Ritual One
As I enter the theatre the play is going on.
I hear the father say to the son on stage,
You’ve taken the motor apart.
The son replies, The roof is leaking.
The father retorts, The tire is flat.
Tiptoeing down the aisle, I find my seat,
edge my way in across a dozen kneecaps
as I tremble for my sanity.
I have heard doomed voices calling on god the electrode.
Sure enough, as I start to sit
a scream rises from beneath me.
It is one of the players.
If I come down, I’ll break his neck,
caught between the seat and the backrest.
Now the audience and the players on stage,
their heads turned towards me, are waiting
for the sound of the break. Must I?
Those in my aisle nod slowly, reading my mind,
their eyes fixed on me, and I understand
that each has done the same.
Must I kill this man as the price of my admission
to this play? His screams continue loud and long.
I am at a loss as to what to do,
I panic, I freeze.
My training has been to eat the flesh of pig.
I might even have been able to slit a throat.
As a child I witnessed the dead chickens
over a barrel of sawdust absorbing their blood.
I then brought them in a bag to my father
who sold them across his counter. Liking him,
I learned to like people and enjoy their company too,
which of course brought me to this play.
But how angry I become.
Now everybody is shouting at me to sit down,
sit down or I’ll be thrown out.
The father and son have stepped off stage
and come striding down the aisle side by side.
They reach me, grab me by the shoulder
and force me down. I scream, I scream,
as if to cover the sound of the neck breaking.
All through the play I scream
and am invited on stage to take a bow.
I lose my senses and kick the actors in the teeth.
There is more laughter
and the actors acknowledge my performance with a bow.
How should I understand this?
Is it to say that if I machine-gun the theatre
from left to right they will respond with applause
that would only gradually diminish with each death?
I wonder then whether logically I should kill myself
too out of admiration. A question indeed,
as I return to my seat and observe a new act
of children playfully aiming their kicks
at each other’s groins.
poem by David Ignatow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Seeing My Acting
Seeing me can be a different issue,
Hearing me delivers your sound as well.
Painfully, my sight is drawn to the other side,
By reading the pages of a book called theatre.
The cold air in this arena makes me shiver foolishly,
Actors betray us when they speak of another dialogue,
The dialogue is in fiction, dialogues are meaningful.
My seeing reduces the other side, this rainbow,
This lights my stage, in a manner of majesty.
The seeing of me is like a simple direction
To the right of the stage that is a performance.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stage
If the world is just a stage
and we're the actors in it,
why do the same ones get to play
the lead roles every minute?
For once I'd like to see a change
take place upon this stage
where the lead characters are the poor
stepping out of their cage.
Where all the minor roles would be given out
to all the power players
who've controlled this drama from the start
having never said their prayers.
And as the curtain rose each day
we would look and see
the poor and needy in front row seats,
the rulers in standing room only.
If this is just a stage we're on
and life is just a play,
then wouldn't it be ingenious
to see them all portray
us.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0082 The Myself Place
When you were a child, where was it? For there's always
some place: somewhere you go, when all you want
is just to be yourself - because
it's all too much, or not enough;
you've lost what matters most, or
not sure just what you're really looking for;
and so there's nothing else to do but go
to that friendliest place on earth, that's all your very own;
the myself place.
Street cafes, bars, can sometimes be that place:
the sun shines; relaxed, you watch the passing scene
with an assumed slight superiority
that goes with the seat price;
or alcohol soothes all in friendly gaze:
they're just the actors, extras in your play; so sit; enjoy;
smile at the world with goodwill, even love;
a few more visits, it can soon become
the myself place.
Porches, stoops, verandahs -
what a brilliant idea:
put it all aside; you've fed well, so now watch the play
from the best seat in the house:
you're there in lordly public stage box, if they want to stop and talk; and
backstage there's love enough to script your every dream: meanwhile,
the myself place.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Get Off The Stage
Oh, you silly old man
You silly old man
Youre making a fool of yourself
So get off the stage
You silly old man
In your misguided trousers
With your mascara and your fender guitar
And you think you can arouse us ?
