Killer Poet


Through the assaults’ subtle gas
sprayed on the body of sentences,
I quench life of the impish people
to bring them down as wooden blocks
after reading my letters.
My sentences I order like soldiers.
ATTENTION, STAND AT EASE!
DO NOT SPEAK OR MOVE
UNTIL I TOLD YOU TO DO SO!
MARK TIME, FORWAAAARD MAAAARCH!
HALT! ATTAAAACK!
They are gunning down my victims
in dramaturgical strokes and pathos.
My sentences hit without warning.
Let eyes face the truth – I am a killer poet.
But, still, I say something.
NOW, STAND AT EASE!
written by Leila Samarrai
edited by: Obinna Eruchie
www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex
https://www.poemhunter.com/obinna-kenechukwu-eruchie/

CATS, theatre play, CHARACTERS acca Dramatis personae, Scene 1


CHARACTERS acca Dramatis personae

Living Beings:

ŽELJKO: The Butcher. He is about 40-year-old

JANA: high school girl.  Željko’s daughter, 17-year-old

SRĐAN: a driver, contractor, delayed student, his mental age is still that of a 17-year-old, but he is now 30-years-old

DRAGUTIN:  Jana’s history teacher, about 50-year-old

IKONIJA: A computer expert and a clever astrologer. She keeps her ages a secret.

Sphere Spiriticus Beings:

SAINT PETER: a head of the Eden Administration, Combatant versus Evil Forces. Under his leadership, Eden has boomed economically.

EMANUEL: a hell of the ferryman of Hades who carries souls of the newly deceased across the rivers Styx. a latent kleptomaniac

THE HOLY PARAMORE: A saint, Protector of expectant mothers as well as a feminist

LILITH, a fallen angelina

ALMIGHTY, also known as El, Creator of Heaven, Earth and Hell, blessed be he

LUCIFER, the infamous ruler of Hell.

 

CATS – Ghosts or ancestral spirits (Disguised actors)

SAINT JOAN OF ARC,  also known as The Runaway Of Paradise

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, famous French military leader of blessed memory. A firestarter. He sets fire to the Hell, regularly, as a memorial to The Battle of Borodino

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: famous English poet, playwright and actor, of blessed memory, in mourning for his son, Hamet, who passed away too soon.

MARY TUDOR usually appears to drunkards as Bloody Mary

VOICES:

Voice Of Almighty

Voice of Lucifer acca Bad Man With a Forktail

poto__ferryman_of_river_styx_by_cocokat-d39vaen.png

SCENE 1

RIVER STYX

(The stage is illuminated by the spooky light. An apparition like the Commendatore of Mozart’s Don Giovanni is placing coins in the mouth of a dead,  simultaneously taking cash from spectres, surrounded by phantasms and grotesques)  

Grotesque: Am I at the centre of the underworld?

the Commendatore: You don’t have to look no further. This here is a swamp, which sometimes is also called the River Styx.

Grotesque: I was told to take a boat that crosses the Styx rivers.  Ask the psychopomp to guide you across the rivers Styx, Acheron…

the Commendatore: (interrupting Grotesque mid-sentence) You have to pay me to take you! Or you could get stuck on the shore.

Grotesque: Fair enough. Take your coin.

the Commendatore: Your money’ s no good here.  We don’t take nor obols, nor checks. Euros only.

Grotesque: You took my intention the wrong way.  I want you to take me back to the place I was before. Could you tell me how much this would cost?

the Commendatore: Too much to receive a payment in a currency you don’t hold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cats, theatre play, scene 5


Cats, theatre play, scene 5, Leila Samarrai, translated into English, Mazikeen Leila Smith

Read it fully, deeply, and completely on the link below.

http://eckermann.org.rs/article/macke/

SCENE 5

(The Holy Paramore and Saint Peter are sitting together, cheek to cheek, staring at each other lovingly, outside the gates of Heaven.)

THE GATES OF HEAVEN

SAINT PETER: Sweetie, I would tear down the sky for you if you ask me!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: That’s not possible, my angel. We are already in the heavens.

SAINT PETER (he is kissing her forehead) You are choosing words wisely, my ethereal love.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Well, then, my honey, my sweetie pie, my darl… always honourable, acquitted from all sins and free of defilement (sigh) I’d give you all my bury bones.

