Best Footlights Poems
Crumpled Thoughts
They wait – in hues of vibrating silence -
Like leftover orts of rumpled paper wimples
On creased clandestine journal pages –
Bent scraps of wrinkled inspiration
Smudged moments held in their one moment of time
Musings fading to illegible
Lost chords in treasured memories of radiance,
Sunspots of incomplete illumination,
Or crumpled creativity on paper wings
Snapshots of raw moments in tormented terror
Footprint creased signatures of incensed avenging angels
For abandoned ragged beggars in pencil
Of partial tidings
Wearing incomplete tatters of disturbed serenity
Waiting – lined up – for their turn to speak –
Vying for resuscitation
As actors reading their scripts –
Players auditioning for ideas
Of ice castles throwing off anonymity
Whistling like nonchalant sentimental journeys
In phases of the moon begging for words
Libretti confronting notes wandering in obscurity
Impatient plans in fits of tantrum’s flight
Residue of fantasies for
Gypsy fortuneteller’s phantasmal globes
Rescued by ruminations tender muse
With the gift of time to take them from her
Nurturing womb into full life and maturity –
Blinking in the brightness of real time
Bits and snatches adjust sight from consecrated darkness
To lumens brightness of looming footlights
Now taking bows in postmarks of epilogues -
Snatched from wondrous oblivion -
Profiles sketched in hope’s penumbra.
1-11-21
Contest: Crimpled Thoughts
Sponsor: John Lawless
The aroma of mellow gardenias, the dance of a ballerina,
the sound of an Italian concertina
Purple, shaded, toe shoes that glide across a stage with
footlights and an applause of praise.
Tender thoughts to remember, in winter, Spring or even
a blustery, Midwest September.
Birthdays that my parents bought me corsages for, and
many relatives with presents at the door.
Birthday dinners on ivory and gold linen with candle lights,
such elegance.leaves, my soul, sparkling bright.
Decades later, I recall, my little daughter, Maria born three
days prior to my birthday, was the most blessed gift from
God~overall!
I may be eight-five today, but I still am full of life and to plan
to play, full-out, till God calls me home on my final day.
3/13/2023
Leaves of burnished gold take flight
Whirling spirals, with childish delight
A final pirouette without a sound
Before they sadly hit the ground
Their dance is done, they take their place
Piously accepting autumn,with simple grace
Wearing faded colors of garnet, gold and green
They serenely exit, from the final scene
The footlights diminished for another year
Until the choreographer of Spring, faithfully reappears
Leaves will emerge in sunshine and bathe in the rain
A glorious celebration for the dance to begin again
Actors All
by Odin Roark
To fool
Or be fooled
Innate competition for
Life’s continuance sweepstakes
Real life’s honesty
Knows survival of the fittest
Relies on impression’s armament
One’s tightly woven costume of persuasion
Ever ready to defend strategy’s patience
Curtains rise
Settings come alive
Footlights’ massage
Spotlights’ invite
As staging presents
Seduction’s heroes and heroines
Intermission
The persuaders
And persuaded
Take respite
As presentation’s set-up and conflict
Prepares regroupings
Making ready the resolve
Closing curtain
Applause fades
Marquee goes temporarily dark
But just as the next opening
Opts to repeat tried and proven choices
Whether performer
Or audience
The art of persuasion
Continues to evolve
Gradually
Acting’s duality of purpose
Will fade-out separation’s proscenium arch
Opting to invite spectators on stage
Where applause and bows will become one
Where separate identity will cross over
Forging audience and players as one
Making the we/them question moot
Yes
The Bard was right
Actors all
"Proper Pam im-promiscuity carries a
tepid torch against the blank footlights
of a dimlit digital marital marquee---last on the
billing of a car-null double featurette like
a black and white bijou plotless rerun
hand cranked by an arthritic arm;
pit pursuant of
quicksand lust with a gray gaze monotony
able to hitchhike from a plavce point left
only undetermined,
I've seen more action from a shoe sticky floor
or a large hole in an uncomfortable seat cushion,
not to "juxtapare" mind me but what a
chronofile, if briefcases couldspeak and not the
numbers from the credit card diction-ary of child
desires---stratfied pleasures far from TILT
lean calmly on majestic inconsequentials--like
ships passing in the night.
a blue ribbon in a cud chewing contest
O'er the years my spouse and I have enjoyed Broadway Revues,
And the stars of song and dance on an occasional ocean cruise.
But none will compare to the shows we love the best of all,
Those priceless plays and concerts in the school assembly hall!
We encouraged our little girls in their philharmonic pursuit,
One mastering the clarinet, the other the melodious flute!
We relished each delightful musicale, concert and revue,
Where they proudly performed as their musical confidence grew.
The girls gave us grandkids that have brought us so much joy,
And now we have had their choirs and concerts to enjoy!
(The girls now suffer the din of the squawking clarinet,
Babble of budding actors and the raucous bleat of cornet!)
Our social life was on the skids till great-grandkids arrived.
Thanks to them our entertainment options have been revived!
Lord willing, we'll be privileged to enjoy another generation,
As they perform the arts to complete their cultural education.
Alas, the children's school years have passed so very fleet,
But in that short span they've made our lives more complete!
