Heartlines

Love is a game, my dear,
that neither of us are much good
at playing. Your little tricks
and guile are too easily discerned:
mine are equally unsubtle.
Oh, what hopeless participants
we are in love’s great contest—
if this was a race we’d be disqualified
for dawdling.

And yet, my dear, who else
would put up with our incompetence,
our easy-to-see through trickery.
We have grown used to the game
and neither of us are fit for any other.
So let us stick to what we know
and continue to play the game –
after all, it helps to pass the time.

Bill Fitzsimons

The Play
(They say never work with children or animals but…)

If you want to lose a stone in quick time, try putting on a play with an adult –
volunteer cast.

Part 1
The casting obvious, so easy, so far so good
The read- through, hesitant and shy of each other mostly, but there’s always one
who likes to boast and show- boat.
But anyway, so far so good…mostly.

Part 2
Learn the lines
Make them fit
Yes, with your character not someone you saw in a pantomime once on the telly, on a stage somewhere. Oh, and yes, you do need to come to rehearsals now you know your lines.
Deep breaths all round.
Big breath
In hold 10 seconds
Out exhale 10 seconds and repeat until…

Two months later
So far, I have lost 8 pounds and quite a bit of sleep, but it goes with the territory, doesn’t it?
Managed without one of the main characters again – male or female.
Had a wedding
Funeral /wake
Leaving do
Birthday
Football match to attend
Or simply forgot.
Pulling, twisting, shaping – coming together for the most part, I think.
Technicals Tick
Sound Tick
Costumes Tick
Suggestions aplenty from the cast and just about any unqualified passer-by. All gratefully received except for:
Why must the break, the interval, be here on page 52, why not have it after page 45?
Now forgetting the deep breaths
I have put it there because…but why am I even explaining the process, artistic
reasons for putting it there? NO, no we go with it there, decisive me speaks

Part 3 Dress Rehearsal
Now lost 12 pounds. Doing well managing on 4 hours sleep a night.
Take:
Costumes
Props
Stage furniture
Lots of deep breaths and a beatific – plastered -on -smile
Oh, and nearly forgot, mustn’t forget to pick a member of cast up, on the way, because she doesn’t see why she needs to be there all day.

Act 1
So far, so good until
Cue lights, cue sound
Empty stage
Why?
Why for pity’s sake?
Getting changed… of course
And again
Cue lights
Cue sound
Enter…oops
Forgotten lines, forgotten lines
But the youngest knows his lines and is ruling the stage. Waited so long for this
moment.

I’m there I’ve nearly lost a stone

I shout
Empty stage again, and again until I’m hoarse
Break, yes, let’s take a break.

Paralysed
Thirsty, yet cannot drink
Head throbbing, reeling
Heart thumping, no time for deep breaths 123
Full house tonight
Will the audience demand their money back?
Will they kiss their teeth?
Will they walk out?

Part 4 Final phase
Later
Costumes
Props
Exits /Entrances clear
Stage furniture
Everything in place
Pep talk over.
It’s over to you…break a leg, second thoughts maybe not, it’s in your hands now
What’s that, someone without tickets? Didn’t expect to pay because their son /daughter is in it etc. etc.
YES, give them a ticket we’ll pay.
Let’s just get going.
I’ll sit at the back and pray

House lights down
Stage lights up
Cue sound
No empty stage

So far so good
The youngest rocks the stage
The audience rocks with laughter
The first shall be last and the last first.
They all up their game.
I have lost a stone!
Well done cast and crew, you were mag ni fi cent!
123 exhale and smile.

How could he play
when Ollie and May
had both gone away
on their holiday?

One couldn’t have fun.
Of fun there was none
when it was just one
alone in the sun.

“Hello!” What was that?
It wasn’t the cat.
That cat didn’t chat.
It just sat on the mat.

Up, up in the sky
way up there, really high,
where all the birds fly,
a small cloud floated by.

The cloud shouted “Hey –
do you want to play?
We can both sail away
for the rest of the day.”

Archie climbed aboard ship.
Through the sky they did rip
on an African trip.
“Aye! Aye!” said the skip.

