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TGR, Gutenberg, Rubric

March 2015



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TGR, Gutenberg, Rubric

PAD Days 8 & 9

"Today is a Tuesday--sooooooo, that means you will get to choose from two prompts this morning. Actually, you'll get to choose from two paintings, because today's prompt asks you to write a poem that is inspired by one of the two paintings linked below. Please indicate the title of the painting or the artist's name somewhere in your comment as well. Of course, there is also the possibility that you could blend the two together. Hmmm..."

Piazza d'Italia

I don't understand the words, but the meaning is clear enough.
It is all sung in Italian -- what opera isn't? --
The music washes over me with inspiration that won't stop.
Oh, the rudiments of the set are clear enough.
When the chorus comes out through the arches,
they are dancing with the scenery.
The theatre shakes with the stomping of their feet,
their voices raised triumphantly in praise of Venus
and her little boy Cupid.

The audience doesn't understand, yet, the Green Cyc Silk light filter.
Most haven't even noticed it creeping in.
I love computerized light boards!
In the old days I never could have set a light to fade in for over half an hour.
They won't get the real impact until Act Three.
Then they will realize that the deathly cloud is settling in
over their licentious festivities.

These two old guys who set the stage are getting boring.
Bring on the chorus girls!

Especially Alexandra.
I don't press "Go" for cue 146 until she looks up at me.
Everyone else will leave the stage
and she will fix me with her Pacific Green eyes
and hold that look
until the Bastard Amber has all cross-faded to Indigo
with just a hint of Surprise Pink blushing on her face.
It will seem to glow in the distant light of the volcano.

And then she will sing, and I will weep.

She will move into the pool of Gypsy Lavender
that I have prepared for her next to the statue
and I will carress her cheek with Light Flame
brought in from the back -- a corona to frame
that heavenly profile.
As the notes of her aria fade, so will the lights --
the last one lingering as if reluctant to release her hand --
and the volcano will erupt.

I have to stay at my post through the curtain calls,
then lock down the board and rush backstage.
There, I will wait in the shadow of the plinth from "Xerxes"
and watch until she leaves the dressing room.
She might be alone,
or some presumptuous baritone might catch her and offer her a lift.
But I...
I have touched her like no other living man.
I have placed the blush on her cheek
with lights.

"Today's prompt is to choose a word (any word) and then write a poem either about that word or using that word in different ways. Be sure to point out which word you're writing about."

The End

We are nearing the end
of this ghastly drama in which we pretend
civility to each other and endeavor
to convince the masses that we blend
perfectly with their sense of enduring
bliss; while beneath we tend
to seethe, and rush to bend
the ears of our stalwart and faithful friends,
wishing nothing more than to rend
the facade of perfection, sending
their ideals to Hades, lending
strength and finality to The End.



I like how #8 swings from cultured to romantic to um, hormonal? Excellent mood and last line!
Hey, there. I attempted to give you a call yesterday. I'd love a brief chat if you've got the time this weekend! :)
My gosh! I called the wrong Sara back!

I'm going to be working around outside most of tomorrow. I'll try to keep my cell phone with me, so call me when you can. I'd love to chat.