Tho' the footlights are dimmed and the curtain has been drawn,
Another generation will take the stage and the show will go on!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Curtain Time
by Odin Roark
The warnings
The preparation
The moment
Such expectancy
Be it plebeian
Or royal instinct
Openings' glitter
Brings incessant challenges
Making hoary one's existence
So functions the undertow
The inward monitor
Yours
Mine
Those backstage
Probity unseen
Untested
How diligent this amorphous reality
This integrity always in the making
Urging while cautious
Impotent while daring
Tactical while fearful
For it knows missteps
Begin in the wings
Yet
Blinding lights lure
Sounds of acceptance seduce
Daring casts its fate
Across one's personal footlights
Moment's truth is heard
Why
This need for lights
Applause
Veneration
Once reserved for artists
Of the stage?
We only know
Celebritydom
Entices the ignorant
The smart
The genius
And the saintly
The world is one big curtain
Al-Qaeda
Congress
Hollywood
Domestic and career aspirants
Even philanthropies
Clamor for the luminosity
The sweat of anticipation
The roar of acceptance
Not yet knowing the silence
Of an empty house
Such is reality
Sooner
Or
Later
Once the curtain is down
All lights then turn to dim
Music slowly trails off
As the self bows back in
Moments of reflection
Memory becomes faint
When the thrill has left you
And you wipe off the paint
You think of what it was
That you have then just done
Knowing all it has meant
Amazed if you had fun
You aren't even quite sure
If you'll keep going on
In search of more footlights
To brighten your soul song
81 Words Rhyme 4/20/22
Fantasy in a red gown
Face as beautiful as dawn
Figure to make men weep
Filling the Met with my voice
Feeling the music soar
Finding high C with ease
Flowing, soaring, caressing
Fascinating the audience
Fabulous final aria
Footlights up, flowers, curtain calls
Oh..to sing at the Metropolitan Opera
For the Fantasy Character contest...
Where are all the great patrons
Throw me a hook you fishers of men
That I might be caught and eaten
by the audience beyond the footlights
That my blood be spilled on pages
and canvas in prescribed portion
Afford me the flame of arrogance
to believe that my own hand
in the fire of creation touches wonder
and maybe God himself
Footlights:The Joy of Being a Stand Up Comedian
The audience is getting their drinks,
And a silent hush falls, like a wave,on the crowd.
I know it's my moment to rise and shine,
Standing alone, facing a crowd, albeit totally unknown.
It's the most frightening moment of my
life, as perspiration runs down my back.
How can I make others laugh?
But it's quite easy you see,
I simply was taught to just be me,
With no jokes,and no corny lines to crack.
The audience and I, in close relationship.
Was the sweetest, biggest treat for me.
The short time passed oh, too quickly.
A magical kinship so very sweet,
That no heckler ever did I ever meet!
Comedy in the 70's was based on humor.
Not political destruction, nor filled with
obscenities we drown in today.
It was a total rush, for me!
Always with my heart pounding,
before they announced simply, me.
Afterwards, people asking for my autograph,
How sweet is that, I thought!
And the best part, ever?
Saying they would love to have a friend
Like me in their lives, forever.
Doing comedy, yes, a rush divinely complete!
Panagiota Romios
4/11/2019
Entry: My Amphetamine Contest
Anthony Slausin
Credits to my comedic mentors: Tom Dreisen and Tim Reid
(the first and last interracial comedy team.)
Plus the teachers and cast members at Second City Theatre,
Chicago, Illinois
My jaunt through over crowded hallways
past bodies grouped like gulls gathering
a grey murmuring
patients on overdose
their creased faces like glaciers streaked
by warming
pink white rings that circle their eyes
rabbit pinched
unfocused
glances not easily discarded
Henry, slumped in his wheelchair
his body uncoupled like a skylark
cut from song
thin shoulders falling to trembling limbs
He greets me, barely audible
words that leave soft traces
that sometimes choke on their own silence
What oozes forth,
fragmented stories of acting on the stage
till footlights dimmed
Time vandalized history
Roots in a cushioned land
Beseeching, he asks "Roll my wheelchair to the
train tracks. Leave me there."
Panic closes in like shutters
to darken the wood of smiling
I wedge words, can brook no paths criminal
A quick embrace to soothe unmoored grief
to appease the unprotected
My blunt exit (slowed momentum)
on floor stickiness,
waste-brine that coats my soles
anchoring displacement
Poem revised June 9, 2021
Is standing at the footlights, with
a crowd, unknown and that you
cannot see!
With smoke billowing to the ceiling.
You share your Funny Stories
with total strangers.
Suddenly, transformation.
They love your jokes instantly.
Only, they were not jokes.
I was totally sharing me.
It's akin to falling in love.
You absolutely are fearless!
You just let go!
Then you and the audience
become one in festive fun.
November 22, 2019
***Panagiota~ retired stand-up
Comedian:Chicago and S.F.
Credits to my comedy teachers:
Tom Dressen- Comedian;opening act for Sinatra
Tim Reed-" WKRP in Cincinnati"***
A starlet on stage, her fawning shrine
Footlights dimmed ~ so too the shine
Fantasy in a red gown
Face as beautiful as dawn
Figure to make men weep
Filling the Met with my voice
Feeling the music soar
Finding high C with ease
Flowing, soaring, caressing
Fascinating the audience
Fabulous final aria
Footlights up, flowers, curtain calls
Oh..to sing at the Metropolitan Opera
For Christie’s Fantasy contest
Unfortunately, I can’t sing a note.