jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

April’s Dreams: A One Act Scene (First and Last Performance) for One Shoot Sunday

On a lake, musing.
On possibilities, shuffling.
Impossibilities, imposing.

Scene rises.
Prologue

Opaque scrim. Stage left
Monologue I (Narrator)

Shouldn’t you name a flower April ? Why a
month of rains? Or shouldn’t it be this pigtailed girl mocking a moon named Sam, cruising a black lake?

Scenario I. Curtain Rises.
Narrator. Stage Right.

In April, wet winds stir up flowers. Petals dance like fireflies on its hair. Silver fish darts off, piercing Will. Moonbeams whoosh, mushrooms sprouting in their trail.

Dialogue I

Will: (From stage left. Walks to the edge of the lake. Moonlight behind him swarms. To girl he calls April)

Only dwarfs breed umbrellas on the ground, silly. We are too tall for rain. Rain, April rain, rushes through sleep.

Shouldn’t I push Ofelia’s barge? I have the flowers.

Scenario II.
Narrator. With Will frozen on his tracks in the moonlight.

Ofelia of the lake wears ripples for her hair. April, the girl, dreams of Will sinking the barge, where Ofelia sings, nursing flowers opening and closing on her breast—the wind dredges her hair. Naked, she peers out of the lake. Her heart winks back.

Monologue II
Will shudders, waking, rumbling a dream. Lake. Moonlight lits up the barge.

April heat chills memories. Winds bring lies—cruel is a gong not a word to begin the mourning. Death descends if the sky releases a sigh, a breath Ofelia hears, waiting to cease feeding the flowers.

Dialogue II
Will walks to April. She appears from the shadows at stage left. Behind the willows, the barge floats away. Soft humming. A mournful song.

Will:
Why slumber in April?

April to Will:
Because I cannot bear the bulbs laughing in the murmuring rain, and the nibbling winged worms do when not sipping. So much breeding in the leaves.

Will:
But sleep the dream of bulbs. The whish of life unceasing drowns uncanny breaths. Breeding cleanses the air for leaves.

April:
Is that why Ofelia sings? To drown the dream uncleansed? My heart of air hisses when it dreams. My name fires up the earth when said. Razes to ashes hearts weakened by dreams. Like Ofelia, like the willows weeping lakes of tears.

Will:
Do you exist? What is your name?

Scenario III. Stage dims to a dream. Mist rises from the lake. Moonlight sizzles to a smoke.

Narrator. Stage right

Will splatters on the lake. Where his face melts, a flower sprouts the girl named April has taunted, blooming where Ofelia sings, floating.

Opaque scrim. Epilogue

Monologue IV:

Names, what means do
names cast reality?
Birth a dream?
Die a death?
Taunt a flower?

"The Show Must Go On" photo by Jacob Lucas

The curtain drops, crashes. Lights blink, the sighing dies down. Stark debris of a one-act play. April on the lake dredged. Will, the moon, torn and stained has flown back to the sky. Moonlight lits what once was a stage. A humming to this day.

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry with photo prompt by Jacob Lucas. This experimental piece joins the poetry or other works of talented poets and artists who love their work and share this love with each other. Come join us!

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March 6, 2011 - Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

16 Comments »

  1. snap…neat structure and scene…only dwarves breed umbrellas…smiles. splatters on a lake…blooms a flower…clap. clap. clap.

    Comment by brian miller | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • Thanks, Brian! A deep deep bow for you. With flourish!

      Comment by alee9 | March 6, 2011 | Reply

  2. I’m a bit in awe of that…think I shoul breathe and think about those dwarves!

    Comment by RepressedSoul | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • Thanks, many thanks! …let’s take deep breaths together. I, too, can’t tell you where those dwarves came from.

      Comment by alee9 | March 6, 2011 | Reply

  3. Take another curtain call…the dwarf umbrella thing gave me pause. Nice.

    Comment by jerry | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • Curtain call, yes, I will take another deep bow, sinking in your applause!!!! Thanks, Jerry.

      Comment by alee9 | March 6, 2011 | Reply

  4. “To drown the dream uncleansed? My heart of air hisses when it dreams. My name fires up the earth when said. Razes to ashes hearts weakened by dreams.” Helluva a challenge response. I liked it very much, especially the way the poetry combines with dramatic form. cheers

    Comment by dustus | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • As always, always an honor to hear from you, Adam! Thanks! Yeah, what a challenge. I had to admit, I thought it wasn’t making any sense but I took the risk and clicked on the publish button anyway. By the way, please note edit in to the ending. Thanks again!

      Comment by alee9 | March 6, 2011 | Reply

  5. This is wonderful work, Alegria–inconstant April and Moonlight, Will and Ophelia and her hair that is ripples in the lake, the dream of bulbs–all winter long to end in a flower…mad mumbles of breeding and leaves–a totally fascinating write.

    Comment by hedgewitch | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • Thank yu as always, Joy! I didn’t think it would work. I wrote this in a trance, stepping into the detritus of a stage, as you call it in your poem–your trilogy that I still have to go back to relish. The images must have sprung from haiku prompts at the Haiku Foundation site on spring. Thanks again!

      Comment by alee9 | March 7, 2011 | Reply

  6. This is utterly breathtaking– I love “so many things breed in the leaves.” that drives me crazy too, poetically and philosophically. And I love these lines:
    “Ofelia of the lake wears ripples for her hair. April, the girl, dreams of Will sinking the barge, where Ofelia sings, nursing flowers opening and closing on her breast—the wind dredges her hair. Naked, she peers out of the lake. Her heart winks back.

    Reading this is filet mignon for the soul– Brava. xxJenne’

    Comment by jenneandrews | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • “…filet mignon for the soul!!!” I love that, Jenne. I’m glad my poem ‘drove you crazy!’ That’s makes the two of us for this poem ‘la locas divinas’. Thank you for the applause, your shout of ‘brava!’

      Comment by alee9 | March 7, 2011 | Reply

  7. Loved your allusions weaving the play and the playwright into a one at play where dreams and nature and literature merge for just a moment in the intensity of the spotlight and then fade again. Heady stuff. Well said. Thanks, Gay

    Comment by hollyheir | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • And thanks for this wonderful critique to treasure!

      Comment by alee9 | March 7, 2011 | Reply

  8. Clever, multi-structured/-media’d – one of the most distinctive pieces in this week’s offerings. Incredible, as usual.

    Comment by Steve Isaak | March 6, 2011 | Reply

    • Thanks as always, Steve! I’m humbled by your words.

      Comment by alee9 | March 7, 2011 | Reply


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