Thread: Showfolk

The bit players
of a never cancelled drama
learn to live their lies
delivering lines
to reflections that reveal
what they pretend to see;
painstakingly painted faces
screaming happy.

With half smile and slight nod
they call upon cued prompts
and proudly pipe up
"Good Morning" to passersby.
Most deserve accolades
for their performances.
Those fencing with foreclosure,
or dueling with depression,
happily chat with hostages
held by habits;
cutters, shooters. bingers and neat freaks,
all equally bound and gagged
by their obsessions,

yet they never break character.

I watch the exchange
as bile takes the elevator
to my esophagus
then shimmies up into my mouth
in a dance of disgust
to sour my tongue
and belabor a barricade
of firmly cemented lips.

An elephantine effort
in pelican pantomime
sends it barreling back down
to the empty basement.
Who am I to deny
the show must go on?

With props of cardboard tent,
raggedy wardrobe, a baggie of bliss,
and a coffee can
to catch cast off quarters,
my blackened stumps
broadly beam a grin
not easily dismissed or forgotten.
My stroke stricken mind
replies in kind
slurring back the only line
I can still recall
from my heyday on the A List,
when on occasion
dawn
was actually delectable.

Word on the street is
I'm a shoe-in for best actress
at next year's Oscars
providing my SAG card
isn't revoked
by the Director in chief.

You'd be surprised
at what a lovely mantle
a cracked curb makes.

As sunset snaps off the spotlight
an unspoken "cut"
sends showfolk scurrying
to scour caked makeup.
No sense sullying the shams
during the nightly toss and turn
battling an array of disarrays.

Even with curtain closed
and house lights dimmed,
still, they can't break character…

nor could I,
which is why
I opted for the freedom
afforded
by my steadfast stand-in…



Mr. Heroin.

Brilliant piece CD. Among other high points, the flow was flawless, especially in the "cardboard tent" and last three stanzas (not to mention the last line).

The poem is vicious and merciless towards the phonies. Really dig how life's actors are reduced to carnival characters who play out their serious acts without realizing how profoundly and unintentionally they appear fools and buffoons. You, as the narrator, identify and acknowledge the fact that such plays are necessary in order to present yourself in the best light while covering up your own wounds and tragedies, while the same acts are simultaneously recognized as strained, dishonest and ugly, purely as a matter of course, regardless of how well acted a person's public face may appear. The end is a shocker. Instead of putting on the metaphorical makeup in the morning, she has a breakfast of heroin. Freedom cannot be found in the play because the actors are prisoners to their own unshakeable drama (to which one might argue they are hopelessly addicted). Rather, freedom is found in numbness. Or more accurately, in not giving a **** for the theater anymore. Hence heroin. In that respect, your poem is both redemptive and tragic. Redemptive because there is a light at the end of the tunnel which hints at something happier than acting in a play you have no hand in writing. Tragic because that light (numbness and withdrawal from the scene) carries the equally heavy and torturous burden of alienation from the other people/actors. It's striking.

Again, excellent poem CD. Keep posting, girl.

I echo everything Edgewise had to say. Another brilliant and reaching piece. Oh, The Human Condition!

I love your play on words here

learn to live their lies

Agreed. This was my favorite:

An elephantine effort
in pelican pantomime
sends it barreling back down
to the empty basement.
Who am I to deny
the show must go on?

Very dark work, Lisa, yet I couldn't stop reading until I reached the conclusion. You've definitely not lost your chops.

Wow, powerful poem, Lisa. The show must go on indeed. Sad that in the end, to cope with all the bs, the MC turns to heroin. We've all got our soothers. Some are more poisonous than others.

Loved it. Easily a dozen lines that stood out and commanded attention.

An utterly furious read, well executed.

Uhm... wow. This is, in a word, riveting. At first I was like, "hmm... let's see..." but then, as I read on, I threw my guard away, letting myself be drawn with the flow of this dark piece. You nailed it, CD, and I can only give my utmost agreement to the praises of those above me.

If I have to choose a stanza which I liked the most, this'd be it:

As sunset snaps off the spotlight
an unspoken "cut"
sends showfolk scurrying
to scour caked makeup.
No sense sullying the shams
during the nightly toss and turn
battling an array of disarrays.

But seriously? The choice does not matter. Every stanza stands out really well. The flow was just fantastic, and the wordplay was witty.

And the ending was like, for a lack of a word, kaboom.

Again, a very dark, brilliant, moving read. Reminds me of that line Marilyn Monroe once said, "Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul."

Gee, guys I don't know what to say, blushing here. I do apologize for taking so long to reply, it's been a horror show trying to catch up with everything, so please forgive me. I'm very pleasantly surprised at this piece's reception, I expected it to be lukewarm at best.

