guitarist And The Actress

Black out, fade in, spot light on the boy with his guitar. Dim light, dim blue flush, she sits in the corner,wishing on her imaginary star. Same stage, same adrenaline, same passion but time never intended for them to meet. She plays on her role, and he strums away at his gig. Sound of guitar coming from his window, no audience and no standing ovations. On rented wings, she takes flight, no rehearsals, no scripts,just tucked away passion. In his camouflaged green, he wakes up to his responsibility. In her traditional prints, she's all set for the working society. The clock strikes twelve, it's the end of two thousand ten. He's at the eating place and she comes by with her friends. He's sitting at the corner and she's at the other end. Their eyes met for the very first time, when they reach out to shake hands. No lights, no stage, no audience and that adrenaline. Just the boy with his guitar, strumming and in his room she sits, watching. She talks about the plays, the roles and in his room he strums, listening. No lights, no stage, no audience, just he and her,and their spoken adrenaline. Twenty-six February, two thousand eleven. He and her, like a match made in heaven. You know what they said about heaven and earth? A new chapter begins for the guitarist and the wannabe actress.

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I am not an artist I cannot paint a beautiful landscape that makes you believe you're looking at the real thing. You will not stare in awe as you wonder what compelled me to paint those lines so uneven And I can't make my color choices dance in your eyes like sugarplum fairies Off of the canvas and into your mind For you to transpose the choreography To your own understanding I am not an artist I cannot capture a single moment in time with the simple click of a camera. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but every shot I capture seems to be silent Mute But they're beginning to be heard Screaming millions of words Hoping someone will just hear one I am not an artist I cannot make your skin shiver as my lyrics echo through the room Your emotions will not crescendo as each note burns nostalgia in your memory And I will not leave you wanting to hear more I am not an artist And I can't create a masterpiece in two hours I can't write words that will break your heart as they enter your ears and fill your soul with the emotions I'm feeling I can't make you believe that I'm actually the character I tried so hard to become at rehearsals for the last three months My movements on the dance floor dont flow with ease or grace And you will never give me a standing ovation Or shower me with roses as you cheer for the art I've created. But With every step that I take on this earth I am leaving brush strokes in the dirt and in your memory Every laugh every sob every word that I speak Is going through your ears for your own musical enjoyment My eyes are like cameras capturing every moment and every face each time my lashes flutter And even though most of we don't have photographic memories We still remember the precious moments our personal cameras caught on film I am not an artist I am art

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May 8, 2018

May 8, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC

I am not an artist

I am not an artist I cannot paint a beautiful landscape that makes you believe you're looking at the real thing. You will not stare in awe as you wonder what compelled me to paint those lines so uneven And I can't make my color choices dance in your eyes like sugarplum fairies Off of the canvas and into your mind For you to transpose the choreography To your own understanding I am not an artist I cannot capture a single moment in time with the simple click of a camera. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but every shot I capture seems to be silent Mute But they're beginning to be heard Screaming millions of words Hoping someone will just hear one I am not an artist I cannot make your skin shiver as my lyrics echo through the room Your emotions will not crescendo as each note burns nostalgia in your memory And I will not leave you wanting to hear more I am not an artist And I can't create a masterpiece in two hours I can't write words that will break your heart as they enter your ears and fill your soul with the emotions I'm feeling I can't make you believe that I'm actually the character I tried so hard to become at rehearsals for the last three months My movements on the dance floor dont flow with ease or grace And you will never give me a standing ovation Or shower me with roses as you cheer for the art I've created. But With every step that I take on this earth I am leaving brush strokes in the dirt and in your memory Every laugh every sob every word that I speak Is going through your ears for your own musical enjoyment My eyes are like cameras capturing every moment and every face each time my lashes flutter And even though most of we don't have photographic memories We still remember the precious moments our personal cameras caught on film I am not an artist I am art

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my head is filled to the brim with other **** i have to do like job applications going to class reading ******* textbooks dress rehearsals laundry writing papers that won't make any sense drinking too much coffee when all i want to do is lay shirtless on your floor with you and write poetry about the palms of your hands

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Feb 7, 2012

Feb 7, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC

michelle-reicks

my head is filled to the brim with other **** i have to do like job applications going to class reading ******* textbooks dress rehearsals laundry writing papers that won't make any sense drinking too much coffee when all i want to do is lay shirtless on your floor with you and write poetry about the palms of your hands

