Stage Master
He is an actor with brandishing sword in his hand,
Luckily his words are not sharp and pointed,
For he knows nothing but gimmicks to perform,
Day in and day out he shouts to himself.
poem by M.B.J. Pancras
Submitted by M.B.J. Pancras
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Related quotes
We all perform our lives in a way. And the actor is a perfect metaphor to get at that theme of 'how do we find our authentic selves?' And that we all - whether we're actors or not - perform ourselves. As a way of searching. As a way of fumbling around and trying to say, is this my voice? Is this who I am?
quote by Annette Bening
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Scars Of Lovers....
a sharp sword
sharpens itself against
another sword
metal to metal
to the sound of the gritting teeth
one wants to imagine
an ecstasy of
a wound
blood dropping from
a slit on the
hand
there is none here
for this is but an affair
of a sword to another sword
thinking that
there is no war but love
in the air
sweet sounds of birds
sex moans and
calls for a mating
of the season
there is this hate that hides
inside the chest
where there is no option but
to sleep with
the one that never tickles you
not a bit
where love is feigned and
subdued
by need by survival by
pretenses
that man understands it
one can see the scars
not the stars......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How to be a great actor
A great actor
Is the person who know the way
to perform magnificent natural
And to perform natural magnificently
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballot Or The Bullet
Give me liberty or give me death
No truer words have ever been said
Well are you prepared for your very last breath?
Dont you dare start what you cannot finish
So when we face, face the adversary
No longer are we the minority
And when history repeats her hour
The pendulum will swing, swing into power
Though not in vain like our forefathers
Freedom, never had no room for cowards
For in the end, there will be equality
By any means necessary
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
Whats it gonna take to liberate?
An emancipation, a false proclamation?
All these token words that you legislate
Sound a little bit absurd. hey! and a little too late
When a house is divided, it just will not stand
Once its decided, a line drawn in the sand
Ah! the ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
Held, held by the same hand!
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carl Hamblin
The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked,
And I was tarred and feathered,
For publishing this on the day the Anarchists were hanged in Chicago:
"I saw a beautiful woman with bandaged eyes
Standing on the steps of a marble temple.
Great multitudes passed in front of her,
Lifting their faces to her imploringly.
In her left hand she held a sword.
She was brandishing the sword,
Sometimes striking a child, again a laborer,
Again a slinking woman, again a lunatic.
In her right hand she held a scale;
Into the scale pieces of gold were tossed
By those who dodged the strokes of the sword.
A man in a black gown read from a manuscript:
'She is no respecter of persons.'
Then a youth wearing a red cap
Leaped to her side and snatched away the bandage.
And lo, the lashes had been eaten away
From the oozy eye-lids;
The eye-balls were seared with a milky mucus;
The madness of a dying soul
Was written on her face --
But the multitude saw why she wore the bandage."
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thunder Sword
Man did not fear man
But the hero fear death of hero
By the dangerous thunder sword
Thro his shine sword and bright eyes
That bends all head of tree with arm
Oh, thou spirit of thunder,
No sword no spear in his palm
But his hand sharp more than sword
And it killed more than fire
No man can face and defeat
Thro his molest fire of his mouth
The lightning echo on sky bewilder heart
And thunderbolts annoyed with mirror of man
Which no man can harm on earth.
.
poem by Olugbenga Ayoola.O
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The sword the body wounds, sharp words the mind.
A writer can write in an attic, or on top of a bus. Or with a sharp stick in some wet cement. To act, an actor has to have words. A stage. a camera turning.
Loves sword sharp tongue
How can you carve up my soul?
With such blunt words
haiku by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Impromptu
Keep away from sharp swords
Don't go near a lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand;
Woman's beauty too close will wound your life!
The danger of the road is not in the distance;
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often;
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
poem by Meng Chiao
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp.
quote by Terry Pratchett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God And Man
(*in response to dr. kamran bukhari's 'psyche')
and look what he does
he goes on searching
for me everywhere
except within him!
and look what he does
he goes on rampage
with a brandishing sword
and kills me in others!
i have nothing but pity
for the poor man
for in ignorance he grows
and in ignorance he dies!
