Skip to content

The Poetry Society logo

The Poetry Society

  • Home
  • Poems
  • Poets
  • About

Dramatic monologue challenge

CXVII

Rambling fool. He is nothing but that, boy; A genius idiot with an expensive quill And too much time and too little ink On his hands. See the way he idles on those cushions, With his perfectly manicured hands In angles coiffed meticulously In front of a looking-glass, Whilst his stomach practises Physical rhetoric in […]

I didn’t like him when I first saw him

“I didn’t like him when I first saw him All too preppy, all too clean, All too “teenage student’s dream”.  I didn’t trust his quirky socks  Or the way he’d try to shock  With tales of his life, aged seventeen.  I did like his favourite book; it’s Peter Pan  And he’ll always stop class to […]

Honey’s Monologue

SCENE SIX. INT. IVORY SLEAK RESTAURANT. EVENING. LARRY, 29, is that Jewish guy who thinks he’s black. Tupac is his idol. Opposite him is, HONEY, 21. She’s the Sunday school type; long dress but hair that looks like its shampooed with crack; its mighty big. They are sitting in the far corner, on love seats. […]

The Committee with Responsibility for Ensuring Seasonal Enjoyment

Thank you very much for coming here today, I must say you’re looking well. Not tired for the time of year, Perhaps you’ve lost some weight? Good Heavens! Have mince pie prices really Risen by quite so much? And what a shame, I do recall They are your favourite food. I hope your journey wasn’t […]

Charlie’s Bedtime Performance

Kick kick kick. Kick. Do you like the 183 Panamerican Airlines crash from New York to Gran Canaria? Was it a good plane crash? Would you have liked to be in that air crash? Was it good? Was it good, was it, did you like that Panam crash? Oh cock. (Said proudly, placed on the […]

Dramatic Monologue

Gareth, in his late forties, a large but clearly mild-mannered Yorkshireman. He sits in a worn armchair, nursing a cup of tea. Don’t do much these days. Doesn’t bother me. Got myself a nice little soundtrack to the way of things, you know -television, traffic, usual talk, casual, small. Keep seeing the sun glance in […]

Boy’s Monologue

THE BOY’S ROOM. The Boy is crouched on his knees, rocking. He rocks to the murmured, barely audible rhythm: ‘Make it stop. Make it stop.’ His mutterings gradually fade, and when he falls silent, he raises his head, eyes wild, motionless. BOY In the night. This is what I saw. A man, he says ‘Where is She.’ Stone […]

Girl from Cookstown

You don’t think I remember but I do. Oh boy, do I remember. Your lips, like kissing a cyst. Wet and oily, like a kiss from A fisherman. It was your plan Wasn’t it, to get me drunk? And wasn’t it you who murmured My arse was like two guard cells Round a stoma? Well, […]

The Monsoon Speaks Her Defence

The prodigal leaves return to me, Rewind into the breasts of a rain-tree. Repose.  I’m an amnesiac –Malacca, Malaga; Oh, what’s in a word? Not to say I am forgetful. I liked cinnamon.  I loved a boy once.  He was brown and wore a sarong. Lived in a stilt-house by the rocking-chair sea. He proffered a […]

Rebecca Rolfe

And are you a king’s daughter? I must admit this is not so rather I am the daughter of trees and broad Virginia valley, of white-trimmed water and the skins of deer. Of late, I am a daughter of the Lord, my lady baptised in Jamestown these three years ago and in this at least […]

Supported by Arts Council England

© 1909 - 2021 The Poetry Society and respective creators • Site by Surface Impression

By using this website you imply consent to its use of cookies. More information about cookies.