SAINT PETER: And I’d give you all my hagiographys! But don’t my lamb chop, don’t bother… my heart leaps to see you again, almost stopped with happiness! My tongue got tangled, like tree branches, that’ s all so wonderfully romantic! – weaving a knotted web. Keep your relics for yourself. You’ll need them when you least expect it. Say, as far as your parents, were they enjoying considerable wealth? When they were alive?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Maybe they would’ve been, but they died out millions of years ago, beloved.

SAINT PETER: (shaking his head) Such a write off. I don’t need anything besides you, thou that art highly favoured. Along with other virtues which are not worthy of you or of that expensive dress you are wearing.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: It warms my heart knowing you are having second thoughts when it comes to receiving gifts, my inamorato, for it suggests the sentiments which are disgusting to both of us. Bad, black acts governing both heaven and hell. And all violations and transgressions, can’t even approach two greatest sins, my flame.

SAINT PETER: And what since might those be, my true love?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: These two: a materialism and an adultery.

SAINT PETER: Blessed be.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: You’ve been spending too much time with Satan’s ferryman, my one and only. He is a bad influence on you, my Pippin. Should I be concerned?

SAINT PETER: But, my crackajack, my peach, my sugar, you always told me: Peter, you’re gentle like Lorca’s rosebud. But only sweet imp, a devilish masculine type is fit to be my real husband. I am having trouble enjoying the company of that mad, bad sinner, my holy par – amore, my significant other. But, that’ s the only way that I can learn high/level pranks and stuff. I’ m doing all of this for you, paramour. Whatever I do… maintaining my vow of chastity, I ask him, now and then, to teach me how to dodge, to cheat, to turn tricks, to…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Trick, what trick? Any unusual sin? Sure! This must be.. ah! Tell me! (her eyes shine)

SAINT PETER: Blessed the cheek…! Recently… (scratches behind his ear) He, Emanuel, our hellish ferryman, disguised as John The Baptist, he swung a censer as he danced a Limbo dance, calling for souls in Limbo, making them swim in groups.. in Styx, yelling: Bathe and prepare to meet the Chief, citing verses 42-43… a moment Paradise filled up with sinners, choking angels with devilish smoke, while he was still singing: “The bath is full” while I.. oh my dearie, my knockout, my holy par amour.. I’ve had my hands pretty busy putting them all back in and to straighten out Emanuel’s mess. Suddenly, a stubborn Limbecile, since he was obliged to come home to the antechamber of hell, took his own life. He liked Paradise so much that he actually thought he was innocent. Of course, this was just a hell – loop…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: (squeezing her ethereal little legs just a little harder, her cheeks reddened)
O, sacrilège!
O, blasphème!
Isn’ t that what happened? Terrible thing.

SAINT PETER: There’ s more! Emanuel ordered Pizza capricciosa for the Gluttonous of the Third Circle of Hell… a special-order kind of thing: one for Cerberus – The chilli peppers give it a real kick.

THE HOLY PARAMORE:
Quite the scandal. Say no more! Not a second thought! Strike it from your mind, my darl, such a leechcraft, no more! Keep your high-quality pectoral cross washed clean of all the black marks, for he shall forever glow as a sign of perpetual light!
As for your Eden Key, Peter, bring it to my ethereal bed, Romeo!

SAINT PETER: (Peter, his lovely eyes intent on his Key, breathlessly..)
The apple of my eye! I got a report on the Sanitation department of Eden… It is written: The key won’t get rusty, Peter if you keep him someplace dry.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Not before he serves his purpose. Oh, Peter! Hug me, hug me, hold me, Peter! Almighty, wrap him up in dark bedsheets. Let there be dark! Let him go forth, out of the dark, come out, a beautiful gloomy face of my true love! A, he’s asleep!… (she’s up, stepped into the Garden, butt- nagged for gods sakes)

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Oh, you, a madcap little devil of mine! Cheater! Hustler! Handsome sleaze – bag! O, I loved the way how you banged me in the clouds and there I lay pretended I were dead!

EMANUEL: (peeking over Tree of the knowledge of good and evil)
Does he not suspect something?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: He is no more boring than book reports. Let’s get together at midnight, honeypie, someone might see us.

EMANUEL: You wanna go for a ride in our gondola, my bimbo!
.
THE HOLY PARAMORE:… Surfing dark waters, us being together.. my beefcake!

EMANUEL: There’ s a shortcut near purgatory river, bitch!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: I’m getting juiced up over the nude beaches, stud!

EMANUEL: Come to my arms, you, she-devil!
(They are kissing)