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.

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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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