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Almost a week has past Since it was announced you will die A day like that was always destined to come But I am still not ready Gordon Downie I want to write your eulogy now And maybe you will see it And understand how you've changed the life Of this child of America Gordon Downie you have made me scared And if any sort of courage is going to come Let it come now I can't think of a worse time than this Why must all my heroes leave me here? But I understand that before a person becomes a saint they must perform miracles after their death The three words I would use to describe you, you already know Gordie you are a man A machine And a poem The first song I remember learning how to sing, you beckoned me in from the wicked prairie winds And now I just hope that when I hear the news of the final words I smile And it will be fine But Gordie I have avoided all the trends and clichés a young man of 20 can I have sat in parking lots and coffee shops and witnessed beautiful things continuing as long as this world will let them But it is you who has traveled to the hundredth meridian The man who can get behind anything The man who stood neck deep in the lake and yelled "you are not the ocean" and refused to swim I learned that I must be ready to live my life because we get no dress rehearsals I learned to be honest with who I am because no one's interested in the things I didn't do Gordon Downie you are the machine that powered my childhood so this poem is for you And when you die Heaven will truly be a better place And one day I will meet you there But until then I will go to Bobcaygeon And watch those constellations Reveal themselves One star At a time

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May 30, 2016

May 30, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC

daniel-robinson

A Perfect Time For Courage (Eulogy for Gordon Downie, Canadian Angel)

Almost a week has past Since it was announced you will die A day like that was always destined to come But I am still not ready Gordon Downie I want to write your eulogy now And maybe you will see it And understand how you've changed the life Of this child of America Gordon Downie you have made me scared And if any sort of courage is going to come Let it come now I can't think of a worse time than this Why must all my heroes leave me here? But I understand that before a person becomes a saint they must perform miracles after their death The three words I would use to describe you, you already know Gordie you are a man A machine And a poem The first song I remember learning how to sing, you beckoned me in from the wicked prairie winds And now I just hope that when I hear the news of the final words I smile And it will be fine But Gordie I have avoided all the trends and clichés a young man of 20 can I have sat in parking lots and coffee shops and witnessed beautiful things continuing as long as this world will let them But it is you who has traveled to the hundredth meridian The man who can get behind anything The man who stood neck deep in the lake and yelled "you are not the ocean" and refused to swim I learned that I must be ready to live my life because we get no dress rehearsals I learned to be honest with who I am because no one's interested in the things I didn't do Gordon Downie you are the machine that powered my childhood so this poem is for you And when you die Heaven will truly be a better place And one day I will meet you there But until then I will go to Bobcaygeon And watch those constellations Reveal themselves One star At a time

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Curtains up NOW OWN ~IT~ AS IF you're the King of the whole **** stage when you're really just another player acting out for those cheap seats you survey Where else **** HERE* would THEY get to see such a [defamation] -free play?" (laughing) **"Best you throw some sweets**. Indulge them ...**I'd say! ...I'd say!"** The Evil Queen smirks & a knife glints in her hand Is she creeping up Behind You? (or... does she need a real man?) Ahhhh!! you see... she's exhausted A-LADD-IN & she knows where to find you.. (evil laughter) Ohhhh! It's just as well you're in costume *...now remember your lines* "Don't props (& illusions) make a jolly good night!" and baby, WOW! you look Oh! Soooo cute in those tights! and with a sweep of the stage, the smirking Queen exits > right This stage is all yours now So Buttons... take a bow (us Brits love an underdog in a fight) ... Make your bow deep ~with a flourish of resplendence~ that captures their hearts try more than That wiggle -and a lot more- than one dance! To do it well... get a catchphrase (which we'll ALL lurvey darlink from the start) Believe me, is good Always is another... try the one you've used in rehearsals with the Stepsisters - all dragged up- looking L O V U E G L L Y (like their mother) cough **** it.. Everyone chokes on the dry ice that swirls! The audience ponders.... WHO's the boys ? THAT's... a... girl ?! & in the low glow they'll see Cinders singing of loves' sweet melody, those s l o w shoe shuffles softly sliding across their t r a p door hearts Laughing & crying along through each emotion of the tattered sweet princess, who simply hasn't had a Prince in her... winks sights (YET!) then **Act II ends with a Flash! & a Bang!** They all lived ever after... Cinders' happy? THE END

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Nov 15, 2013

Nov 15, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC

*exit stage left for dramas... ...and right for scenes* (Spoken Word)

