he goes away with a drooped head
followed by the eyes of alley cats
without applause, without flowers
his key monologue remains unsaid
he goes away in a fading ray
stepping over scattered set and props
and wind frays his shadow on the wall
like the theater bill of a failed play
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2018
break a leg young thing
this is your moment
after all those morgue afternoons
rehearsing old school mystiques
fine tuning your pauses
making each phrase count
your entrance upstage
deliberate slight in silhouette
moving into light and out
making us sit up
a stir
a single shoot
peep of crocus
hiatus
second delivery
you hold our breath in yours
delay the extended arm
purple patch declamation
flourishes of yellow madness
in winterspent fields
in the morning we’ll blog and tweet
your budding craft
your youth
by JOHN FLANAGAN
© All rights reserved 2018
unbolt me 