Tuesday Night At The Orchid Room

*walking up to the stage….tapping the microphone*
“Is this even on??”

Twenty Four Hours Of Sequential Thought
Does the man in the moon
know he’s made of cheese?
That lovers place their hopes,
and dreams upon him?
Does he hear the screams
of wrecked lives,
the lost innocence
of children everywhere?
I wish that man in the moon
would wipe the smile
off his face.


Air brushed across
the core of my mind,
rushing me to find
some surface to play
with ink,
to give sudden birth
to inspiration.
Draw it out,
line by line,
make it grow,
watch it mature right before
our very eyes.


Pick pocket muses
strolling through the masses,
going unnoticed, ducking
behind shadows of the disbelievers.
Feeling an electric jolt
from across the world
and back…
A butterfly just flapped it’s wings.

*slowly strolls off the stage, hips rolling in indifference to the people watching the auditions*

written by The Angelheaded Hipster 2007

4 Responses

  1. Hugely grinning and shaking my head. I have run out of superlatives for you. Here is an oldey but a goodey, you are superdooperubercool, may i have a tiny (you)?

  2. *smiles*
    checks her pockets, thin strands of words tangle tightly humming a little, counting the hours.

    This is a beautiful piece of work.

  3. A really wonderful poem, especially the third stanza……..a shoe in, I’d say.

  4. *grins and flings random kisses*

    Thank you so much guys!!

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