Here is a two-act play about making poetry for everyone at a celebration. Act II is at Nonny’s Christmas party when we put this play in action to see if Nonny's new soup really works.

Soup, Soup

Cast of characters: [endless possibilities, depending on your party!]

Narrator/Larry 
Cleo . . . age 8
Nonny (aka Lin) . . . age Grandmother
Nadia . . . age 6, soon to be 7

Mark, Nonny’s husband, known as GrandMark

Rebecca and Edouard, friends

Jonny and Sage, parents of Cleo and Nadia

Julian and Carolyn, parents of Sarah and Maya

David and Ellen, parents of Julian and Carolyn
Extras . . . as many as you want

Props:

One large cauldron

A basket full of poems, if you wish, for your guests/readers

ACT I

Narrator: One day, Nonny was cooking up some soup. But for some reason, she was simmering it in a huge pot, big as a cauldron--the kind of cauldron you'd find in a fairy tale.

[Enter Cleo.]

Cleo: Nonny is making soup. What kind of soup can it be? Hey, Nonny, Nonny . . . what you got cooking? I’m a coming and I’m a looking! Wow, I made a rhyme.

Narrator: Cleo stood on tiptoe and could just see into the pot.

Cleo: Hum. Problem . . . I know what to do. I’ll stand on this footstool. Where did this footstool come from, anyway? We never had a footstool here before. Hum . . . mighty handy that it’s here now.

Narrator: And so she peered into the pot.

Cleo: Why, this is odd soup. There’s not a single dumpling or piece of chicken . . . not a vegetable in sight, not even a carrot! Let me see . . . Yeow!

Narrator: Those of you who have heard other stories about Cleo will recognize a pattern here. What do you think happened? Yep. She fell right smack into the pot. And yes, it was large enough to hold an eight-year-old girl.

Cleo: Yikes! Hum . . . This soup should be hot but instead it feels . . . like a warm bath. Hum . . . it’s really rather nice. . . . Ahem.

Narrator: “Ahem” came out of her mouth after she accidentally swallowed some of the broth. It sounded, well . . . odd.

Cleo: Ahem. It appears that I have been mistaken in my initial assumption. This is no more a pot of chicken soup than I am myself a chicken. Just as it is plain to see that I am an eight-year-old girl, I hereby state for all and sundry to note that that this is no ordinary soup but indeed, it is a pot of word soup. A soup with a slight nineteenth century flavor. The chef must be somewhat literary.

Narrator: Cleo felt a strong urge to recite a poem.

Cleo: I am simply beyond myself with inspiration of a garden variety. I would hasten outdoors but I cannot get out of this cauldron.

Narrator: She pulled herself up to her full height in the cauldron and began.

Cleo: Oh! Sunflower!

How large thy face appears

To these nearly nine-year-old eyes!

How coversome and protective

When the beamish sun

Pours forth her hot July rays

Especially last summer—-today is not so warm.

I like you, Sunflower.

[Enter Nonny, who had been hiding behind a chair all this time.]

Nonny: [clapping] Lovely, Cleo! And best of all, my recipe worked!

Cleo: Top of the morning to you, Grandmother Dearest. And what, may I ask, is the nature of the concoction you’ve brewed up this time?

Nonny: I’ve finally perfected-- I think and I hope-- my word soup. Shall we test it on Nadia? Here she comes. Can you get her to fall in too? Here, let me lift you out. Take this towel and dry off quickly so Nadia won’t suspect anything. By the way, how does it taste?

Cleo: It presents an intense violet colour, plums, black cherries, licorice, and dried herbs aroma in the nose. Sweet, round and ample in the mouth with a lingering finish.

With legs of dried cod.

Nonny: Legs of dried cod. Hum. Well, it sounds like I’m not quite there. Quick. Here comes Nadia.  Let’s try it out on her.

[Lifts Cleo out of the cauldron.]

Narrator: Quite unsuspecting, Nadia entered through the back door.

Nadia: Yoo hoo, Nonny! Anybody home?

Cleo [Speaking as herself again]: Nadia! Look at the grape vine growing out the soup Nonny is cooking! Hum . . . I sound like myself again.

Nadia: You always sound like yourself. What are you talking about?

Cleo: Stand up on this footstool and look!

Nadia: Ok, ok!