Curtains up NOW OWN ~IT~ AS IF you're the King of the whole **** stage when you're really just another player acting out for those cheap seats you survey Where else **** HERE* would THEY get to see such a [defamation] -free play?" (laughing) **"Best you throw some sweets**. Indulge them ...**I'd say! ...I'd say!"** The Evil Queen smirks & a knife glints in her hand Is she creeping up Behind You? (or... does she need a real man?) Ahhhh!! you see... she's exhausted A-LADD-IN & she knows where to find you.. (evil laughter) Ohhhh! It's just as well you're in costume *...now remember your lines* "Don't props (& illusions) make a jolly good night!" and baby, WOW! you look Oh! Soooo cute in those tights! and with a sweep of the stage, the smirking Queen exits > right This stage is all yours now So Buttons... take a bow (us Brits love an underdog in a fight) ... Make your bow deep ~with a flourish of resplendence~ that captures their hearts try more than That wiggle -and a lot more- than one dance! To do it well... get a catchphrase (which we'll ALL lurvey darlink from the start) Believe me, is good Always is another... try the one you've used in rehearsals with the Stepsisters - all dragged up- looking L O V U E G L L Y (like their mother) cough **** it.. Everyone chokes on the dry ice that swirls! The audience ponders.... WHO's the boys ? THAT's... a... girl ?! & in the low glow they'll see Cinders singing of loves' sweet melody, those s l o w shoe shuffles softly sliding across their t r a p door hearts Laughing & crying along through each emotion of the tattered sweet princess, who simply hasn't had a Prince in her... winks sights (YET!) then **Act II ends with a Flash! & a Bang!** They all lived ever after... Cinders' happy? THE END

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Teaching high school kids the craft Directing them in their school show Teenagers singing just off key With a band that's one beat slow Holding rehearsals when the gym is free Have you really sunk this low Are you truly at your bottom Or are you "Waiting for Godot"? "YOU'RE ON IN FIFTEEN MINUTES...MR. WILSON" Doing plays in local theater groups With untrained amateurs on stage You tell them all your stories And you keep them on their page It's not exactly where you started Talent that you just can't gauge Selling programs in the lobby It's time you act your age "TEN MINUTES TILL SHOWTIME MR. WILSON" Touring shows around the country now Second touring group, smaller towns Doing revival shows of Sondheim "Sweeney Todd " and "Send in the clowns" Living out of an old suitcase The countryside a sea of browns Where you are at the local's mercy And there's less ups than there are downs "FIVE MINUTES TO SHOW TIME MR. WILSON" You've made it, you're on Broadway Starring roles are yours to choose Where the highlights of last nights show Are in today's reviews Where a sold out run continues And your name is in the news You're an actor, and you're famous The world is yours to lose "SHOW TIME MR.. WILSON...ON STAGE PLEASE" The kids are out there schlepping working their way through the ***** singing songs sung by the Beatles "All This and World War II" You're just a pillar standing, sweating As you see what you can do You're still an actor, and you know it You'll need a drink when this is through.

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Jan 6, 2013

Jan 6, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC

Teaching high school kids the craft Directing them in their school show Teenagers singing just off key With a band that's one beat slow Holding rehearsals when the gym is free Have you really sunk this low Are you truly at your bottom Or are you "Waiting for Godot"? "YOU'RE ON IN FIFTEEN MINUTES...MR. WILSON" Doing plays in local theater groups With untrained amateurs on stage You tell them all your stories And you keep them on their page It's not exactly where you started Talent that you just can't gauge Selling programs in the lobby It's time you act your age "TEN MINUTES TILL SHOWTIME MR. WILSON" Touring shows around the country now Second touring group, smaller towns Doing revival shows of Sondheim "Sweeney Todd " and "Send in the clowns" Living out of an old suitcase The countryside a sea of browns Where you are at the local's mercy And there's less ups than there are downs "FIVE MINUTES TO SHOW TIME MR. WILSON" You've made it, you're on Broadway Starring roles are yours to choose Where the highlights of last nights show Are in today's reviews Where a sold out run continues And your name is in the news You're an actor, and you're famous The world is yours to lose "SHOW TIME MR.. WILSON...ON STAGE PLEASE" The kids are out there schlepping working their way through the ***** singing songs sung by the Beatles "All This and World War II" You're just a pillar standing, sweating As you see what you can do You're still an actor, and you know it You'll need a drink when this is through.

