MEMORIES IN MY ARMS

 My arms knew music,
the feel of a violin
my fingers knew the places
where the notes sang well

My arms have forgotten
the weight of a violin
but know well the comforting feel
of a baby in their cradle

My fingers have forgotten
the melodies they played
but they  have been quite adept
at eliciting childish giggles

Maybe one day
when the baby becomes a man
my hands will remember
the curves of a violin again.
A disclaimer: Implications of the poem above notwithstanding, I have never been a (good) violin player. At best, I was an intermediate learner. 🙂

DVERSE’s OPEN LINK NIGHT 194

The piece was a response to PAD 20 Challenge which was to write about a memory or something like that.

CELLO CARESS

When I run empty
I fill up with music
the one where the cello sings
and caresses my spirit
with its voice
low and sonorous
gently calling pieces of me 
to life
and lifting me up
tenderly
like a lover holding me by my hands
moving  me  across the room
by a slow dance
towards the window bathe in light
there I lift my eyes
where the music glides
up towards the skies
there I float
on a bed of clouds
and meld 
with the breath 
of existence

This piece and The Swan by St. Saens, which I was listening to prior to this, inspired this little piece of poem. Listening to cello and violin pieces are a favorite way of mine to relax after a long day. I hope you enjoyed the music. 🙂

AUTUMN’S HYMN

yellow maple
The wind plays Autumn's hymn
Plaintive floating in the air
above the treetops
Through fields
Of plump pumpkins
And golden grains.
Above the clouds
There flows
The staccato call of departing geese
While down below 
the laden trees
drum their fruit against the solid earth.
Then at last the russet leaves
join the swelling symphony
humming their rustling tune
while pirouetting down to memory.
when all but the naked trees are gone
and cold, dark silence reigns - 
the wind plays Autumn's hymn.
august_windfalls_-_geograph-org-uk_-_533902
This is the photo prompt for Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge #48: Circles and Cycles. The picture is by Pauline Eccles.

 

For this poetry prompt, Jane wants us to write a circular poem - one which ends the way it began.

MUSICAL SEVENLING

Claudia Schoenfeld – Artist; used with permission in connection with DVerse Poets’ Pub’s Sevenling Prompt. Please click on the photo to visit the site.

 
A sleepless mother, a crying child
a halting lullaby escaping sealed shut lips
working through the night.

On a hot sultry day,
a videoke blared above the din
of barking dogs and grimy children.

Hope sings.

MUSIC MAN (for WPC: ADMIRATION)

bard at the fair2
I admire people who can play music. This man stood in the heat of a September day to entertain the crowd at the faire. People passed him by without giving the least sign of appreciation for his work. Yet, whether we faire guests admitted it or not, his bagpipe contributed to the festive atmosphere at the faire.

 

If I could stand before the world
coax music out of reeds
not be bothered about the crowd
who cares not for the gift I give
I am brave

If I could handle the scorn
that the world inspires within
calm down the raging storm
let out from my wounds a healing song
I am at peace

WPC:  ADMIRATION

MY VOICE IS A BROKEN VIOLIN (for WPC: Express Yourself)

Violin and music
Please hover over the photos to remove the misty effect. 🙂 Thanks for coming by.

 

My voice is a broken violin
that is playing out of tune
its discordant chords echo
within the bounds of an empty room.

Often I dreamed I have the power
to put the notes in my command
make the world weep or exalt
with the music from my hands.

Alas! my wish is but a wish
the gift is not to me bestowed
yet even then, when I play
serenity and joy I find.

 

For:  WPC:  Express Yourself

WPC: COVER ART

Fall Music

I had to cajole my sons to pose for me.  I was thinking of a solemn mood to complement Autumn and the gray days we have.  The idea began with my ruined violin bow.  I think my youngest son got a hold of it and pulled at the horsehair.  I wanted falling leaves to be part of the motif.  I asked his younger brother to toss wet leaves onto him.  The younger one happily obliged.  He tossed and kicked handfuls of leaves much to this son’s chagrin.  They are both good sports and I owe them one. 🙂

 

WPC:  COVER ART