Front of house

Ideas tumble, refusing to sit still; perhaps I should keep mum,

Allow the endless circling, but only hidden in my brain,

No exit given, no train of thought to lead a merry dance from A to B:

Just block ‘em in and push ‘em down until they pass without being given voice…


Too late! It seems they’ve found the fire escape,

They’re running down the stairs without a backward glance!

You thought Pandora’s box was troublesome?

Please meet this crowd of feelings finding words,

 Unmarshalled phrases milling round and arguments jostling for a place: 

“Use me!” “I know this script!” “I want a turn!”

While rearguard common sense sighs,

Please behave! I’m meant to be in charge.

I am the one who sets the scene, directs,

Decides who takes the lead or gets a walk-on part”

And why, what for? What motive drives this farce, this tragi-comic soapsud-opera,

The irresistible compulsion to make such tidy records of the mind? 

Behold, conclusions birthed of desperation in the search for truth!

Salted with meaning, peppered with comfort, spiced with pathos – 

And as a by-product, perhaps some entertainment for voyeurs!

Roll up, roll up! It’s pure creative force!

And makes a thrilling mystery-drama, if you follow it – 

This mother’s story, worth it’s weight in tears.

Perhaps you’ll empathise and find some clues and keys,

Or some refreshment from this fermentation of my heart uncorked

And poured into a glass of words to raise a toast to hope and faith and love


Perhaps you’ll just enjoy the ride: I do and actually that’s enough.

I am not really in control,

I make some choices – who knows why –

The script’s been learned already, I must play it out 

Impulsively, intuitively, far more than prudently. 

An open vein, the open heart, my life-blood in creative form,

Inspired, uninvited thoughts so often tangentially 

GATECRASHING my clever plans

But all designed, of course, to give the best effect…


We all know ‘front of house’ means ‘backstage’ too,

Creative license is allowed, however true the tale,

Not lying, merely manufacturing with words – just as an actor does in theatre.

The really raw material’s behind the scenes, so’s not to spoil the show.

While viewers are admitted – indeed most welcome, one and all! – 

They’re always sent away at curtain down…

Unless you have a pass to meet the stars when make-up’s been removed,

Extraordinary access so that you can question the director on her cut.

And who will watch this play?

It’s free for all, but I can’t make the call.


About Sally Ann

True-story teller - words and pictures
This entry was posted in Poetry, Writing about writing!. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Front of house

  1. Pingback: It’s high time… « Longing to escape…

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