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The only reason I ever went downtown was for music class or orchestra gigs or for LA Phil concerts, but I found this cool bookstore once. I walked around with you once during a break between rehearsals and you asked me if I thought anyone actually lived here "LA's just a movie set," you said. I was downtown for an audition once and they were filming Batman. There was fake snow everywhere and you told me that you and a friend pretended to have a snowball fight. Imagine. A snowball fight in Los Angeles. Impossible. Except when Los Angeles is Gotham or New York or Chicago for the day. No one is ever on the streets in LA. Unless LA is Gotham or New York or Chicago for the day.

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May 12, 2013

May 12, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC

Los Angeles - Snapshots

The only reason I ever went downtown was for music class or orchestra gigs or for LA Phil concerts, but I found this cool bookstore once. I walked around with you once during a break between rehearsals and you asked me if I thought anyone actually lived here "LA's just a movie set," you said. I was downtown for an audition once and they were filming Batman. There was fake snow everywhere and you told me that you and a friend pretended to have a snowball fight. Imagine. A snowball fight in Los Angeles. Impossible. Except when Los Angeles is Gotham or New York or Chicago for the day. No one is ever on the streets in LA. Unless LA is Gotham or New York or Chicago for the day.

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Conditioned in the silky soft subtleties of self scolding Following fools rehearsals I rinsed to repeat Cold lentic ceased commands as it and confidence cascaded Swirling centered in this cesspool Convictions encompassing the spectrum Congruently caved in

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Apr 25, 2012

Apr 25, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC

Conditioned in the silky soft subtleties of self scolding Following fools rehearsals I rinsed to repeat Cold lentic ceased commands as it and confidence cascaded Swirling centered in this cesspool Convictions encompassing the spectrum Congruently caved in

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A morning philosophical conversation approached the hard euthanasia question.. A saddened room as several with tears recounted their special tragedies.. their own close life endings.. Other reflections revolved around considerations of laws and rights.. troubled preferences for dark decisions made now... An afternoon wildfire with exploding fury a sudden jump of canyon walls raged into a city surprised.. Mass evacuations.. decisions right now.. demands of how to choose life.. Still many transfixed by the terrible beauty.. orange..billowing.. burning.. chaos... Assessments reach both forward and back.. questions of rehearsals for future nows.. inadequacies of many decisions past.. Somehow in our heat today.. a continuing blaze not yet contained.. new awareness..an urgent plea.. to experience life's beauty and constricting pain.. already enclosed in an expectant now...

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Jun 28, 2012

Jun 28, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC

A morning philosophical conversation approached the hard euthanasia question.. A saddened room as several with tears recounted their special tragedies.. their own close life endings.. Other reflections revolved around considerations of laws and rights.. troubled preferences for dark decisions made now... An afternoon wildfire with exploding fury a sudden jump of canyon walls raged into a city surprised.. Mass evacuations.. decisions right now.. demands of how to choose life.. Still many transfixed by the terrible beauty.. orange..billowing.. burning.. chaos... Assessments reach both forward and back.. questions of rehearsals for future nows.. inadequacies of many decisions past.. Somehow in our heat today.. a continuing blaze not yet contained.. new awareness..an urgent plea.. to experience life's beauty and constricting pain.. already enclosed in an expectant now...

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Typically the savior gets attached To the one who's falling that they catch But this is a clear role reversal Guess I missed too many play rehearsals I suppose I was your Persephone Hibernating winters on my knees Soon your Zeus-like ego began to show With all the focus on your lightning bolt I was there through all eleven seasons Throwing away caution, rhyme and reason Now you say our future is yours only Dividing a union that was holy But I refuse to coil 'round your finger Under thumb or stone I will not linger Though I'm in between Satan and the sea You will find you have no power o'er me

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Jun 27, 2015

Jun 27, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC

Typically the savior gets attached To the one who's falling that they catch But this is a clear role reversal Guess I missed too many play rehearsals I suppose I was your Persephone Hibernating winters on my knees Soon your Zeus-like ego began to show With all the focus on your lightning bolt I was there through all eleven seasons Throwing away caution, rhyme and reason Now you say our future is yours only Dividing a union that was holy But I refuse to coil 'round your finger Under thumb or stone I will not linger Though I'm in between Satan and the sea You will find you have no power o'er me

