The stage is not merely the meeting place of all the arts, but is also the return of art to life.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Return Trip
I will return to my place of Birth
To that place before Mother Earth
I will return to that Day of Awakening
To that Day of a New Beginning
I will return to my very first Sun
My very first Moon, my very first Star
I will return to that place that never was far
I will return to the land of the Beautiful,
the Good, the Grateful
Where there is nothing to forgive
For there is no sin
Where there is no regret
Life is what you dream
Where Innocence is never put to test
Where all is Sacred and blessed with Happiness
I will return to my place and time of Birth
I will return
I am not Cursed
poem by Sonya Florentino
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Puzzling
Shall I return from where I came
Or go some other place?
Shall I return to who I am
Or wear another face?
I ask myself these questions
because I can't remember.
I know that when I came this time
It was in a cold December.
Why did I not bring memories
to accompany me on this stage?
It certainly would feel calming
to know this as I age.
And if my calmness depends on that
then I'll never lay to rest
all the wonders of who I'll be
when I leave this stage to the rest.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Our Meeting Place
I met you here sometime ago
How my whole world changed
My heart raced beyond belief
Oh I felt the sudden change
Our Meeting Place
Forbidden I was to see you
Our ages was too far apart
But I knew deep inside of me
That didn't matter too my heart
Our Meeting Place
Things have passed since then
We somehow both drift away
But when I look on back again
It brings me to those very days
Our Meeting Place
poem by Suelynn Walters
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The Meeting Place
Meet you in the secret place
Scuffling in the dirt I wait
Whistle will blow, whistle will blow,
Share a joke the laughs on me
But when I get you on your own well see
Someone might hear, someone might hear
Youre a working girl now
Youve got money of your own
Hmmm the meeting place
Hmmm the meeting place
Strolling under grimey skies
Machines that make you kiss in time
Smoke on your breath, smoke on your breath
Chimney never looked so good
Never looked the way it should
From lying in the bracken wood
Coat on the ground, coat on the ground
Take a walk down the lane
Well be late back again
Hmmm the meeting place
Hmmm the meeting place
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perceptions - Sonnet
When life from life with sigh or strife departs,
when threescore, more, or less, existence span
with verse and chapter closed before began,
dare logic there define our petty parts?
We scramble onwards as by fits and starts
from fears is drawn the shadow of a plan
thrown up to mock perceptions ego can
conjur to calm before life's final farts
the gene game phase which plays for counterparts
from stage to stage of every V.P.N.
before in dust dissolved are all vain arts.
Few know a jot or care a fiddlestick
For ancestry whose key code makes them tick
10 March 2006
poem by Jonathan Robin
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When The Smoke Is Going Down
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine
Just when you make your way back home
I find some time to be alone
I go to see the place once more
Just like a thousand nights before
I climb the stage again this night
cause the place seems still alive
When the smoke is going down
This is the place where I belong
I really love to turn you on
Ive got your sound still in my ear
While your traces disappear
I climb the stage again this night
cause the place seems still alive
When the smoke is going down
I climb the stage again this night
cause the place seems still alive
When the smoke is going down
When the smoke is going down
When the smoke is going down
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Singing By Myself (Revised)
A gratifying result combining temperament
chart with personality type - seem to have
been choleric and sanguine before but the
experience of years abated it to tolerance -
a phlegmatic trait; and melancholic - arts
and music are my life
Not sanguine, a cheerful attitude at work
conceals emotions, no choleric desire to take
charge of others, what a relief, it is disastrous
not meeting expectations: at school I played
and sang for mom - singing in choirs is great,
but mingling with others is not;
I love songs but cannot perform on stage;
without mom I am an a-social melancholic;
remaining behind scenes, singing by myself
shocked by paraphrase ignoring rhythm and
sound, only meaning and grammar taken
into consideration -
Ironically music is the love of my life and not
my income source - while translating offers
musical lines of many languages, creating lyrics
for songs I can sing along, keeping my melodic
spirit alive until enjoying the raw delight of
musical poetry…
[ORIGINAL: ]
Combined temperament chart with personality
type, gratifying result - I seemed choleric and
sanguine before but after years of experience
prove to be tolerant - a phlegmatic trait; and
melancholic - arts and music my life
I'm not sanguine, a cheerful attitude at work
hide my emotion, no choleric desire to take
charge of others - what a relief, life seemed
a disaster not meeting expectations: at
school I played and sang for mom
Singing in choirs is great, but mingling with
others is not; I love songs but cannot per-
form on stage; without mom I am an a-
social melancholic; remaining behind
the scenes, singing by myself
Shocked by translation ignoring rhythm and
sound, only meaning and grammar taken
into account - why should music be the
love of my life - yet cannot be my
source of income - luckily
Translating offers the musical lines of many
languages, creating lyrics for songs, I can
sing along, keep my musical spirit alive
until enjoying the delight
of music in poetry…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Hold You Once Again
Hold you once again.
To be in your arms.
To listen again the beats of your heart.
To return back the clock,
To return back my love.
Just for few minutes
To live in your arms.
Then whatever if i'll pay my life.
Being with you again
Even if will cost my life.
Who have said that i'm alive
Without you my love.
To be at the same place
To return to those days.
That have gone with the storms of my life.
There where our love was born.
There where first time you whispered on my ears confessing me your love.
To be there again may needs a miracle.
But who can refuse that whole the life is not a miracle.