Dear Edge, Your interpretation is spot on and never in a million years could I have explained it so perfectly. I can never say what I mean, and you saved me the embarrassment of trying to do so, thank you profusely for that. You know how much I respect and admire your ability, so your comments had me beaming from ear to ear, I am so very honored that you thought so highly of this piece. Truly appreciate your taking so much time with this and for spending a few of your valuable moments to tell me your opinion. I invested a good deal of time making swaps and such to make this work and there's is no better feeling than finding out that that time was well spent. I can't thank you enough, love, even if I dedicated the entire page to saying so.


Dear Laurie, Again I have the delight to extend my heartfelt thanks. I knew of all people, you would understand that line as I do. Neither of us would expose our bare faces to the world, thank God for Almay. lol.


Dear Squalid Glass, My thanks to you, also, sir. That happens to be my favorite stanza also, am ever so please it resonated with you and that you cited it thereby putting it in the spotlight. I wasn't sure if it would work and went so far as to Google images of pelicans swallowing to make sure it was what I wanted. I'm so glad it worked.


Dear Cin, That italicized "definitely" brought a great deal of relief to my worried mind. You knew how upset I was at the thought that I had lost my chops, they are the only things I have left that actually work, lol. I am elated I was able to hold your attention until the end, I was concerned about the length, initially it was shorter, but it just kept growing as is my wordy habit. Length isn't always a bad thing as long as it doesn't become tedious. Thanks so much for the nod, love, I really needed the boost.


Dear Cae, I just love that word powerful, thank you so much. What you say is true, we all have our soothers, over the years I was surprised to find out just how many people I knew were closet junkies. Whatever gets you through the day, I guess, after all, who am I to judge? Some people cope better than others, but everyone needs an out, unfortunately healthy seems to be the choice less taken.


Dear Tom, It was a distinct pleasure to have your thoughts, and such lovely ones, indeed. I've always been partial to your work and I'm glad I was able to produce something you found to your satisfaction. Thank you so much.


Dear Fuhrer, Wow, what a great reply, love, thank you. The stanza you cited is my second favorite and I'm glad you spotlighted it for me. Your glowing words spread their luminescence to my face. Miss Marilyn had it right, but I don't think they ever bothered to pay her fifty cents, her soul, they just stole.


At the risk of being hung for the crime of repetition, I must simply thank you all again with all my heart.


All my best, now and always,
Lisa

What a great poem, full of vivid imagery and alliteration especially lines like:

'I watch the exchange
as bile takes the elevator
to my esophagus'

and:

'As sunset snaps off the spotlight
an unspoken "cut"'

I also really enjoyed the lines:

'With props of cardboard tent,
raggedy wardrobe, a baggie of bliss,
and a coffee can
to catch cast off quarters,
my blackened stumps
broadly beam a grin'

It just seems to encapsulate destitution, only thing I am not sure about is the word 'beam', although it flows well through your use of alliteration it doesn't feel right to me, as beam says something like a megawatt Hollywood smile to me, but then again perhaps you were aiming for irony here.

The last two lines where you used end rhyme are really effective and reflect the utter hopelessness so deftly portrayed throughout the poem, I really enjoyed reading this ChesterD.

Kind regards,
Saucerful

If poetry is my steadfast stand-in then it is a tragic reality. And sometimes that would be the toughest thing to admit.
The connection between showbiz and an external locus of identity makes for a dangerous cocktail of psychological dynamics.
I guess theirs is a more obvious and defined case than most lives. For those that have to suffer in silence and private ignominy,
I can only offer a prayer, a steadying hand, and poetry.

My apologies for the delay, guys, we've ripped out the bathroom and my time has been so short. Doing my best to catch up on my stuff as well as everyone else's.

Dear Saucerful, I am so delighted at your reply as I deeply admire your talent. I'm glad that stanza worked for you, thought it might have been overkill, my tendency for wordiness often sabotages me. As to beam, irony it is. I thought beam would better enhance the nastiness of those blackened stumps. I always take the ironic route, I'm a sarcastic thing, lol. Truly appreciate your sharing your feeling on this one. I see I have quite of few of yours to catch up on, which I will as soon as possible.

Dear Ricky, I took it to extremes to make my point. Fortunately, a good portion of the population doesn't have to cake on as much makeup, although I do believe we all wear masks at times. Never let 'em see you sweat. Besides, one can actually pretend all is well if their denial is sturdy enough. I'm the first to admit I use poetry as my stand-in, it's far better than other possible avenues of escape. We can create places of beauty, or in my case, vent and commit a murder or two in the process, all without legal repercussions hanging over my head. You, my friend, create the beauty for me. When things hurt we cry with words, when we're happy, we sing with words, but we get it out. I, too, feel for those who haven't the safety valve that blesses us in the form of a pen. Your offer of a prayer, a steady hand and poetry is a kind and gracious one, indeed.

Many thanks to you both.

All my best,
Lisa