04nov2009
10.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Explorations: VII
When earth caves
Under the feet
When words rain
sand particles
When what's held
Closest to breath
Throws one into
A maelstrom
When dust-storms
Of emotions blind
Eyes and mind
When whirlwinds
Drift one with
Merciless intensity
What's there to hold...?
Self-preservation
A supportive hand
Much talked of
Remain empty ideas
And emotional gimmicks...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spirit
An arched bow lined with an arrow sharp
An arrow poisonous aimed to hurt
Words born from tongues arched to pierce
A fragile spirit cracking with the first shot
What's worse than words spewed to hurt
What hurts more than a broken spirit
What's better than an encouraging word
What's more beautiful than a soaring spirit
What's wiser than silence when mad
What's more foolish than insults hurled on one who hurts
What excites more than the fall of the great
What thrills more than the shame of the mighty
What travels faster than gossip which destroys a name
A word's a hammer, a hand, a clay, a sword
You choose with each arching of your bow
To break a spirit
To build a life
To mend the broken or
To pierce the soul
As words created all we see
Words destroy all that be
Speak with ease, with words that heal.
poem by Jenim Dibie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Finally I Know Who My Enemy Is...
i am armored
on my hand is the sharpest sword
i am ready for battle
to kill the enemies
your enemies
when i am about to win
and stab the victim
you are there running
towards me
asking that i be forgiving
your enemies are spared
and they all laugh at me
my armor is rusty now
my sword not as sharp as i
once held it
now you have enemies again
asking that i go to battle
who are you? i am not stupid anymore.
Use other mercenaries
and if there is now
Go, fight yourself, and have yourself killed
so i can offer you flowers
for the dead
so i can for once rest and smile
and tell myself
i am free and i work for no one anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'The Glorious Sword
There is a Sword that is so sharp and so keen
the most Glorious Sword that has ever been.
Mighty in battle He has slain all His foes
and will have victory wherever He goes.
The Word of Truth and the Sword of the Spirit
overcame death and shall all things inherit.
He breaks our shackles and scatters all His foes
with His glory heaven and earth overflows.
Christ the Son of God is that Glorious Sword
Saviour of the world and Everlasting Lord.
Devils fear and angels sing as He draws near
And all creation waits for Him to appear.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
An actor is an actor is an actor. The less personality an actor has off stage the better. A blank canvas on which to draw the characters he plays.
quote by Arthur Lowe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 29
To strike one’s fist on a lion, and to grasp the sharp edge of a sword with the hand, is not the part of an intelligent man.
Do not fight or try thy strength with a furious man.
Hide thy hands in thy arm-pits to avoid his finger-nails.
Actor Of Love
Hold on
I have found something I longing for
To fill the hollowness of my heart
But why I'm feeling more of sorrow
Before
I am the one who said: 'Oh, I'll control'
But now I realize you are my world
And it's waiting to break apart
I'm an actor of love
I'm trying to perfect
But I'm just fooling around
I'm an actor of love
I want to be your hero
But I've made myself a clown
I'm an actor of love
I need you by my side
But now you leave me alone
I'm an actor of love
I beg your forgiveness
But you refuse me so cold
Sometimes
We wonder why we should be together
Do we really dream of love forever?
Or we afraid to be alone
I'm an actor of love
I want to protect you
But I always hurt you bad
I'm an actor of love
I want to be your shield
But may turn someone you hate
I'm an actor of love
We kiss in the morning
But in night we have a war
I'm an actor of love
We care for each other
But we only circle round
If this love only makes me crazy
Take the story and just let it be
Tragedy or comedy
Or anything it wants to be
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ages
In that stone head, obscenity
Has been preserved a thousand years;
A bible-leaf of families
Have shuddered at the pointed ears.
The sword that hangs upon the wall
Is notched the length of its long blade,
And children at the village school
Dream of the trusses it has mowed.
Close against the lichened tower
Still lives a witch. Around her head
She wears a shawl, and white as flour
Her lips count every step she treads.
But when the dusk-born lovers stand
The figure sobs, 'Oh where's my soul?'
The sword sighs for the long-dead hand,
The old hag huddles from the owl.
poem by Henry Treece
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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