So please my God return back the time,
Return back my love.
Only for few minutes with him
I can pay my life.
Just to hear his voice,
To see him smile.
To tell me again that our love still survive.
Then you can take my life,
Who cares?
Nobody will survive till the end of life.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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The upper room
There is a special room set apart and blessed
a holy place and sanctuary where we can rest.
We enter in protected from this worlds care
and sweet communion with the Lord we share.
It is a place where our souls can come in sanctity
a meeting place where we can open and honest be.
A place of tears and a place of worshipping You.
Where deep searching things can be worked through.
'Come to me, Roy and Dot', We hear You say
as burdened with sorrow and care we make our way
to that Holy meeting place of solitude and peace
and commune with You to find blessed release.
The tests of this life can take its toll upon us Lord
and battered and bruised we turn to Your word.
It is so good to retire to that room upstairs awhile
and pour out our soul to You and see Your smile.
Thank You, Jesus for such a blessed place as this
where we can experience again Your heavenly kiss.
Resting in Your presence and feeling Your embrace
strengthened once more for the challenges we face.
There are many stages to a man's life. In the first stage, he is young and eager, like a beaver. In the second stage, he wants to build things, like dams, and maybe chew down some trees. In the third stage, he feels trapped, and then 'skinned.'' I'm not sure what the fourth stage is.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternally Yours
I don't want
to sing
for you
I rather
die
for you
in return
for the eternal
meeting
with you
in the
next life
That was
my greatest
sacrifices
for my only
love
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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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
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Drama of Life
Our life is a drama and the players are we
The stage is wherever we want our feet to be
But we can't always choose the best place in a stage
and choose the part we act, it is GOD who dictates
the kind of story line, the plot we have to take,
when to raise the curtain and when the play must end
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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The Earth
A pale blue dot caught in a beam of light
A palace of ravishing greenery
A harmonious symphony of life
A perpetual puzzle of land and sea
A place where volcanoes vomit lava
A place where hurricanes swarm
A place where tornadoes gyrate
And yet creates itself again
The Earth
A place of ambitions
A place of emotions
A place of cruelty
A place of poverty
This is the Earth
GOD's little stage of mortality
A gateway to utopia
A gateway to immortality
poem by Shanthosh Suganthan
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Players
The summer leaves in autumn fall
covering grass and garden walls.
A passing page on life’s stage
soon forgotten as the next season calls,
a circling unforgiving tide
that carries with it our passing lives.
Players are we upon the stage
of life’s ever turning page.
We live today and pray for tomorrow
that we may again grace the stage
of its next passing page.
And so life goes on
from birth and beyond
as players on the stage of life.
23 June 2009
poem by David Harris
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Visalakshi-2
Her husband died of a car accident.
It took place about three years ago.
Now she is free of encumbrances.
Hence I could talk to her as freely as
I did fifty two years back in her village
Where I met her, where we fell for each other.
I managed to get her phone number.
The last meeting of us was in her house
With her spouse, some twenty years ago.
She has married seven years after
Our episode, in the year I married,
Both being unaware of each other.
I saw her there after thirty two years
By when a lemon skinned beauty queen
Has turned into a dry skinned wrinkles.
I got her over phone and shared her grief.
She was upset, implying her bond with him.
She declined my offer of any meeting,
However incidental it might be.
‘Let us forget ours as a child game
With no renewal at this stage and age’
She said. Anxiety driven, she enquired
About me and family and my life.
Now she is seventy and weak as she told.
She is as old as me who am still robust.
It means we both were sweet seventeen
When we loved each other that went to
Being together with clothes stripped of
In her bolted room with a resolution
To elope, till we were caught red handed.
How quick a woman vomits her ex lover!
24.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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
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I do a vocal warm-up on stage. I like an empty theater. Alone on stage, before anyone's there, I take a few quiet moments to erase the regular world and get into one. I figure out what my first moment is about. I can't prepare for the whole play; that sort of charts itself out. If you start in the right place, nine times out of ten you'll end in the right place. It's just clearing the space for that moment to happen.
quote by Željko Ivanek
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I'll Return
I am dreaming to return from war
During which I was born and brought up
At impoverished ruined soil
Under rain of tears drop-out
But the tyrant’s not buried yet
That declared war on this soil
And there seems to be no plug or end
To this war.
I am not going to presage
I am aware I’ll return to stage
Maybe in some another age
Not at fool’s cage but land of genius
Being a battle casualty
I’ll rise from grave and will sing
At very first day that we’ll celebrate
Returning from the war.
But when battle sometimes slackens off
At clock-hour halt, but not in line
About peace and about love
I compose, sing and write
The opponents heave sigh of relief
And my friends just say “It’ a jolt…”
All of them misjudge me by their own belief
It’s clock-hour halt
Just halt.
Tomorrow I’ll show my rampage
I am aware I’ll return to stage
Maybe in some another age
Not at fool’s cage but land of genius
Being a battle casualty
I’ll rise from grave and will sing
At very first day that we’ll celebrate
Returning from the war.
I’ll return from the war
I’ll return
song, lyrics by Igor Talkov, translated by Victor Sklyarov
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Happiness in change of stages
I went on foot to far away school.
Then I rode on a bicycle with a pride.
Later two-wheeler took me to pedestal.
Now a car. In each stage I was happy.
In each stage the intensity was same.
Every up stage is a happy stage
till it is replaced by the next stage.
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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