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A girl who is hoping to be with me, Theming all her poetry around me, Unable I am to reflect her feelings, Lose I did myself in my past lover. Love her I did that bit too much, Of her decisions I was an abider, Vainly are all the sacrifices I made, Except only when unavoidable, Did I ever ignore her? I did not. Killed me she with her love and deceit, Remain just the memories of her, I let my mind linger in past, Pleasured I am by her memories, I just cannot once again take chances. And I will just live with her memories, Not that I consider myself so worse, Desist I will from marriage all my life. I am so scared of loving anyone else, Slowly I watch my days running out. Now I will never be uncertain, Of course I would be sans fear, What scares me would be past. Scientist I want to become for real, Concentrate I will more on career, And her memories won't plague, Romance I will with myself more, Elephantine will be my happiness, Dress rehearsals I do for success. Old memories will not haunt me, Finally I'll be one with happiness. Last desire of my heart, Of course won't be fullfilled, Very sure because I am lonely, Enjoy I'll this eternal loneliness.

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Jun 14, 2017

Jun 14, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC

Sorry Kalpana Arora

A girl who is hoping to be with me, Theming all her poetry around me, Unable I am to reflect her feelings, Lose I did myself in my past lover. Love her I did that bit too much, Of her decisions I was an abider, Vainly are all the sacrifices I made, Except only when unavoidable, Did I ever ignore her? I did not. Killed me she with her love and deceit, Remain just the memories of her, I let my mind linger in past, Pleasured I am by her memories, I just cannot once again take chances. And I will just live with her memories, Not that I consider myself so worse, Desist I will from marriage all my life. I am so scared of loving anyone else, Slowly I watch my days running out. Now I will never be uncertain, Of course I would be sans fear, What scares me would be past. Scientist I want to become for real, Concentrate I will more on career, And her memories won't plague, Romance I will with myself more, Elephantine will be my happiness, Dress rehearsals I do for success. Old memories will not haunt me, Finally I'll be one with happiness. Last desire of my heart, Of course won't be fullfilled, Very sure because I am lonely, Enjoy I'll this eternal loneliness.

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Do you recall when it all began? Where it began? How it began? Why it began? Do you recall anything at all? Do you recall being in all the same classes? Always partnering together on assigned projects? Giving each other funny looks? Trying to make each other laugh? All those inside jokes? Our rehearsals and performances? Going on our "First Date"? Then there's those moments we always regret Not talking to each other Walking away from one another Getting frustrated at one another Pointless arguments that ruined us Forgetting one another Please don't forget me. Don't forget you. Don't forget us.

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Aug 22, 2013

Aug 22, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC

Do you remember middle school?

Do you recall when it all began? Where it began? How it began? Why it began? Do you recall anything at all? Do you recall being in all the same classes? Always partnering together on assigned projects? Giving each other funny looks? Trying to make each other laugh? All those inside jokes? Our rehearsals and performances? Going on our "First Date"? Then there's those moments we always regret Not talking to each other Walking away from one another Getting frustrated at one another Pointless arguments that ruined us Forgetting one another Please don't forget me. Don't forget you. Don't forget us.

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i mean, who does comedy with rehearsals and inviting crowds to laugh when a sign prompts them to "laugh"?

0

Mar 11, 2016

Mar 11, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

modern t.v. / i was a plumber for too long in the english press

i mean, who does comedy with rehearsals and inviting crowds to laugh when a sign prompts them to "laugh"?

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For an Actor, preparation is everything. We are much more than our face paint and props. Rehearsals can go on for hours, as we block out our scenes in our parts. So it will not surprise you that Friday The fourteenth of April found me at Ford’s theater in Washington preparing for my part in the play. My horse would be held at the ready My pistol was loaded and clean. I was known and well liked by the company. Like a ghost, I could wander unseen. I’m disappointed Grant missed my performance His wife Julia hates Mary some say. Her aversion has stolen one target, but the other will not get away. Theater is a matter of timing and I knew this crowd and this play I entered amidst raucous Laughter and fired, once, in the “Emancipator’s” brain. Some soldier attempted to grab me and got himself stabbed for his pains. I balanced myself on the railing preparing to leap on the stage. I could hear Mary Todd Lincoln Screaming. “Sic Semper Tyrannis!” I raged. My boot spur got caught in the bunting I lost balance and fell on the stage. The actors were stunned to inaction as I limped, none impeded my way. Mister Lincoln has made his last speech and likely seen his last play. What actor worth his salt wouldn’t **** to make his exit my way?