But the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
Downstage, and offstage
Dont you feel all run in ?
And do you wonder when they will take it away ?
This is your final fling
But then applause ran high
But for the patience of the ones behind you
As a verse drags on like a month drags on
Its very short, but it seems very long
And the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
So, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when we get down off of the stage
Please stay off the stage - all day !
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when weve had our money back
Then Id like your back in plaster
Oh, I know that you say
How age has no meaning
Oh, but here is your audience now
And theyre screaming :
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
Because Ive given you enough of my time
And the money that wasnt even mine
Have you seen yourself recently ?
Oh, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
For whom the bell tolls
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Fractured Love
I'm caught in a dream
Sometimes it ain't what it seems
I'm all in a daze
Can't find my way out of this maze
I'm looking for clues
And wanting a change in the rules
I'm locked in a cage
Acting out on the wrong stage
Don't want your sympathy
Don't need the third degree
Just got to break away and scream
I'm caught in a dream
I'm stood at the edge and I'm looking down
Caught in the danger zone
I feel like a king that has lost his crown
And now I stand here alone
Don't want your sympathy
Don't need the third degree
Just got to break away and scream
I'M CAUGHT IN A DREAM!!!
Fractured love
song performed by by Def Leppard from Retro Active
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hush goes the crowd
(The music plays, the stage is lit, the crowd come in and a man starts to sing)
Hush goes the crowd,
While I sing this sad love ballad,
The story of my heart,
And I continue singing,
One by one,
The leave the theatre,
And soon I’m left alone,
Singing this ballad,
While I weep before every word,
From daybreak to midnight,
From spring till to winter,
I sing this melancholy filled ballad,
Murmuring these words,
As my throat dry’s,
(The man is on his knees)
Now in a empty theatre,
This song still plays,
Even though I’m alone,
My speech does not stop,
And from a sad ballad,
This song his turned into screams,
Shattering through,
Deafening every living being,
But it isn’t even heard,
No not even listened to,
By the muse of this song,
If only she heard my voice,
If only she would come to this theatre,
(Sound of weeping, tears hit the stage floor; the light slowly fades, till there is only silence and darkness)
Then the Hong is hit,
And I awake to sing again,
The same old lyrics,
There is a new audience in the seats,
But she is not here,
She will never be,
Where she is,
Is far away,
(The music plays again and he starts to sing then hush say’s the crowd)
poem by Paurakh Shrestha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Plays
ALAS, how soon the hours are over
Counted us out to play the lover!
And how much narrower is the stage
Allotted us to play the sage!
But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands! beside,
How long the audience sits before us!
How many prompters! what a chorus!
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
THIS IS OUR WORLD! ! (SHOCKING n EXPLICIT)
Where a child lives in a warm mother's cocoon
Where a child is sold to the prostitutes, her life doomed
Where a father fiercely protects his child
Yet another father enters another's child
Where children play without any fear
Where men enter boys through the rear
Where a child gets a new toy every day
Where a child becomes a toy near the bay
Where a child is whooped up and twirled
Where a child is forced down and hurled
Where they go to fancy schools, sing and play
Where for a single meal, they sweat and labour all day
poem by Renu Rakheja
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Scream And Shout
Yeah
All right
Oh yeah
Oh, come on boys
Your lights sheen nothing like sparkles
You look like you're toast
Put you hands up in the air
Treat me like a host
I wonder if you're ready
But I can't hear you breathe
My nerves are not quite steady
But you will only see that
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Take me higher
Higher
Higher
Scream and shout
Coats are smaller in this asylum
I can see what's on your minds
Looking for some truth
Is what you really want to find
Cause we are pure escapists
Yes times are getting tough
We just want to rock and roll
We can't get enough
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Take me higher
Higher
Higher
Scream and shout
Hahahahahaha!
You see that from the front row
We are shapes of things to come
You're handcuffed to your seat
And there is no place left to run
Your brains are in our power
We ponder as we feed
A healthy dose of metal
And that's all you'll ever need
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Shout to the car
(Shout to the car)
I want it all, yeah
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Out
Out!
