Dramatic Monologues

Yes people, October is dramatic
Monologue month, which means poems written
From the point of view from a character
In literature or history. If
You want to go the full Robert Browning,
It also means ten syllable lines and
A range of poetic devices like
Clever rhymes. As you will see, already
I've put up a few, although here is my
Offering, it's based on Catch-22:

Captain Black
Eat your livers! Ha ha ha! Look at you
Shitting your pants on the way to the trucks.
What's that? It's an intelligence man's job
To upset the men and who're you asking?
Insolent fuck. I'll have you locked up. It's
Bologna you bastard! You'll cop it this
Time! Take it from me Yossarian, miss
And you'll be straight back to the line. I can
Smell the fear on you, you're dripping sweat!
Eat your liver you swine! Think of me when
You're dead! Captain- wait- are you naked?

The Lonely One

I’m waiting. I strangled the memory
Of your afternoon glory; held it tightly
like a child nursing its toy. All spruced white
As a maiden, you blew scent in the heat
Of the afternoon. Now in blackness, I’m
Gripping the chaos of the darkness; I’m
Remembering her electric screams,
Body taught then collapsing. Now it seems
Neither minutes nor hours, ‘til your coat
Is hung up, and my hands squeeze at your throat.

The Monster

I was mute. Rough stitchwork, crude limbs hacked at
And woven together. All features flat,
Dull, lifeless and now corrupted; sewn in
To a corpse, by a trustless wicked grin.
Who could stare at such a face? As thunder
Surged and vaulted and drove me alive, the
Creator’s gruesome face stared on; loomed
Urgent, expectant, distant, and now doomed.

Smutty Seduction

A conversation with a painting: Diego Rivero's Man at the Crossroads. One of the most abstract and innuendo filled English assignments ever. I blame young Carlos.

"Wow! You're popular."
"What's your point?"
"Well, it's just that's a lot of people around you there."
"I suppose it is."
"So what are you all up to?"
"All? We're not together."
"Oh. So you're single then?"
"Pardon?"
"You're single."
"You could say that."
"So what are they doing?"
"Erm... you know I'm kind of busy right now."
"Oh. I guess so. See you."
"Hey- wait. I'm sorry, I have a lot on my mind."
"No problem."
"You want to know about them?"
"Sure."
"Well those guys, they're soldiers. They're pissed off and are looking to destroy something."
"What do they want to destroy?"
"Well... those guys I guess. They're communists."
"Communists?"
"Communists. See the guy in the middle of those people?"
"With the beard?"
"That's him. He's their leader. Lenin. The communist hope."
"He looks cool. So are all these guys communists?"
"No, I don't think so. Not those guys anyway."
"Wow, they look hungry."
"They do, don't they?"
"So what are you busy with?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. You said you had a lot on your mind."
"I did. I mean, I do."
"So what's on your mind?"
"You really want to know?"
"Sure. I'd love to listen."
"Really? Okay. Well, first it's the hungry. There's people dying to eat and killing to live. Then there's war-"
"War?"
"Sure. The whole thing. Man against man, comrade against comrade, brother against brother. And don't get me started on technology, global warming and industrialisation, let alone what the future holds. You know when you really stop to think about things, you realise just how incomprehensible everything really is."
"Wow. Do you know you're cute when you're serious?"
"Oh. Thanks."
"What's that?"
"This? Oh, it's just a machine that controls the future of humanity."
"That stick you're holding is kind of big, isn't it?"
"I suppose so."
"Want me to hold it for you?"

Taco Stand Man

The cleaver starts hammering down
Beating time on the block
Like a visceral pirate's blade,
Your fingers left untouched;

Coriander bustles under its force,
Festooning the air with potent spice,
Swept into trays of onion and lime;
Tortillas tossed and flipped by hand.

Salad onions are circled,
Sprawling like Rivero's lillies
In a sink of bubbling oil,
Gross bulbs encrusted sordid gold;

Resting in the centre,
Intestine, snout, leg and trotter
Are heaped proudly for customers.
You work them through the oil again.

Someone sits. They order
And you leap to work;
A glob of entrail is picked from the glut
And severed, chopped and diced

Until the final cut,
When you sweep the meat into your hand.
A perfect fit in the tortilla
Which goes on a plate and over the counter;

It pleases you,
Standing back for a moment
To watch him eat and dribble
And take one more serviette.

The taco stand is a white tin hut
With neon paper signs
Peeling painted designs
And odours of putrid delight.

What does it matter that you can't stand up?

Patrick-22

The students assembled gradually in the yard. They milled around and chatted without any sense of urgency, which was completely unacceptable and totally what had come to be expected of the school. It was even this way during earthquake drills, when the students were expected to sit down in rows according to their tutor groups because their lives were not in danger, which is why they milled around and chatted without any sense of urgency.
"Sit down!" the teacher would say.
The students continued to mill around and chatted without any sense of urgency.
And so it was now. Patrick left the group of chatting students and spoke to the teacher.
"What are we doing here?"
"What are we doing here?" his teacher replied.
"I mean what are we doing today?"
"Aren't you sure?"
"No, I'm not sure."
"I'm not sure either."
"So you don't know what we're doing?"
"No. Don't you?"
The teacher sighed with resignation. Patrick was a kind and friendly student who in his short time at the school had made several good friends and even found a girlfriend.
"I hate that kid," the teacher said.

Read more pointless insanity in Joseph Heller's 'Catch-22', coming to a classroom near you soon.

Ivan Denisovich Pirate Song

A Guide to Surviving the Gulags
By
Ivan Denisovich

(A Pirate Song)

Five hundred grams of bread today,
There’s five hundred grams of bread- Gar!
Better not plan an escape anyway
As the cold will kill you dead, M’ hearties!

Four hundred grams of bread today,
There’s four hundred grams of bread- Gar!
Hide it well or gobble it away,
Or someone will have it instead, M’ hearties!

Three hundred grams of bread today,
There’s three hundred grams of bread- Gar!
It’s best to keep the Tartar at bay
Don’t let him find you in bed, M’ hearties!

Two hundred grams of bread today,
There’s two hundred grams of bread- Gar!
Better clean some bowls away
You need to keep yourself fed, M’ hearties!

One hundred grams of bread today,
There’s one hundred grams of bread- Gar!
Spirits are crushed while you work everyday
Your comrades are killing you dead, M’ hearties!