The Opera
The eyes of the
firing-squad
are aimed with
lashed
cross-hairs
for now we, the chorus,
all look like oiled up
black ducks in a row
awaiting the diva's
shrill descent in
her purple and pink
sequent gown.
Like a splash
into our waters
We catch it
assuming it would have
fallen, however, lofty
and long-winged.
The audience,
looking up from
their watches
now look
into our glassy
faces with surprise.
Eyes-rolling
back and then
rolling around
trying to make
sense of
gorgeous
simultaneous
voices.
Because
we are only the
chorus
we know they
are wondering what
100 somewhat
attractive people
are doing center stage
and not behind
the coke machine.
The basses drone on
and you can barely hear the
tenors, so the altos carry
all of the low tones
on their buxom
backs.
But the first sopranos
with delicate fingertipped
touches
give life
to sullen
depressed
sleep that
almost took them over.
And so now we catch
older women turning green
and
the older men
looking at us as if
we are younger
versions of their wives.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
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it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
your descriptions in this are spot on! put down so elegantly like the air that surrounds opera...
ReplyDelete"awaiting the diva's shrill descent..." I love that part. and "we catch it, assuming it would have fallen, however, lofty and long-winged." yes.
I was in an opera once...heh...but that is a LONG story lol. <3
OMG I love long stories! I did both Verdi and Vanqui. Vanqui was a Jazz Opera so it was awesome, but...I could have killed the leads in Verdi lol.
ReplyDeleteI was in Verdi's Aida with the Baltimore Opera Company a couple years ago, and I played Amneris' body double for the bath scene. let's just say I wasn't wearing much...!
ReplyDeleteand I <3 Verdi so so so much.
WHoa! lol. GREAT story.
ReplyDeletelol yea, it was an experience...ha!
ReplyDeleteOpera is different from choir, but this brings back memories from when I was in choir and plays.
ReplyDeleteI think the description:
"for now we, the chorus,
all look like oiled up
black ducks in a row" is quite great!
:D audiences can be intimidating.
ReplyDelete