The Object Poem

For this week's assignment we had to choose an object or picture that meant something to us and write a poem about it, working details into the poem if we could. I wrote about the Ghostlight.
The Ghostlight is a theatre staple. It is nothing more than a lightbulb, uncovered, on a tall lampstand. It stays plugged in and on the stage all night long, and whenever the stage isn't being used.
There are two reasons for the Ghostlight. The first, and truest reason, is that theatres tend to be windowless and very, very dark so a lamp on the stage, close to the orchestra pit, helps keep unsuspecting walkers from falling in and hurting themselves. The traditional theatre-nerd reason, however, is a bit more colourful. It is that every single theatre houses ghosts (ie: Phantom of the Opera) and the ghostlight is a way to beckon them homeward. Either way, it is something very near and dear to my heart.
The theatre I am involved in is called Stagecrafters at the Baldwin Theatre in Royal Oak and we have had paranormal experts do measurements of spirits and we are on the Michigan Registry of Haunted Places. Makes for a fun place to hang out. We all have our stories of our contact with the 'ghosts'.

Ghostlight

Are you there to protect

or beckon

glowing orb in the distance

hovering-entrancing

aloft.

Every theatre has one

perched

at the edge of the pit--

seems appropriate somehow

the pit is where the

music

comes from, but also

where spirits do dwell

ghosts

of strange lives and bad reviews

impetuous actions that taste

bitter

on the tongue

and of love affairs too torrid

to last.

hovering-entrancing

aloft.

In the distance

from where I sit in the last row

darkened theatre,

silent all around me,

enveloping me with

temperature fluctuations

and

a sense of fear, and yet

the ghostlight never wavers

I feel safe in its

sickly glow; yellow

the colour of

cowardice.

And yet, it stands there

all alone

in the dim.

Protecting. Or beckoning

the spirits beyond.

hovering-entrancing

aloft.

Gargoyles curled around the balcony;

nymphs in plaster

and

me.

Center row now, seat K106 and

you

beside me-in K105

hands clasped yet

silent, listening

to the sound beyond that of our heartbeats

silence

a silence so loud

so loud it fills my ears

and I know
your heart is

hovering-entrancing

aloft

and out of reach

to me.