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Theatre Of The Absurd
(ian hunter)
My tea turned seven shades darker
As I sit n write these words
And londons gettin paler
In my theatre of the absurd.
You figured for an evening
And you made it all worthwile.
Its seldom people have a job
And even rarer that I smile.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
And if your songs be classics,
Throw them to the hurd.
Truth is where they came from
And not this theatre of the absurd.
Some say you wanted to play for me
But its only what youve heard
That made you want to capture me
In your theatre of the absurd.
It was not me, I said myself
And you must do so, too.
I hope you have the strength to stay
When Ill be watchin you.
So baby,
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
Oh when I got here back home tonight
Something within me stirred.
Oh it must have been a different kind of play
That touched my theatre of the absurd.
Now Ill be on my way alone
But an interesting thing occurred
See nobody ever shared too much
In my theatre of the absurd.
And there I was back in london,
Thought about history.
It was just like being in school again
But I felt something movin in me.
Hearin just a bit of the future,
Oh its comin and its still blurred
And thats the only thing worth living for
In my theatre of the absurd.
Come on,
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Oh play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
(beautiful)
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
(john, come on)
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Oh, play me some, (come on, eric) play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Oh, play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
...
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The play-writes curse
The play-writes curse
~
Give me a stage
and the world to write
give me characters
to fit my plot line
give me time and money
to assemble my script
that I may play with ideas
and work what fits
give me the option
for a sudden plot twist
give me set designers
who understand my mind
and actors to follow
whatever my command
give me wine and ink
that I may drink them both
in all my madness
give me your hope
give me this and a stage
that I may write you a play
but please I beg of you
before you give me anything
give me the opening line
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
King Electric
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I was cutting a dash down bleecker street
The sewer was a-staiming underneath my feet
I looked down macdougal bout half a block
Said to myself thats where you come from
I got a vision right there and then in my minds eye
You in your finery, strolling by
Hands on your hip and your guitar case
Sound of the future blowing in your face
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I stepped down the stairs, ventured through the door
Sound nearly knocked me clean to singapore
Black man child waltzing cross the stage
Squeezing guitar, singing purple haze
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I remember back home, many moons ago
I had a front-room band, you should have heard us blow
We were rough as a dog, loud as sin
With a lead guitar player, name of davy flynn
He could play with his teeth, upside of his head
He could make that thing ring like a-raising that dead
You were his idol, you were his man
I didnt get it then davy, now I understand
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
cos you were just to early, I was just too late
You were just too fine, you were just too great
You were just too real, you were just too true
This world wasnt beautiful enough for you
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
Keep your electric eye on me, babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah
Keep your electric eye on me, babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Letter to God
dear god
how little i feel
about myself
despite your claim
that i am the top
of your creation
a little virus
would kill me off
i feel mysellf
a plaything
your plaything
a toy, a puppet
and the world your stage
with my role written
where i should play out my part
talk about freewill?
is there one?
one plus one equals two
an empty stomach
does not have free will
to choose?
a woman with
near dead child at her hands
knows free will is spoken
only by the gods
in their written scripts
to enliven their puppets
to act out
i know too after all
the theatrical parts
like a buffalo led by the noose
i will be torn out
of existence
as you plan your next play
like the sun
that comes after heavy rain
the land cleaned of its dirt,
where fresh breeze blows
i am but then
would be lost
in existence
consciouness
torn to shreds
to get your next
theatre going
not a trace of mine
would be left
on this stage
where i had acted out my part
with flesh, blood and soul
free will
no freewill and all
god, you the puppeteers
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Hearing Of A Death
We lack all knowledge of this parting. Death
does not deal with us. We have no reason
to show death admiration, love or hate;
his mask of feigned tragic lament gives us
a false impression. The world's stage is still
filled with roles which we play. While we worry
that our performances may not please,
death also performs, although to no applause.
But as you left us, there broke upon this stage
a glimpse of reality, shown through the slight
opening through which you dissapeared: green,
evergreen, bathed in sunlight, actual woods.
