Poetry competition CLOSED 1st December 2022 2:32pm
Page:

Drama

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Possibly a sort of draft for your next play. It must involve passion, love, hate, tears and possibly an unexpected ending.
Could be written in the form used for the submission of a play.
Or could be a poem up to about 50 lines.

poet Anonymous

Same Old Play, Same New Audience

"The renaissance of drama occurs with each new generation of theatergoers."
                                                                        -- an eons-old theatergoer still at the Globe    
   
*    
   
"I do believe this drama we have seen --    
you know the one -- which comically yet ends --    
as each bit player -- being somewhat lean --    
straight silenced is when Death each swift befriends --    
and this play we have seen I think as well --    
the one which tragically yet ends for all --    
as each key player -- tripping into Hell --    
straight silenced is on Life's last curtain call --    
the same old play the ancient playwrights wrote --    
the same old play full borrowed by "the Bard" --    
the same old play the moderns write by rote --    
the same old play -- the same old avant-garde --    
indeed, as I have oft to Robert said --    
'The play is old till we old folks drop dead.'"    
   
*    
   
a dedication of Respect    
for    
Reality    
the sole difference between the happily ever after    
and the catastrophic ending    
   
a revolving helios sonnet shakespearean monologue soliloquized    
satire menippean    
   
november, 2022 -- the human drama:    
been there,    
done that --    
and still paying for it    
   
  
poet Anonymous

Coin Exchange

A busy Victorian street in London, our actors take their places and break into song

Lovable rogue
Come over here Sir,
let me take your hat there,
come and relax in my chair.
I'll shine your shoes,
you can't lose,
read all about them
in the evening news.

Just half a Crown,
and don't you frown,
or that big bloke
will knock you down.
Don't you run,
he's got a gun,
only joking
where's your sense of fun?
Let’s have your purse,
please don't curse,
If you struggle
it'll make it worse.
Have your hat there,
get out of my chair,
time you were on your way,
Sir.


Well dressed Gent
Someone please, stop these thieves,
better check their pockets,
and look up their sleeves.

Police officer
What’s going on? Don’t' try and run,
you'll be in prison before the day is done.

Lovable rogue
Officer, we wouldn't dare,
this gent here tried to nick my chair,
put us down and here's a crown
here’s another not to get sent down.

Police officer
Be on your way and mind you stay
away from me or I'll have my day.

Well dressed Gent
This isn't funny, they stole my money,
you’re a disgrace,
bribes to you seem common place.

Police officer
Now listen Sir
life isn't fair,
when you try to steal a chair,
but don’t you frown,
here’s a Crown,
now be on your way or I’ll take you down.
poet Anonymous

The Dying Gunslinger

- The Dying Gunslinger -

Across a plain in old New England, walked…
The wanderer who had been a slinger of guns,
Who had dealt death to many a boasting man!
One bullet still remained, no victim stalked…
By a deadly aim, more terrible than the Huns,
And so, that wanderer set out across the land.
One maid was left for him to court, one hour,
Fair to look forward to as his weary feet tread.
Across the bleak plain of white melting snow!
Compelled was he, by some mad inner power,
To continue on, when he should be long dead.
He did go, where no rivers could even flow…

From the west he came, a man with no name,
Seeking forgiveness, for a life of wickedness.
No man could grant his heart’s fierce desire…
Nor woman, but one with eyes like hot flame,
Who could ease distress, and his sins confess.
And so was he resolved, like phoenix to pyre!
To a mighty stockade fence, his feet took him.
A wall where none reared by living hand lay…
Did greet his eyes beneath chilled winter skies.
His heart was glad, but his spirits were grim…
For he knew that wall where no birds did play,
Save for whatever hour, the lonely raven flies.

Out of a portal in the wall, there came but she,
Her skin as white as the snow, that lay around.
A mane of black hair was hers, black as night!
It was the moment of the gunslinger’s victory,
For he had arrived, where she could be found.
He rushed forward, so anxious for her delight!
Her lips were red as blood, her mouth opening,
To grant her kiss to the man who loved her so!
They held each other, passions erasing thought.
The gunslinger did not live to see that spring…
He was found dead, upon a plain of cold snow,
His last bullet fired, by the maid he had sought.
poet Anonymous

Marriage Drama

the man-actor complains how winter wind chill
creates cracks in his knuckles

the woman-actress cuts fresh fruit for his meal,
says he must warm the blood of his ancestors

Page:
Go to: