Opening Number

No curtain rises: the stage is bare.
Dust hangs dimly in the lazy air.
No audience is there to stare
Or care.

Nothing unfolds in the way of plot
That could help make sense of our human lot.
It's duller than glue, but this is what
We've got.

It's all so tame, you wonder why you came
And you long for a scotch
As the hands of your watch
Tick slowly slowly slowly.

Nothing occurs to rouse applause.
If there's an orchestra they've lost their scores.
The dialogue's an eternal pause
Between snores.

You stay there though and you do not go
Though it's hardly art
And your weary heart
Ticks slowly slowly slowly.

All the lines are lost beyond recall.
Any hope of enlightenment's less than small.
We can only wait for curtain-fall.
That's all.

George Simmers

This is the first in a series of twelve "Songs for an Impossible Musical". Actually, it's your editor's New Year resolution. Having written very little recently, he's set himself the task of writing a poem/song each month in 2003. Will they form a meaningful sequence? Will any be better than this one? Only time will tell. Don't feel obliged to read the things, but please do lob insults or rotten tomatoes at him if he misses a deadline.

If you've any comments on this poem, George Simmers would be pleased to hear from you.