We keep on playiing, still anxious, our difficult roles
declaiming, accompanied by matching gestures
as required. But your presence so suddenly
removed from our midst and from our play, at times
overcomes us like a sense of that other
reality: yours, that we are so overwhelmed
and play our actual lives instead of the performance,
forgetting altogehter the applause.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Peripeteia
Of course, the familiar rustling of programs,
My hair mussed from behind by a grand gesture
Of mink. A little craning about to see
If anyone I know is in the audience,
And, as the house fills up,
A mild relief that no one there knows me.
A certain amount of getting up and down
From my aisle seat to let the others in.
Then my eyes wander briefly over the cast,
Management, stand-ins, make-up men, designers,
Perfume and liquor ads, and rise prayerlike
To the false heaven of rosetted lights,
The stucco lyres and emblems of high art
That promise, with crude Broadway honesty,
Something less than perfection:
Two bulbs are missing and Apollo’s bored.
And then the cool, drawn-out anticipation,
Not of the play itself, but the false dusk
And equally false night when the houselights
Obey some planetary rheostat
And bring a stillness on. It is that stillness
I wait for.
Before it comes,
Whether we like it or not, we are a crowd,
Foul-breathed, gum-chewing, fat with arrogance,
Passion, opinion, and appetite for blood.
But in that instant, which the mind protracts,
From dim to dark before the curtain rises,
Each of us is miraculously alone
In calm, invulnerable isolation,
Neither a neighbor nor a fellow but,
As at the beginning and end, a single soul,
With all the sweet and sour of loneliness.
I, as a connoisseur of loneliness,
Savor it richly, and set it down
In an endless umber landscape, a stubble field
Under a lilac, electric, storm-flushed sky,
Where, in companionship with worthless stones,
Mica-flecked, or at best some rusty quartz,
I stood in childhood, waiting for things to mend.
A useful discipline, perhaps. One that might lead
To solitary, self-denying work
That issues in something harmless, like a poem,
Governed by laws that stand for other laws,
Both of which aim, through kindred disciplines,
At the soul’s knowledge and habiliment.
In any case, in a self-granted freedom,
The mind, lone regent of itself, prolongs
The dark and silence; mirrors itself, delights
In consciousness of consciousness, alone,
Sufficient, nimble, touched with a small grace.
Then, as it must at last, the curtain rises,
The play begins. Something by Shakespeare.
Framed in the arched proscenium, it seems
A dream, neither better nor worse
Than whatever I shall dream after I rise
With hat and coat, go home to bed, and dream.
If anything, more limited, more strict—
No one will fly or turn into a moose.
But acceptable, like a dream, because remote,
And there is, after all, a pretty girl.
Perhaps tonight she’ll figure in the cast
I summon to my slumber and control
In vast arenas, limitless space, and time
That yield and sway in soft Einsteinian tides.
Who is she? Sylvia? Amelia Earhart?
Some creature that appears and disappears
From life, from reverie, a fugitive of dreams?
There on the stage, with awkward grace, the actors,
Beautifully costumed in Renaissance brocade,
Perform their duties, even as I must mine,
Though not, as I am, always free to smile.
Something is happening. Some consternation.
Are the knives out? Is someone’s life in danger?
And can the magic cloak and book protect?
One has, of course, real confidence in Shakespeare.
And I relax in my plush seat, convinced
That prompt as dawn and genuine as a toothache
The dream will be accomplished, provisionally true
As anything else one cares to think about.
The players are aghast. Can it be the villain,
The outrageous drunks, plotting the coup d’état,
Are slyer than we thought? Or we more innocent?
Can it be that poems lie? As in a dream,
Leaving a stunned and gap-mouthed Ferdinand,
Father and faery pageant, she, even she,
Miraculous Miranda, steps from the stage,
Moves up the aisle to my seat, where she stops,
Smiles gently, seriously, and takes my hand
And leads me out of the theatre, into a night
As luminous as noon, more deeply real,
Simply because of her hand, than any dream
Shakespeare or I or anyone ever dreamed.
poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Derangement
Everyone who gets on a stage,
Believes they can act.
