"The Lowblowers" by Eloise Banting

Glittering high heels,

An extension of my soul,

Freedom of my heart,

But they say I dance on a pole.

My spirit is so alive,

Each and everyday,

My spirit is so happy :-)

Though I cringe at what they say.

They have claws so cruel,

With sharp talons I have feared,

I shudder when he tells me,

“You’re fuckin weird!”

But I smile with a smile,

With a smile so strong,

I drop it at the doorway,

Yet it won’t stay for long.

Now one lurks in the corner!

Makes an assault so fast,

His nose so putridly nosey,

He posts a pic ridiculing a gidddy past!

Everyday I see,

 Happy happy on the card,

But another only sees static,

His post says stop trying so damn hard!

His next newsworthy attack -

Just an obsessive little insult,

Says that I’m too open, 

And that depression is my fault!

Long ago it was true,

I made mistakes so dumb,

But the crows spoke of a few -

That I already learned from!

So irrelevant so crude,

Are such heartless shock attacks,

It makes me feel better,

That I also speak long after the fact!

They spoke of things forgotten,

My dead gone issues like a hater,

Of things not their problem,

Yet I can’t too a while later?

Gossip’s spread,

Gossip’s told, 

Gossip’s Godless,

Gossip’s bold!

Yet I learn everyday,

From mistakes I humbly make,

So don’t think they’re yours,

Or your own little steps to take!

These examples are just a few,

Of what some say for fun,

They didn’t just say it to my face,

They said it to everyone!

There are definitely some others,

People that blow me to the core,

I will not name names,

But according to homegirl I’m a wh*re.

Not to worry I am healed,

And I’m a true happy camper!!

I love life each second,

My happiness won’t be hampered!

I own up to my flaws and stumbles,

And I don’t want to hold a grudge,

But I don’t need malicious words,

When it’s not your business or yours to judge. 

I wouldn’t write this poem,

If I wasn’t a little hurt,

You were nasty for a reaction,

And it obviously worked.

I have such a beautiful life,

And no need to throw a fit,

I am so indescribably happy,

(It’s wonderful!)

Just back off a little bit :-)

'Jane Fonda' by Eloise Banting

Poster of Alfred Hitchcock's Stage Fright (1950)

I dream of doves and diamonds,

I dream so crystal clear,

I dream of colored canaries,

My dreams I do not fear.

Some people get nightmares,

Some people can’t sleep,

Some people feel frightened,

And I don’t make a peep.

But I’ve known a fear worse than fear,

And my nightmares don’t compare.

I’ve known a terror worse than words,

No oxygen when I want air.

I stand up there,

When I prepare,

And not a sound comes out.

I stand up there,

When I know the words,

But I forgot what it’s all about.

I shake and tremble,

My thoughts so chained,

The sound of crippling silence.

I shake and tremble,

My voice so broken,

The ballad of my lost vibrance!

You ask what I speak of?

You would like to understand,

The cause of this terrible sight?

You ask what I felt?

You ask what it was?

It was numbingly numb stage fright!!

It creeps up slowly,

It creeps up creepy,

Like Krueger in your dreams.

It lurks up behind you,

It tip toes forward,

So crafty with its schemes!

I’ve spoken in front of hundreds,

I’ve read speeches to my peers.

I’ve performed in front of playwrights,

I’ve even moved many to tears.

But in front of that group of ten -

I stand paralyzed in shock.

In front of that troupe of faces,

All of my thoughts are blocked.

I wanted to go and flee,

And I wanted to be sedated.

I wanted to leave and cry, 

I just felt so fucking deflated.

So I ran away in thought,

And laid on the quad grass,

But I found no solace in self-pity,

So I made a mission to rock it next class.

You see,

I felt this fear for over a year,

And silenced a passion so true.

But I discovered a way,

From what I felt that day,

To channel these feelings anew!

My nerves will never go,

And this is a true fact,

My nerves will never vanish,

A notion so sincerely exact!

