There’s no place like the greenroom.
There’s no place to sit
There’s no place to stand
We’re packed in
Touching hand to hand
I grab a chair and listen above
Hearing the chatter of the audience I love
While a fairy does her makeup
And the queen laughs with the men in black
Who stay back
To make sure we shine
And the hour is mine
There’s no place like the stage.
And the rushing and pounding rage
My heart goes into every time I take my place
Every time I stood with painted face
I remember my makeup man’s smile
And my mother’s proud grin
I remember the laughter of the crowd
And the music’s little spin
There’s no place where the air is thick with art
And the words we recite live in our heart
There’s no place where even empty rooms are filled to the brim
There’s no way to make that audience applause dim
Because there’s no place like the greenroom.
The home of the actors.
The home of the performers.
The home of the stagehands.
The home in my heart.
I’ve mentioned a greenroom in several of my poems (shared or otherwise), because the setting marks the beginning and end to a chapter in my life. A chapter that made me grow and adapt as a human being, and a chapter that I both cherish and loathe. I will always remember my time backstage and on stage, and the lovely people I met. I couldn’t describe accurately the feeling of either, yet I try through rhyming word. Enjoy.