Libby Weber's Blog, page 6

December 18: Pay Gap

Among creators it has long been known

That things we make have value far beyond

Their saleability, and it’s been shown

That such creative work creates a bond

Between all cultures, peoples, generations,

And benefits the brain in myriad ways,

Like bridging gaps in peoples’ educations-

And yet this work is rarely work that pays.

The writing that earns me my daily bread

Repetitive, redundant, and transparent,

At least affords me clarity of head-

No public good is readily apparent.

I doubt that I shall reach...

December 17: Nota Bene

I crossed the street and there, stopped at the light,

A chartreuse Prius, like the one you drive,

Or drove, and in its mileage took delight

When we talked cars and you were still alive,

So, without thinking, I inclined my head

To see if you or wife were at the wheel,

And that’s when I remembered you are dead-

This fact, it seems, will always feel unreal.

But then again, I have no mantlepiece

Where, until recently, your stocking hung.

My thoughts of you come often with caprice

And scorn for puerile music...

December 16: Wishes Are Children

For those of you whose hearts will ache tonight

I wish with all of mine that you’ll find peace.

For those in pain, may comfort slake tonight

Your agony, and lead to its surcease.

For those who grieve, good memories I pray,

And justice for the ranks of the oppressed,

The lonely, may joy loneliness allay,

With equilibrium for the depressed.

Is it delusion, when my cheeks grow wet,

To think I send catharsis to all nations,

Into the hearts of those I’ve never met

And help alleviate their tribulations?

Most l...

December 15: Endurance

No matter what I do today, I find

Dissatisfaction lurking there behind,

Convincing me my throat’s too sore to sing

Or that I’ll be too tired for caroling,

That writing is a pointless exercise,

For my ambitions meager skills outsize,

When living feels too tiresome and rough,

The reason’s that I don’t work hard enough.

The only way I know to get through days

When darkness wants to drag me in its ways

Is to obtain the comforts that I crave

And to be bold enough to misbehave.

With skillful application of goo...

December 14: Up in the Air

Like children with balloons who understand

The ground is deadly in the game they play

And seek to keep aloft with foot or hand

That airy spheroid as long as they may,

I’ve filled my year’s remaining days and nights,

With singing, learning music, and performing,

In hopes that all the caroling and lights

Will keep the clouds of grief from ever forming.

For each experience that gives me joy

Makes melancholy in an equal measure,

Enough to temporarily destroy

The satisfaction one may find in leisure.

Once mor...

December 13: On My Last Show

The end of any run is bittersweet,

To bid a cast, creative team, and crew,

The memories that live in voice and feet,

Tradition, set, and theatre adieu

Makes one recall the joy it was to bring

To life a story that’s withstood the years;

That even when through weeping one must sing,

One understands how precious are the tears.

And now that we must go our separate ways,

Though new and thrilling paths we all will roam,

As long as memory lasts, that backwards gaze,

In Notre Dame we’ll always find a home.

And a...

December 12: Rain Through Windows

Through one, I watched the dogs observe the rain

That started falling just as we returned

From misting walk to home and hearth again,

For future outings they were unconcerned.

And on the bus another, blurred by fog

Within with rain without, the route by rote

I know, or orientation’d be a slog,

For those with bags strapped underneath their coats.

At night, though salty drops obscure my view

Of audience beyond proscenium,

I see the now-familiar born anew

And to the present ecstasy succumb.

So welcome, show...

December 11: Figurative

The story on the radio compared

A storm in drought to paying off one bill

While deep in debt, and hours after it aired

That simple simile is with me still,

Because that story seemed a metaphor

For all the trying times I must endure,

For every obstacle exposes more

Perspective shifts revealing things obscure,

Perception grows, although precision fades,

One understands the fragile film between

What is and what lurks in one’s fancy’s shades,

And how unknowns are felt instead of seen.

We comprehend through a...

December 10: Evaluation Eve

I doubt that I shall ever like auditions,

But now I’m better able to endure

The flight or fight response, and repetitions

Beforehand and a warm-up reassure

Me that I am prepared to do my best,

And if I don’t, then it was not to be-

It’s ultimately pointless to protest

That failure or success was solely me.

I bring the selfsame talent to the table

Each time I lay my cards upon the felt.

Wild fortune might my finest play enable

But ultimately, I take what I’m dealt,

I hope what skill I offer will attract

An...

December 9th: Imaginary Friends

I like the thought of you, and that’s enough.

I know your name and face, of course, but all

The rest is only insubstantial stuff,

Though thoroughly delightful folderol.

I like the sound of you, and that is pleasant,

Although I like to listen while alone,

And open my enjoyment like a present

With none to disapprove or to condone.

While most exuberance I freely share,

This parasocial pleasure is for me-

Because it is a one-sided affair,

It’s nourished by and thrives in privacy.

Yours is a wondrous counterf...