Then they believe they can sing.
Then dance and entertain,
Anyone captivated.
And anyone knowing what it takes...
Wish to drag those with limited beliefs,
Off the stage!
Since all of those who seek the spotlight...
Should seek someone to tell them the truth,
About their nonexisting talents!
All folks who reach for the stage are not performers.
And despite what Shakespeare stated...
'All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players.'
I must admit,
I have to respect his perspective.
However...
Very few of his roles were performed by women, if any
Back then.
And on these 'stages' today...
These 'players' should have entertained exiting,
Prior to revealing their production of 'Derangement'
It is much too real!
With the acting lacking motivation that connects honestly,
With a conviction that is felt.
They just throw this stuff together today.
With no training or class involved.
However...
The chaos depicted?
THAT is marvelously convincing!
Those scenes,
Absolutely gets everyone's attention.
Everyone gets to be involved.
And that's really my kind of 'theatre'...
A 'hands-on' affair!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fear the Rain
I Fear the Rain!
The very sound of it is like nails to a chalk board
It has no mercy on people like me
when it rains I do not hear the soothing pitter patter, I hear screams
The very screams of people who are tormented by the rain
I do not scream for the rain
the rain will not break me
I refuse to scream for the rain
The rain loves the screams of people like me
But I will not scream
I Fear the Rain!
Of Modern Poetry
The poem of the mind in the act of finding
What will suffice. It has not always had
To find: the scene was set; it repeated what
Was in the script.
Then the theatre was changed
To something else. Its past was a souvenir.
It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place.
It has to face the men of the time and to meet
The women of the time. It has to think about war
And it has to find what will suffice. It has
To construct a new stage. It has to be on that stage
And, like an insatiable actor, slowly and
With meditation, speak words that in the ear,
In the delicatest ear of the mind, repeat,
Exactly, that which it wants to hear, at the sound
Of which, an invisible audience listens,
Not to the play, but to itself, expressed
In an emotion as of two people, as of two
Emotions becoming one. The actor is
A metaphysician in the dark, twanging
An instrument, twanging a wiry string that gives
Sounds passing through sudden rightnesses, wholly
Containing the mind, below which it cannot descend,
Beyond which it has no will to rise.
It must
Be the finding of a satisfaction, and may
Be of a man skating, a woman dancing, a woman
Combing. The poem of the act of the mind.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Little Lover
Saw you in the front row
Moving to the beat
(just movin and groovin)
Killed me when I saw
The wet patch on your seat
(wasnt coca cola)
Oh baby
I hope you liked the show
When the band said good night
I had to say hello
Chorus:
Little lover, I cant get you off my mind
Little lover, Ive been trying hard to find
Someone like you
Oh baby
You sure looked sweet
(cruisin)
A leg either side
Of my motorcycle seat
(just oozin)
Could have been a nightmare
Could have been a dream
But on my way home, babe
I thought I heard you scream
Chorus
You had my picture
On your bedroom wall
(next to gary glitter)
I was standing on the stage
Playing rock n roll
(I was a guitar picker)
Never had a record
Never had a hit
Oh baby
You didnt mind a bit
Chorus
Baby I know youre a -
Little lover
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Left Right
The master playwright
Urges you to play right/play wrong;
Life is long and every nights the first night.
The wardrobe mistress
Urges you to dress left/dress right;
What a mess when your underpants are too tight.
Whos on the stage door
To help you find the way in/way out?
Its not a sin to be knowing that you dont know.
When you breathe your last line
Will you make your exit stage left/stage right?
Well, you might decide while theres still time.
You have an angel on your shoulder
But you wear the old gods horns.
And you dance around the maypole
While the vicar makes a toast
To the pagan celebration
And extends an invitation to us all
So he can save us when we fall.
Whos your leading lady?
Will you help to get her off the bus? its best
To pass the test before you get too lazy.
Strike up the orchestra.
Take your cues on the up-beat/beat down
Anyone who says he doesnt like the sound.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!