Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The LDR Of The Silent Movie Queen

(Note: my power has been out for some 50 hours, until tonight. I was very disappointed not to be able to be part of Sheila's excellent silent movie prompt at dverse,  but my dear friend Hedgewitch stepped in and saved the day. First, she patiently transcribed my poem over the phone, and then posted it on her own blog, Verse Escape. You can find it, and the comments that people kindly left, HERE. Thank you, Hedgewitch, for being a true friend above and beyond the call of duty, and also for resisting the urge to add Vikings and brush hogs to my poem!)

The LDR Of The Silent Movie Queen


The silent movie queen
drops her parfait spoon,
and up comes her arm,
bent at the elbow,
delicate fingers curled at her cupid's bow mouth;
a single tear
falling from her fabulous raccoon eye.

Who should be watching this--
Who should be riveted by this--
but the talk show radio host.

Given a mobile of microphones
by his parents
as a baby,
his mother cradled him, drenching him in her love,
and whispered,
"We're on the air."

The radio talk show host
dreams of surrounding the silent movie queen
with his mellifluous devotion.
Above their bed,
a red light;
next to their bed,
a bank of telephones,
all off the hook.

He believes that she
can teach him not to fear being seen.
He believes that she,
enraptured by his kisses,
might express her joy
on a charming sepia-toned
dialogue card.

The silent movie queen
tilts her head,
seems to laugh, almost child-like
though she must now be over a hundred.

Her curls,
her dress,
her wide-brimmed bouquet of a hat;
all of these fill the radio talk show host with longing,
and strike him dumb with desire,
just as the ending credits come up.

In the dark, no one can see him.
In the dark
he hears her calling him
from across the years.
Calling,
calling,
caller,
(he whispers)
don't hang up.

_________ 

top photo: Mary Pickford

bottom photo: Theda Bara

 

12 comments:

Lydia said...

It sizzles. I said more over at Hedgewitch's posting of your post.
Glad you are powerful once again. :)


word veri: wordie

Sioux said...

First of all, I'm glad you survived without power for that long with your sanity still intact.

There's a creepy undercurrent (or perhaps an overcurrent...Is there such a thing?) in your poem. The phrase "raccoon eyes," the ending is fabulous, and the way you captured the look of the silent screen stars is spot-on.

Glad the power is back on...in more ways than one (inspirationally-speaking, not talent-wise).

Daryl said...

He believes that she
can teach him not to fear being seen.

Awesome

Brian Miller said...

yay! all is right once more in the world...shay is back in power...hedge is cool...and its great to see you shay...

Jannie Funster said...

She DOES have fabulous raccoon eyes.

And thwat was some nice of Hedgewitch. 50 hours w/o power, oitch.

xo

Jenny said...

Wow. You are the master of visualization. Geez, this was good.

I'm glad you got your power back. That must have been tough.

Lynn said...

Raccoon eyes - that's just what they look like. :)

50 hours without power - that's terrible! Glad it's back on and glad you have such a good friend.

Mama Zen said...

Come on; just one viking?

hedgewitch said...

I tried very hard to find Mary Pickford in Viking regalia, but apparently she never played Brunnhilda or anything really cool like that. (Sad waste of talent, imo.)

This is a fine poem which I enjoyed a lot, and I was so happy I could help get it out in time for the prompt. I'm even happier your power is finally back on. What an ordeal!

Cloudia said...

in the dark...



nice one


Aloha from Waikiki;


Comfort Spiral


> < } } ( ° >



><}}(°>

haikulovesongs said...

i love, love, love the ending! the entire poem is brilliant! glad your power's back on. ♥

johnallenrichter said...

Shay, we haven't met. I'm John and I just found your poem on Hedgewithch's blog...... intensely beautiful...... I felt the passion of that young radio show host..... You sold me on the "raccoon eye" and "Cupid's bow mouth." Instantly I imagined a beautiful young silent-film starlet on set in full regalia and makeup. And then enter a radio talk show host.... and I had to think for a moment, no, those two couldn't be, different generations, different eras.. and then - that last stanza blew me away...... how awesome.... I really enjoyed this poem. I felt everything that young man did... his passion ripped through me..... "he whispers, don't hang up.." Oh.