Narrator: And so Nadia did. And Cleo pushed her right into the soup.

Nadia: What!!!  Help!

Cleo: Now take a sip.

Nonny: Wait! Let’s try something different.

[Sprinkles something into the soup.]

Nadia [complaining, whiny]: Nonny, look what Cleo did to me! [Takes a sip].

Gulp. . . . I have fallen in a cauldron. But I’m not afraid.

Pulling herself up to her full height.

I may be a young girl but I know life is hard

For those not so lucky as I am. I'm aware.

I’ve got sprite, I’ve got chutzpah, I got spunk, I got guts.

With some luck, I will help them. Need me? I'll be there.

Narrator, Nonny, Cleo: [clapping] Well done, Nadia!

[Nadia takes a bow.]

Cleo: That was a beautiful poem, Nadia. And such big words!

Nonny: It worked! I sprinkled in heroic words and she spoke a heroic poem!

Nadia: Anybody need rescuing?

Nonny: Here. Let me lift you out. I’m perfecting my word soup. I sprinkle in words and whoever stands in the cauldron or better yet, swallows some of the soup, finds they can’t resist reciting poetry in the language of the words! It’s my best invention yet.

Cleo: Ohhh. Let’s try it on the Narrator.

Nadia: Yes! We’ll put in some music words for him. OK, Larry?

[Our narrator’s name is Larry and he’s a pianist when he isn’t narrating.]

Narrator: Well, Ok. Why not?

Nonny: Girls, go find some music words for him. Meanwhile, we’ll try to fit him into the cauldron. Sorry, Narrator, it is the largest cauldron I could find.

Narrator: Well, I hardly need much prompting about words. I am a narrator after all. But let’s see what they come up with. Oh, yes, speaking of narrating, back to my narrator’s role. [Clears his throat.] So Cleo and Nadia scoured Nonny’s books for words about music. Luckily, Nonny has a lot of books. The Narrator, well, that’s me so I might as well just say “I.” I stepped into the pot and waited. And waited. And waited. I must say that I felt heroic and rather nineteenth century-ish at the same time. I barely suppressed a strange prompting to speak along the lines of David Copperfield when Cleo and Nadia suddenly appeared with a handful of music words.

Cleo and Nadia: Here you go. Into the pot.

[They throw in the words.]

Narrator: Oh, my.

[Standing up to his full height.]

The Rite of Spring does not elicit pity.

Stravinsky leaves no room for our lament.

She dances and she dies and it’s expected.

And so, how starkly modern can you get.

Nonny: Oh, my goodness. Modernism in a nutshell.

Cleo and Nadia [look at each other, then look at the Narrator]: We don’t get it.

Narrator: That’s all right, my dears; I’m not sure I do either.

Cleo: I have a great idea! Let’s have a party and invite everyone we know and let them all stand in the pot and recite poems about what they love!

Nadia: Yes, let’s do. When is the next cele . . . celebration?

Cleo: Well, of course it’s Nonny’s Christmas party!  We’ll do it then. And you learned some big words when you were in the soup. Celebration is a big word.

Cleo and Nadia: Yay! Celebration!

End of Act I.

Act II

[At the Christmas party.  Lots of laughing and general party noise.]

Narrator (clinking on a glass):  Ahem.  Ahem, may I have everyone’s attention please!

We have a party game cooked up, ha ha, for you.  Lin, known to some of you here as Nonny, has made a special and I must say, a delicious soup for your delectation. 

[Cleo and Nadia push the cauldron into the middle of the room. Then everyone hushes and stares at the cauldron.]

Everyone:  Ooh!! Aah! 

[They all take seats around the cauldron.]

Narrator:  Whoever wants to can get into the cauldron, swallow a sip of Nonny’s word soup brew, and instantly become a poet—a good poet, a bad poet, an incomprehensible poet or a simple poet.  But a poet nonetheless.  Nonny puts in a few words for inspiration but really, we can all add what words we want.   And, to assure you that this contraption, excuse me, this magical device is safe, I tried it myself just this afternoon and I think I might just try it again.  My attempts at poetry will show you how this magical brew works.

Ahem.  Here I go. Who knows what awaits.

[The narrator, Larry, awkwardly gets into the cauldron, sweeps the room with a dramatic gesture, and slowly and elaborately takes a sip.]

