A Poem in Three Sonnets
~THE ACTOR~
Bravo! Each charming line you’ve learned by heart.
With faultless timing, you don’t miss a cue,
An effortless portrayal of the part,
That “Character” you play – who now plays you.
You take the centre stage where you command
Your audience with charismatic flair.
They grasp each gesture falling from your hand,
Each phrase so deftly turned beyond compare.
And what of the applause to which you bow?
Is not the joy of playing to the crowd
A crown which you wear brightly on your brow,
A rapture to be savoured long and loud?
But who are you as the lighting falls,
When you have taken your last curtain calls?
When you remove your mask, who do you see?
And whose form moves beneath the fine costume?
Is this the “Hero” or is this the “He”
Behind that suave persona you assume?
From dressing room, you walk to the stage door,
And stepping through it into the quiet night,
Do you not long for something that means more?
A role beyond this world in the spotlight?
Your “Leading Ladies” court you as you play
And dance attendance while you entertain,
But do they know YOU and in knowing, stay
To share your doubts and could it be, your pain?
“The Actor” walks in solitude alone,
To No-one shall his real face be shown.
And so, do I presume to lift your mask?
And do I hope to better understand?
I do not want impatiently to ask
Too much, or even yet to take your hand.
Yes, I would know the One behind the lines
And I would know him fully through and through,
And I would know him beyond the confines
Of that fine role he plays, this much is true.
But still I would not ever ask for more
Than you would offer willingly to me,
For love’s not love that keeps a conscious score
Or is not given with intent that’s free.
So, play beneath those lights for all to see,
But then, take off your mask and dance with me!
© Catherine Hamilton 2000 amended 2023
SONNETS AT LA HOUGUE BIE NEOLITHIC GRAVE and MEDIEVAL CHAPELS on, AUTUMN EQUINOX
Paused on the pivot point of nights and days
light nudges at the coast, tickles awake
the drowsing birds. The first tentative rays
fumble through dew-ghosted grass to take
their route towards the round, maternal mound.
Upon her flanks, late summer-weary leaves
skirt her curves. The cairn yawns. Underground
between her shadowed structures, brightness weaves
a penetrating path, a brimming beam
of life, in brilliance pulsing through the stones.
It inundates the chamber, the swift stream
illuminates the place where once, dead bones
were laid, awaiting resurrected birth,
in faith, as sun-shot shafts flood through the Earth.
A sanctity no raiders could erase
endures millennia. Time’s meaningless
in the quiet peace of this liminal space
where generations find a sacredness.
Conjoined by one roof, twinned chapels rise
in supplication to another Son.
Hope lives on, clothed in a different guise,
declaring victory over death is won.
In granite, humankind would here confine
a transitory spark of something more,
a power beyond this known life, the Divine:
The truth that follows on, that came before.
A moment’s grace born in serenity
holds fast the hope of immortality.
(c) Catherine Hamilton 2024
Catherine's Attic 