The Heretics

a one act play

The Heretics;

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Scene;

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howling wind and rain, a deserted street, a bus stop, three pissed off poets, one dressed as a clown, street lights flickering

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poet 2; when is the f*****g next bus due, are you sure we havenae missed the last one,

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poet 1 stands and shouts;

     Oh dark despondency, oh tortured 

                                               soul 

hellwind howling nebulas cry amidst

the flickering ,shadows of night

broken glassed reflecting, easing through

oil slicks of mad  lost hope ...

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poet 2; and the f*****g hole in my shoe is letting in water

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poet 3 gets up and squats between 2 parked cars ,and sighs loudly

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poet 2 stands and addresses a trashcan

     mangle detritus of junkfood world

the smash trash wanton waste

     of money and greed

red green red green

The loaded tarmac

        screaming     rubber     redundant

stanzas

            blink blank crash

wrench gods from twisted machine

                                     heads

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poet 3 shouts, shut the f**k up clown,

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poet 2 ; and the taste of piss can

             still be licked from the heretics kiss,

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poet 3, get fucked and skin up

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poet 1 pulls a half empty, yes, he is that type of guy bottle from his coat, and passes it around

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poet 3 gets up and starts dancing in the rain, directing imaginary traffic

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poet 2 lights a joint, 

f**k sake ya f*****g bam, you will get us all arrested,

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poet 3 stops all the imaginary traffic and arms outstretched begins to sing

     the goddess of moon

     the rain mother cosseting in

                              a broken world

comforting in gentle rain - dripped

            caress,

     I dance naked in mind,

absorbing the love and the light,

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poet 1 claps; nice one

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poet 2 claps, aye no bad could you not have come up with that one at the poetry slam, haha

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poet 3; well did you really have to recite the poem about all poets being pretentious pricks ?

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poet 2  no really, no, haha

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poet 1     we have drunk the night,

               as all good poet must do and should

               full blooded and alive

               inviting revelations of madness and gods

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poet 2     stark dank stench erupts from

damaged

     window souls grey wall

prisoners of life gutted rancid meat

speaks thrusts truth through rotten teeth

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poet 3     come take my hands and dance

              brothers dreamers poets heretics, all

              let the sweetness of Gaia

              guide us home

              on the outside looking outwards

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poets 1 and 2 Amen

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all three poets start to sing, yes, sir, I can boogie, as they congo dance, exit stage left, a couple of minutes later 3 buses  pull into view, the bus to further Kesey's magic bus and the B57 night bus to someplace else as good as anyplace anywhere else, 

Lights fade

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Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

There were alot of pretentious poets at the art centre each month that I used to frequent. Maybe if there had been more drink available it would have been more interesting. You know first of all I thought this little scene was dark and drear, but then when your poets started singing, dancing and doing the conga, it brought on a smile. Sounded like a London knees up in the sixties. Wot a result in the football. Winners all round. A draw suits us both. Both teams survived.

Chris

[gram linski]

hey, Chris, you know there is always a smile to be found in my dark and drear ? dreich, ? haha, thanks as always for reading, the result was good for England because we should have won, did you notice the exit music, the unofficial anthem of the tartan army, hope you are keeping well, take care, thanks again,

[Chris Shaw]

I love the way your tartan army cleaned up their own crap after the match. You know that was endearing :) Wishing you luck in the next round. You know I love your national anthem. I've even been known to singalong. We have Scots in my family :) My sis was supporting your lot. Her husband came from your neck of the woods Sadly no longer with us :(

[Davey Payne]

Love this, Gram! I Like your style and looking forward to reading more soon

[gram linski]

thanks Davey, glad you enjoyed it, welcome to the cafe hope you enjoy

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and as the lights faded, The Who came on the loudspeakers singing Magic Bus...

I think the poets with real heart do sing in the rain...

and it gives camouflage to the clown who hides his tears.

and yes, maybe we are all pretentious pricks whether we know it or not.
Maybe we elevate ourselves to that degree...and never realize we are doing it.
this write gives us much to ponder about poetry about ourselves as poets...
about the others side who don't believe...don't want to hear the words...
maybe they are afraid the words might change them.
j.

[gram linski]

thanks, j. what a class tune for the closing credits, always enjoy what you see, and add to my poems,i am including myself in the pretentious poet dept. haha, thanks for taking the time to read and review, always appreciate, your words and insight,

[John the Baptist]

Sounds like "Waiting for Godot" as rewritten by Charles Bukowski. The heretical poets are on the outside (as poets usually are) because the other view is too bleak.

[gram linski]

thanks, John aye quite right, I was going for a German Anarchist version of WFG, but will take the praise, if indeed it was, haha appreciate the review, take care,