I very much enjoyed reading your poem. The flow is quite appealing and the imagery is robust. The line "drawing her inexorably through night's dusty curtain to bask in the glare" is particularly evocative.

For me this is full of life, death, risk and glory. I especially appreciate your use of 'dust' and 'powder' and the 'wing-eye,' 'bee-line' insect implications to the launch of an artist into an attractive crowd. The 'shed gold,' is a remarkable way to paint the 'giving' an artist does of herself to create a mutual bliss.

Kate, the draw of the flame is evidentiary and universal, especially to we, the romantics of human kind. Are we susceptible to the agony the flame can produce, imminently. Dare we proceed with caution? Never no never for the lure of rewards versus risks is too great for mortals to assess with lucidity. I enjoyed this wonderful rendering. I wish you love and peace my dear friend, Jon Michael

Welcome to the 21st of electrics that will bury language as we know it, unless some of us, especially the likes of your talent, might put a wedge in the door... keep it ajar... at least.

It's amazing how closely related Moth/Actress are, with audience/theater as brought to light by your poem which makes
it all come to life,as one glorious memory of magical Cinema!

Eileen

Let's hope this moth is of the essence of a Shakespeare play, always stunningly elusive. Always full of that flame that burns deeply within her soul for her lover...Nicely done, Kate..

Peace, love and light,
Amber

...and I think back to my childhood when I sat mesmerized by the blue, electric "fly-zapper" that hung in one of the buildings at the farm, and I hadn't realized, until this very moment, how like that moth I was--mesmerized by the mesmerized (ZzzZZkkkkkchchkkktzzzzz...and gold powder burns). Through your words, those wings come alive, all wide-eyed and feathered--feathered eyes? -- just like dreams that vanish with the opening of eyes, hers open to light, and ppfff... is that Sand-man's dust she's sprinkling on our palms?

Your poem's theme is original, your wording precise and insightful, the mood musing, and the whole together is a magical combination of muse-inspiring stuff, as you can see by the fabulous reviews below. --Charlie

the only thing more compelling than applause is a pause, a pregnant pause... and your poem gives one... pause...

Marvelous poem, Kate; well done yet again!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D

As always, Beautifully done

Basking in the light of applause. Now that's a great metaphor for a moth.

Ron

Quite captivating, Kate - this piece burns brightly.

i hope at least he powder was scented to embellish the power of the burn ... are moths attracted to sweat scents as much as the fire that engulfs them? when they fly with golden wings are they so willing to shed them without remorse? is their act a one scene play or a continuing saga ... am i drying out as well?

I actually could picture a real moth or two in those thick dusty curtains riding back and forth between scenes. This actress with her wide wing-eye fixed bee-line. that line is cool. Well they all are but, in particular got a giggle out of that one. ~ Morgan

Beautifully fascinating Kate ~
On a Monday night at the Palace Theatre in London is delightful.
Lady Mary Ann

The first time I read this I thought "Well, I'm no longer fascinated by fire!" and felt safe... for a minute. But then, how can one live and not burn? Great description, especially the part about the unseen faces. Good to read you, Kate!

Axilea

Kate, Beautifully put together.

Always,
Deborah

I Came, I Read, I Admired, I Respect the writer...e

... that's so insightful, Jerry! So true and just so poignant... yes, please do write the poem, though perhaps you already have with your already rich cast of characterful "coulda-woulda-has-beens". I love what you see here. :)) xx

This is very "effective" and evocative, Kate. Your words had me go to YouTube and watch Aimee Mann do a rendition of her song, "The Moth" which I really love as I do your poem. Love and best wishes to you,

Regis

"pulsating like froth at her feet."

Oh boy, do I ever love that friggin' line, Kate.

The glare of the spotlight and the frothing of the faithful is where she will live and where she will die when they stop writing about her and the froth turns to meddlesome dry hacking coughs, both from her and from her adoring one. Accent on "one," for by now there is only he who is left. Damn, there is a poem in there somewhere.