Angela Wybrow

Silver Star - 3,332 Points (Salisbury, Wilts, UK)

Returning To Rada - Poem by Angela Wybrow

I sit in Reception and wait, and wonder
What is going on, as it sounds like thunder.
Up on the first floor, somewhere above my head,
The students are making enough noise to wake the dead.
Across the room, I can hear feet running to and fro,
And the drama students utter loud sounds, as they go.

It’s Saturday, but rehearsal studios are alive wherever I go,
With drama students, honing their skills, in readiness to show.
En route to my exam, I pause upon the first floor,
And, am drawn by sounds, which I just can’t ignore.
A tinkling piano and the sound of singing, is what I hear;
I stand there momentarily, soaking up the atmosphere.

Sitting outside the exam room now and I can hear a cello;
Its sound soaring towards me: deeply resonant and mellow.
The previous candidate emerges from the exam room,
And is living proof that you should never ever assume.
He’s a stocky guy, in his mid forties, with shaven hair;
Not the kind of person I would have expected to see there!
But, then I guess I’m not a typical drama student either;
Just another person, like him, hit by Shakespeare fever!

In the exam, I begin reciting my sonnet and fluff my lines,
So I end up starting the piece again, for a second time.
I’m calmer now and my train of thought is back on track,
And in my concentration, there is now no further lack.
During my second piece, I sit on an imaginary moonlit bank.
This time, thankfully, my mind is clear and doesn’t go blank.

I launch into my final piece and have a right ball,
As the speaker is angry and this is not like me at all!
Where my imaginary target stands, I have a man in mind;
Someone from my life, who I’ve recently left behind.
I would have loved to have shouted at him like this;
I find the moment extremely therapeutic! Pure bliss!

I thoroughly enjoy throwing my two arms around,
And raising my voice; making such a loud sound.
The words are firmly stuck there, within my head,
And, if looks could kill, my victim would be dead!
Through the piece, venting my pent-up anger, I plough,
And, from the examiner, my efforts earn me a ‘wow! ’

With my sight-reading test, I attempt to ‘emotionally invest’,
But with only three minutes to study the piece, I just do my best.
We talk and she tells me that I bring much to the table.
I express self-doubt, but she seems to consider me able.
She expresses hope that I’ll come back to the Academy again.
Next time, it will be my Gold Certificate I’ll be hoping to obtain.

But I wonder how I’ll know, if my standard ever gets that good?
How will I know if I if I shouldn’t attempt it or even if I should?
Next time, there’ll be two examiners watching me,
And I can imagine just how nervous I will, then, be!
I’m just not sure within my self, that I’ll ever be that clever,
But, then again, as the saying often goes, never say never!


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 5, 2011



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