Silver Stages, Golden Curtains
The tiny actress getting mail today
Star to be, A-list making debut pray
Mystery actress frowning fails to sway
The friendly glances, parting us away
Suddenly, artist’s striving wails dismay
Silently, actress trying airs true play,
Did you hear me past the wealth’s illusion?
Did muse peer me past the wealth’s delusion?
Tread few near the palace bluff by ocean
Edge too risky, lavishness erosion
Ledge to dreamy cliff in plush corrosion
Would you fear the actress’s flush emotion?
The tiny actress donning fine sundress
Perfectly acted, sunning opulence
From rosy patches gilding vine’s trellis
The starry visage clearing palace fence
The wealthy heiress running lines intense
Whispery voice’s ghosting did I sense,
You do see filming’s frock efacing me?
The movie billing’s lock restraining me
Leitmotif’s dancing box rotating me
B- movie’s writing toxifying me
Unless directing’s balking cuts me free
True is producing’s hawking cursing me
The tiny actress stands behind her fence
Her shiny black dress grand, refined pretense
No nosy flak’s press band to find defense
Agencies’ slackness: brands do blind the sense,
To see the actress lands new fine license,
To relieve sadness and true lines offense,
I peer at you beside pool scripting vain
I fear grandeur decides cruel fating same
Austere reviews decried fools’ playing lame
The folly due the silver staging fame
Dear, truly movies are a grifting game
Slavery to the moguls’ selling game.
At the risk of sounding like a creepy stalker, my neighbor, a beautiful, talented actress, inspired this poem. Coming home one day, I saw her getting mail, appearing with a sad countenance. The next day, I crossed the yard near her fence and happened to see her reading while relaxing in the yard in her sundress. Her brief sighting struck me like the day prior but in a lonely way, and both days images of her stirred thoughts I could not articulate. A few days later, I happen to be talking to some people by the pool, and she walked near the fence that stands at a higher elevation. Wearing a black dress and caught in the sunlight, she appeared from the height with such beauty and grandeur I could not help but wonder why she did not star in more movies. Her vision at the fence and prior moments formed a ghostly portrait that denoted the Hollywood dream few experience for needing to know the right people. While scribing her in that dream, Spotify played “Green Grass and High Tides” by the Outlaws, which seemed to fit the piece for knowing that song’s inspiration. I chose to write this in a mosaic rhyme pattern, trying to capture her haunting, flowing dialogue like an invisible muse speaking.
~~~Photo by Cameron Venti on Unsplash