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who are the players?
by Charlie Morgana runny nose, running feet.
make-up megrandson. every
thing is something, owned
by the King of Little.
my motorcycle, my keyboard,
my, my, my, my.
i love him that way.
though soon it'll be mine
as he walks off-stage of my play;
only to star in his Act I Scene I.
and i'll be on the first row, agleam
with joy of seeing his own show.
and i'll clap with hollow hands
as he and cast members flow off-stage.
seemingly a cast of thousands, while
i catch the trees' shadows as they
float across my mama and daddy's
bellies as they look upward.
bathed in sun, rain, winds
and the curtain of life closes.
his generation will bow,
but to newcomers to the stage
will not bow as in the past.
a shoulder-shrug will be offered.
03/31/2009 Posted on 03/31/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 03/31/09 at 05:44 PM this is beautiful charlie. simply said. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/31/09 at 07:14 PM This seems to be a different tone for you, but I'm not quite sure I can nail down what that is. In any case, I love this. The imagery, the tone, it's all pretty damn perfect. |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 03/31/09 at 08:18 PM I agree with Gabe. The voice is different though the language is similar. It's telling a tale from your mind's eye foretelling the future yet lived. I also agree in its power and impressiveness. As always a great write Chaz. ~JPP |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 04/01/09 at 02:41 PM I, too, am impressed with this story. A departure from your norm, but familiar nonethe less! A truly beautiful piece! |
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