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Jan 4, 2012

Jan 4, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

For an Actor, preparation is everything. We are much more than our face paint and props. Rehearsals can go on for hours, as we block out our scenes in our parts. So it will not surprise you that Friday The fourteenth of April found me at Ford’s theater in Washington preparing for my part in the play. My horse would be held at the ready My pistol was loaded and clean. I was known and well liked by the company. Like a ghost, I could wander unseen. I’m disappointed Grant missed my performance His wife Julia hates Mary some say. Her aversion has stolen one target, but the other will not get away. Theater is a matter of timing and I knew this crowd and this play I entered amidst raucous Laughter and fired, once, in the “Emancipator’s” brain. Some soldier attempted to grab me and got himself stabbed for his pains. I balanced myself on the railing preparing to leap on the stage. I could hear Mary Todd Lincoln Screaming. “Sic Semper Tyrannis!” I raged. My boot spur got caught in the bunting I lost balance and fell on the stage. The actors were stunned to inaction as I limped, none impeded my way. Mister Lincoln has made his last speech and likely seen his last play. What actor worth his salt wouldn’t **** to make his exit my way?

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late night rehearsals jogging in my sleep most days it feels like this hard work is worth it just something i repeat to myself when life is a lull thick vellum around me

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Mar 4, 2015

Mar 4, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC

late night rehearsals jogging in my sleep most days it feels like this hard work is worth it just something i repeat to myself when life is a lull thick vellum around me

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Creeping through the kitchen sneaking out the door shhh my wee accomplice if we're quiet we'll see more left their feathers on the patio their footsteps in the earth I know there is a fairy-o lets hunt for all we're worth peeking in the buckets and underneath the stone told off by the two-year old boy them kid's do moan! "Iesus, see the fishies!" her wee order not request don't fall in, the water's cold so cling her to my chest I'm a fishy too I say she almost does believe but then instead of fish flakes she feeds me rotten leaves whoops I showed her something throwing water in the air now we both are slightly damp won't tell your mum I swear back to seeking fairies and I'm crawling in the muck got to find one somewhere AHA! we are in luck! a secret little wee one hidden all away but when she saw us coming she turned to stone all grey. not to worry little Freya when we're gone awhile she'll turn back to a fairy with her pretty smile now back to the kitchen their rehearsals going well mum looks close at her soggy sleeves mum's can always tell. what was she putting in your mouth? Oh dead leaves, well thats ok! a toddlers work is never done and adults call it play....

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Jan 26, 2011

Jan 26, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC

Off to the Garden

Creeping through the kitchen sneaking out the door shhh my wee accomplice if we're quiet we'll see more left their feathers on the patio their footsteps in the earth I know there is a fairy-o lets hunt for all we're worth peeking in the buckets and underneath the stone told off by the two-year old boy them kid's do moan! "Iesus, see the fishies!" her wee order not request don't fall in, the water's cold so cling her to my chest I'm a fishy too I say she almost does believe but then instead of fish flakes she feeds me rotten leaves whoops I showed her something throwing water in the air now we both are slightly damp won't tell your mum I swear back to seeking fairies and I'm crawling in the muck got to find one somewhere AHA! we are in luck! a secret little wee one hidden all away but when she saw us coming she turned to stone all grey. not to worry little Freya when we're gone awhile she'll turn back to a fairy with her pretty smile now back to the kitchen their rehearsals going well mum looks close at her soggy sleeves mum's can always tell. what was she putting in your mouth? Oh dead leaves, well thats ok! a toddlers work is never done and adults call it play....

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Sun slipping through clouds of evening Dampened car windows Sleepy people startled by the faint clatter of metal on tracks Quiet smells of Pop-tarts, coffee, and gasoline fill-ups Talk that stems from the weariness of the night and the promise of the morning Casual, mechanical kisses of goodbye Morning... follows night, greets the new with rehearsals of old Begins one more session of hope.

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Dec 4, 2012

Dec 4, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC

Sun slipping through clouds of evening Dampened car windows Sleepy people startled by the faint clatter of metal on tracks Quiet smells of Pop-tarts, coffee, and gasoline fill-ups Talk that stems from the weariness of the night and the promise of the morning Casual, mechanical kisses of goodbye Morning... follows night, greets the new with rehearsals of old Begins one more session of hope.