I wonder what words Nonny has put in for me this time.

Nonny: A surprise.

Narrator/Larry: [raising himself to his full height]:

What would we do without a smarty

Who could put together such a party

That will have us all spouting rhymes!

A better thing to do with one’s time

I cannot imagine. So here’s to Lin

and Mark, Cleo, Nadia and gin

Which I suspect is in this pot!

Raise your glasses, all ye of good cheer

We’re glad you’re here and those who are not

Are in our thoughts, all warm and dear.

[Steps out.]

Narrator/Larry: My goodness, I’ve become sentimental. 

Cleo: That’s not modernism.

Narrator: You are so right, my dear.

David: Modernism!  Let me in that pot and I’ll spout modernism.

[Jumps in and takes a gulp.]

Is it Duchamp or Picasso? We argue endlessly.

Who was the best of last century?

A urinal or a cube, either will do it.

Give me a canvas and I’ll add to it.

A snood or a bluet; it’s all in what you see

There’s even room for incomprehensibility . . .

Rebecca: David, stop!  I’ll bring it back down to earth

[Jumps in.]

There was a tall fellow from France

Who could neither sing nor could dance.

Yet he beat all at chess,

And they say he’s the best.

Now he has ants in his pants.

Cleo:  Huh?!!!  Ants in his pants!!! 

Rebecca [climbing out]: It rhymes.  Besides, Larry said it could be bad poetry.  Why not?

Who’s next?  Julian!

Julian: No, no, not me!

David:  Come on. Get in. [He pushes Julian in. Julian, nervous, takes a gulp.]

Carolyn: I’ll get in with you.  [She does, with their two girls, Sarah and Maya]

Julian: [Suddenly no longer nervous.] When I saw Carolyn coming down to aisle to marry me,

I thought, I have never seen anyone so beautiful.

But then we had Sarah. And now we have Maya.

I can’t find words to say about

These miracles that have happened to me.  [Sobs]

[Embraces his family and steps out.]

Everyone:  Sob!  Sob! 

Julian:  Ok, I did it!  Who’s next???

Nonny:  Mark. I think you should try it.

Mark: [Climbs in, looks around.] Hum.  Let’s see. What do I do here?  I guess I start by taking a sip.

[Mark climbs in and stands upright. While Mark isn’t paying attention, Nonny quickly shows the audience a card with the word DOG on it, then the word in the cauldron.]

Mark: I know. I’ve got a poem.   Ahem.

I think that I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a dog . . .

Dog!!!

[Turns to Nonny]  What?!  That’s not how it goes!!!

Nonny:  Ha, ha!

Cleo and Nadia:  C’mon, GrandMark. Keep at it!

Mark:  And yet . . .  and yet . . . .

[Raises himself to his full height.]

A puppy whose hunger and thirst

Tugs at me, I must provide

Which indeed I do, in fact, I durst

Not, when the wise wide-eyed

Creature hunts me down.  Then

Begs me all day for a walk

That’s when we stroll and talk and talk

About what smells good and what

Smells heavenly.  Oh, I can’t wait

‘Till we get our new puppy!!!

[Gets out of the cauldron and hugs Nonny]

Everyone:  A puppy! Yay, a new puppy!

Ellen: I have a poem. Does it have to be one we’ve written ourselves?

Narrator: Not at all.

Ellen [steps into the cauldron]:  OK, here goes. It’s by William Butler Yeats with a slight alteration by me. [Takes a sip.]  Ahem.

“Wine comes in at the mouth 

And love comes in at the eye; 

That’s all we shall know for truth 

Before we grow old and die. 

I lift the glass to my mouth, 

I look at David, and I sigh.”

[Blows a kiss to her husband David.]

David:  Oh, oh.  Ellen!  Gee . . .

[He comes to help her out of the cauldron and they embrace.]

Everyone:  Awww . . . .

Jonny: Ellen!  You’re inspired me!   You love to garden and so do I.  It’s called “The Children’s Garden.”

[Hops into the cauldron in one leap.  Everyone claps.]

The kids go outside during recess,

Use the watering can that rests

near the rain barrel

or the hose and faucet.

The lettuces emerge in purples

and greens, a nice set of hues

against the good, brown earth.

Who's next?!