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Threads: 108
Joined: Dec 2016
04-08-2020, 01:11 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-08-2020, 01:21 PM by Quixilated.)
Anyone can join at any time. These prompts are always open for new poems.
Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month, have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month. If you have suggestions for topics feel free to send me a pm! 
Topic: A Night at the Theater!
Write a poem that is inspired in some way by a tv show, movie, or play, or from the point of view of one of the characters, or inspired by a quote from a tv show, movie, or play, (or etc. you get the idea).
Form: any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more
Questions?
Posts: 2,360
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
Clickity-clack
All that remains is a snow globe, and we
the ones who shook it.
We were never created
equal. Yet, we share this diorama
carved out for us. Each
set in a preordained place.
I know you can’t see
beyond this iron wall,
but this is no prison. We are free
as the flurry dancing outside
the frosted panes of the sacred engine.
The sentence you imagine is marked by miles
not days. Never forget, we tried
to save the world.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 848
Threads: 232
Joined: Oct 2012
@ todd really like this, esp the opening
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
Posts: 2,360
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
Thanks, Keith
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 1,187
Threads: 250
Joined: Nov 2015
Infallible
What must it have been like to be the one
whose perfect legal knowledge always spun
a web of true deductions, never failed
to trap a fiend and free his falsely jailed
guest-client of the hour? Is it luck
his ingenues, though shady, never buck
that path from death to closing epigram
with each true killer shaming Tragg and Ham?
(His secret safe, each trial fit his plan
to wine and dine his current leading man.)
Non-practicing atheist
Posts: 848
Threads: 232
Joined: Oct 2012
Remembering lines
A wet December has walked itself
into the school hall,
darkening a herring bone floor.
The grey plastic chairs
have been scraped into place
and the chatter has died down to coughing.
Handcams are sat on laps
waiting to focus on the wrong child,
long enough to get a laugh on playback.
The Head Master
welcomed us with a guitar
and stole his 5 minutes of shame
before he thanked us
and handed us over
to the music teacher, Mrs Jones.
She narrates the long journey to Bethlehem
and they open with Mary and Joseph
without a donkey, singing Little Donkey.
They arrive at the inn that is full
and ask if there is any room to spare?
The dusty old hall fades around the edges,
lights seem to shine brighter, the cast
suddenly has a Westend quality to it.
Then there he is, in his hand sown,
Inn keeper's brown tunic, with a cushion
to make him look portly.
The Handcam rises instinctively
as you mouth every practiced word,
and you know he'll never forget
that moment just before he walked on
or the greasy smell of stage makeup.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