Archie lay in tall grass
to watch elephants pass.
Saw a rhinoceros
through his spy glass.

A monkey, a tiger,
a bear and a spider.
and what can that be?
a snake in a tree?

Then back on the sea
to get home for tea,
the fat little cloud
and his new friend, Archie

Cate Anderson

Music fills my head
The rhythm of the dark hours
is like no other

Chords resonating
Sound waves travel through the air
waiting to be heard

Jackie Parsons

The curtain opened.
There she stood.
She played her part to perfection.
The opening act went well.
He was mesmerised.
Her words convinced him,
spoke to his heart.
She must become his leading lady,
but he stumbled over his lines.
There was no one to prompt him.
He auditioned again; she gave him the part.
A long run awaited.
She was ill advised to take the soap, a kitchen sink drama.
She lived the part with a begrudging, consummate, skill
but when she spoke her angry lines
“I do all the housework, you do nothing,”
he knew, sat stage left, relaxing
he had to play a different role.
The plot unfolded,
they were waiting for…what?
It was the play that went wrong, for an interval.
Never work with children or animals but soon,
there were pregnant pauses.
These actors sensed a revival, a survival.
The child actors shone, like spotlights, in this domestic drama.
Now seen as a latter-day Dench and Tennant,
they are a team, cast together, treading the boards for over 40 years.
They deserve a ‘Tony.’

Malcolm Henshall

Among the pea sticks and neat rows of veg
A nun stoops low to tend the shooting plants.
A girl looks on, unseen beyond the edge
Of this bucolic scene, caught in the slant
Of late spring sunlight glancing through the leaves.
Arcadia amid the urban sprawl.
From her peripheral view the girl perceives
The tranquil lure of rules and vows and walls,
Freedoms removed, desires securely furled
And packed away from temptation and choice.
The price to pay for this seductive world?
The silence of her own distinctive voice.
Ah! So this is how, perhaps, her life could be –
She turns her back to face reality.

Cate Anderson

I doubt if anyone’s drunk from this vessel
since my father won it in 1957.
He wasn’t keen on beer,
but his tankard stayed with him
through 60 years
and two house moves,
till I claimed it at the final clearance.
Now the trophy resides on the shelf beside my desk,
liberated from a forgotten corner
of my parents’ sideboard.

‘West Midlands Gas Board Cricket Team: League Champions’
the engraved inscription reads,
but it isn’t the cricket that I remember,
more the hanging out with other kids,
packed off to watch their sporting Dads,
so ‘stay at home’ mothers could do
whatever mothers did on Saturday afternoons.

We’d sprawl in groups beyond the boundary
and chase the occasional six,
or enact a minor scuffle
before wandering off to climb trees
till sandwiches and cake appeared.

No screens or headphones to entertain us then,
little supervision or fear.
Seems incredible now,
that children were just allowed to play,

Barbara Lawton

I played as they gorged on fowl and flesh.
Hoped there would be a morsel left for me.
When they had had their fill and
were drowsy with ale and mead,
I went outside to the courtyard where
folks were gathering for the dance.

Settled on a low wall, I fill the bag with air.
My fingers rest on the chanter and
start their gallop on the smooth familiar wood.
I play a cheery tune and the clogs sound the beat on the cobbles
as girls and boys start their merry dance.

Now here comes the groom wearing his best cap,
his bride’s hand in his, she in her best apron and coiffe.
As the crowd makes way for them, he leads her
into a fast branle and then into an almain.
He is a good dancer and keeps well to the music.
She follows as best she can, breathless and blushing.
So will their marriage be? He leading, her following.

They danced and danced until the moon rose,
and I played and played, stopping for a jug of ale
as and when the dancers allowed.
They danced and danced until the dawn
paled the skies behind the trees.

Now I play a slow lander to ease them
into thoughts of bed, love and sleep.
The bag is flat; I take out the chanter
and rest the drone on my shoulder
for the journey home.

Marie-Paule Sheard

Inspired by Bruegel’s painting, The Peasant Dance