But on that day - 

I stumbled on gold,

Still fresh in its purest form!

The greatest gift - one so priceless,

I always use now when I perform!

I found a gift wrapped up in nerves,

It was a sensitivity so heightened.

I now see and I now realize - 

There was no need to for me to be frightened!

It was a part of me just trying to help,

And deliver with emotion. 

It is a power so deep,

It is a power to keep,

Vaster than a glimmering ocean!

It was an unfamiliar feeling, 

My consciousness went dual.

It felt so scary - it felt insane!

But now I think it’s pretty damn cool.

I can switch it on!

I can switch it off!

And express what my character is feeling.

I can take the audience on a ride,

And discover thoughts my puppet’s concealing!

So there is no need,

For me to be,

Afraid of the spotlight.

There is no need,

For me to be,

Afraid of a little stage fright!

It is a gift so real - it is a gift so bright,

And I hope you learned from me,

That my self preservation, 

Leads to my dramatic vacation,

And a show you’d wanna see!

Though we all have a different calling,

And we are all truly unique,

We should find our melody, 

That inner voice!

To hone a gift when we feel weak!

So find the sparkle in your symphony,

And perform your best each day,

Whether your talent is in the office,

Or a pleasingly pleasant play!

Hello Again, Mrs. Soames: What’s Your Favorite Color??

I decided to do a, as I refer to it, ‘character consultation’ with Mrs. Soames. I posed ‘questions’ to her, and got creative with my answers. I’m really intending to portray her as a more attainable, vulnerable persona despite the fact that she is often perceived as a merciless gossip, especially in her famous scene with Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Webb. They judge Soames for blatantly expressing disapproval over Simon Stimson’s alcoholism, telling her that his issues are in the control of Dr. Ferguson and Stimson’s life is none of Soames’ business. 

So I just wanted to draft a rough interview with Soames to get her side of the story for that particular scene. It will help me portray her in a more admirable light, as well as provide this character with more dignity, a quality that people in Grover’s Corners are reluctant to ascribe to Soames. The answers are completely fabricated (by me.), and I plan to use this information when I portray her, really revealing her vulnerability and incorporating the emotions, knowledge, and comprehension of her memories in my little performance as I deliver her lines. If more people understood her past (that I made up....), I’m sure her fellow townspeople would be less quick to see her as a gossip queen. (After this process, I usually go through my lines individually and attach words, objectives, symbols, colors, memories, etc. to every emotion expressed by my character ...So many fun, little techniques!!)

Mrs. Soames, what is your favorite color?

Green.

When and where were you born?

September 14, 1870 - Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire.

Favorite food?

Pound Cake.

What were your parents like?

My mom remarried when I was 10, and my step father is the one who really raised me. My biological father is somewhat of a distant memory. His alcoholism consumed him, at the expense of his wife, myself, and my little brother - who is only three years younger than me. I have chosen to block out several memories of that man, I don’t even remember the color of his eyes, let alone what he really looked like. I just remember his height. He was so tall - but then again, I was so young it would seem that way. My memory of him is very much a blur.

So this explains your sensitivity to Simon Stimson, the town alcoholic?

Well, my father ultimately ended up taking his own life in June of 1883, which was tough for me and my brother, but my dad was just so miserable - he couldn’t handle this small town world. And I would hate to see Mr. Stimson go down that path. There is so much beauty in life, and it is such a pity that some people cannot see what is right in front of them - what is in their grasp. Happiness was denied to me in my earliest years - years I will never get back. That’s why I just love to see young people happy, and people happy in general. I just love being happy.

Does your reputation as the town gossip upset you?

