From where I sit, I watch a public stage;
a cast of shadows with seasonal script.
Impromptu cameos that shall not age;
characters unrehearsed and unequipped.
A festival of snippets with short parts;
segmental sentences: subjects with verb.
Animated motion that stops and starts
with poignant pause that says: ‘do not disturb’.
All this against a backdrop, a theatre
of railings and stairs, overhanging trees,
falling leaves, broken bench, urban litter;
props, stage props; a scene full of properties.
. No better stage than that that has my gaze.
. No better tale than that before me plays.
© Tim Grace, 12 May 2013
To the reader: “All the world’s a stage …” [from Shakespeare’s As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII)] is a soliloquy that lays-out the seven stages of life; in not the fondest of terms. At each stage there seems discontent, a lament of one sort or another, based upon a jaundiced world-view. At every st/age we do struggle, we do grizzle, and we do bemoan our circumstances… but in sum, most of us can find a moment of reflection that retrieves a fond memory … I for one enjoyed 3, 13, 23, 33, 43, 53 and life goes on!
To the poet: “Life’s but a walking shadow…” [from Shakespeare’s Macbeth (Act V, Scene V)] draws similar conclusion; announcing “a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage…” will tell a tale the signifies nothing. And so forlorn, this poet observes that same stage with a view to catching the occasional glimpse of happiness, a rare moment of idle pleasure, alongside an illusive act of compassion. Not so invisible… you just have to look!