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We rocked and rolled We danced and jumped Music played on for all Ecstasy gripped the jiffy As we all in one accord Like the sheep on hillside Reached for the rhythm Dance steps synchronized To say rehearsals were rigorous But the passion for such a rhythm Was secrete for the unusual dance

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May 17, 2013

May 17, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC

tah-peter-fomonyuy

We rocked and rolled We danced and jumped Music played on for all Ecstasy gripped the jiffy As we all in one accord Like the sheep on hillside Reached for the rhythm Dance steps synchronized To say rehearsals were rigorous But the passion for such a rhythm Was secrete for the unusual dance

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Whilst you nurse and tend your Vain, Swollen Foot After hours of Practice did Hone your Length You played the Player; By Mile's Minds re-boot Merely welted your Soles from out of Strength Of course, lonely were Rehearsals increment, Much did the Egyptian wrap Portions complete But knew your Pores; Thus applied Fortiment That Stung-Itched Balm by Glossy Herbs replete The Mobile rings. Of Double Versions heard One by your chest and the Other near soul Each held Respect-of-Confections your Word Then sample enough to make your Man whole. What else could I say? Save my Starling Greet Your Long-Distance Call I would haply meet. (Happy Birthday, WILLZY!)

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May 30, 2013

May 30, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC

xavier-paolo-josh-mandreza

SONNET TRIBUTE BIRTHDAY: WILLIAM DALEY

Whilst you nurse and tend your Vain, Swollen Foot After hours of Practice did Hone your Length You played the Player; By Mile's Minds re-boot Merely welted your Soles from out of Strength Of course, lonely were Rehearsals increment, Much did the Egyptian wrap Portions complete But knew your Pores; Thus applied Fortiment That Stung-Itched Balm by Glossy Herbs replete The Mobile rings. Of Double Versions heard One by your chest and the Other near soul Each held Respect-of-Confections your Word Then sample enough to make your Man whole. What else could I say? Save my Starling Greet Your Long-Distance Call I would haply meet. (Happy Birthday, WILLZY!)

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I started school in nineteen hundred and typing error. But we were so poor growing up we had to share clothes, so I could only go to school every other day on account of being a twin. PE was a little embarrassing as I had a twin sister. It wasn't so much playing rugby in a netball skirt, no – my problem was trying to iron the pleats back in afterwards. At 6 years old I was cast in my infant schools nativity play as 3rd reserve palm tree, in a play with no palm trees in it. When I complained to the teacher she told me to stop moaning and remember what jesus taught us. “Can I be that?” I asked “What?” she said “You said jesus had a tortoise, can I be the tortoise?” At 14 years old I was given a major role in my upper schools annual PTA play. We were doing Romeo and Juliet and I was cast as – the balcony. However on the night of the performance, unlike in rehearsals, the girl playing Juliet wore stiletto heels. So when she stepped onto the balcony (me) it yelped and rolled over. She went base over apex knocking over Romeo and landed spread-eagled on the floor that revealed her underwear to the whole audience. I am sure I speak for every parent, teacher and pupil in that hall when I say that I can never look at My Little Pony in the same way ever again. She never spoke to me again – like it was my fault! (Oct 2020)

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May 20, 2025

May 20, 2025 at 6:48 AM UTC

School Days (Skool Daze?)

I started school in nineteen hundred and typing error. But we were so poor growing up we had to share clothes, so I could only go to school every other day on account of being a twin. PE was a little embarrassing as I had a twin sister. It wasn't so much playing rugby in a netball skirt, no – my problem was trying to iron the pleats back in afterwards. At 6 years old I was cast in my infant schools nativity play as 3rd reserve palm tree, in a play with no palm trees in it. When I complained to the teacher she told me to stop moaning and remember what jesus taught us. “Can I be that?” I asked “What?” she said “You said jesus had a tortoise, can I be the tortoise?” At 14 years old I was given a major role in my upper schools annual PTA play. We were doing Romeo and Juliet and I was cast as – the balcony. However on the night of the performance, unlike in rehearsals, the girl playing Juliet wore stiletto heels. So when she stepped onto the balcony (me) it yelped and rolled over. She went base over apex knocking over Romeo and landed spread-eagled on the floor that revealed her underwear to the whole audience. I am sure I speak for every parent, teacher and pupil in that hall when I say that I can never look at My Little Pony in the same way ever again. She never spoke to me again – like it was my fault! (Oct 2020)

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