In the play, I really do not believe I gossip about anyone. I am just very aware of the people around me and wish to promote their happiness and overall well being - I don’t enjoy witnessing the suffering of anyone. Mrs. Gibbs, Mrs. Webb, and everyone else in Grover’s Corners are convinced that I am a reckless gossip who puts her nose in other people’s busienss, but this just is not the truth. It just isn’t. I know this rumor came about when I left Dr. Ferguson for Mr. Soames a while back. I still think about Ferguson, and wonder how he is, but I had to get out. I just had to.

Isn’t Dr. Ferguson the one taking care of Simon Stimson?

This is what I hear, but I met Ferguson years ago, around 1893, and he completely swept me off my feet. Little did I know that he was hiding a dark secret, as I would soon discover a little while after we started going steady. It had only been a little over 6 months, but I went to his home to surprise him with some of my famous pound cake - after all, he had been treating me to several steak dinners and bought me a beautiful bonnet - I had no idea how he procured such large sums of money before getting his medical license...But I knocked on the door. No answer. So I thought that I’d push the door open and leave the cake there. I walked in the kitchen and discovered several bags of cash, each containing what appeared to be hundreds of dollars!! I was rather confused - he wasn’t a doctor at that point so I was unsure why he had so much money.

Then I thought I could smell something burning - like someone in the house was cooking something. I heard movement in the basement. I’ve never known anyone in our town to have a basement - let alone anyone who cooks in the basement!! Then I heard Ferguson’s voice - and then I heard another, which I recognized as Stimson’s. I didn’t understand why Stimson was there, but was a little curious to know what was going on, so I listened to them through the crack in the door to the basement. After all, Ferguson was my boyfriend. (Keep in mind, Stimson was much younger at this point, and much healthier.) 

Anyway, Stimson sounded a little stressed, and said something like, “Ah, like I came to you, begging to cook...”

 Admittedly, I was a little insulted that Ferguson hadn’t asked me to help, he knows how much I love to cook! But I kept listening, and my Mr. F said, “I just gave you $600.” 

$600?!?!?! That’s more money than I’ve ever heard of, especially as a small town girl in 1893. 

I just didn’t understand what they were talking about. Then Stimson said, “What’s the point of being an outlaw when you got responsibilities?” 

An outlaw?? What were they up to? Then Ferguson responded, “Let’s focus on this batch, we need a couple more pounds of pure stuff.” 

I was very puzzled, what were both of them doing? Was this normal? As I fell deeper in thought, and further away from awareness, I accidentally dropped my bag. 

I immediately panicked and stood frozen. Stimson and Ferguson immediately stopped speaking, reiterating reactions of distress that someone overheard them- they definitely weren’t expecting anyone, and I felt a little ashamed.

I then heard footsteps, which gradually became louder as the boys came closer to the top of the stairs. They saw me, each one of us in shock. 

Ferguson looked me right in the eye, with a glare insinuating that he was not much happy to see me, and I asked him, “So..what are you guys cooking?” 

“Glass, bitch!” 

retorted Stimson.

In complete fear, I just ran out. I didn’t even want to know.

I knew there was something going on that I would regret attempting to understand. So, when people say that I don’t understand the meaning of “curiosity kills the cat,” I can assure you that I was adhering to the aphorism on that day. Ferguson attempted to contact me several times after that, becoming increasingly bitter over my decision to consistently ignore him, thus creating rumors of my phoniness. Let me tell you, he is one powerful person in this town, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t a licensed doctor.

But look where we all are now - I’m married, Ferguson’s a “doctor,” and Stimson became an alcoholic - who remained in the care of Ferguson. It is rather presumptuous, though, that Mrs. Webb and Mrs. Gibbs are convinced that Ferguson had Stimson’s issues under control, when, in actuality, Ferguson is the one who brought them about.

It truly is a shame when we don't see what is in front of us, whether it be beauty, corruption, or depression. We must seek the truth in every angle of our lives, so we can restore wrong when need be, 

then maybe, just maybe, 

Stimson would never have taken his own life in 1904.

I just wanted peace in Grover’s Corners, but everyone in the world has their little secrets.

Even in our town.