Inside the Door
Brass, strings, woodwinds,
Follow the conductor,
Building music note by note.
~***~
Outside the Door
Alone I sit in a pool of light,
Night surrounds me,
A soft wind sighs.
Inside the conductor lifts his baton,
The orchestra plays,
And Trumpet Man blows his horn.
~***~
Listening
Inside music rises and falls,
starts and
stops.
Measures are played,
and played again,
and played again.
Outside the sun sinks pink,
flares and
fades.
My thoughts compose,
lines on paper,
lines on paper.
~***~
Sounds
flutes skip,
trumpets cheer,
trombones stomp,
tubas plod,
tambourines shimmer,
violins hum,
drums bound,
sounds merge
music is made
~* * *~
Audience
Outside the music room,
The geckos and I listen;
Me on a bench,
Them on the ceiling.
CLA
Amazing poetry Quill. I could hear everything.
Very inspired scribbles, dear Quilly. You’re amazing!
Brian — thanks, I was hoping.
Melli — what amazes me is that I actually posted all of this. I only like one piece. It probably isn’t the one everyone else favors.
Your favorite is “Outside the Door”.
Brian — that and listening. If you’ve been by my poetry blog lately you know that “Trumpet Man” is a recurring theme.
Now I can add poet exceptional to my growing understanding of who you are.
lovely snippets… together they tell quite a story.
enjoyed the poet in you
Which one’s your poetry blog? I get lost trying to keep up.
Dr. John — are you telling me you’re taking exception to my poetry?
Polona — the title bears most of the burden!
Brian — Bits of Me in Poetry. Check my blog roll. I’ve made a button for it, but I’ve been too
lazybusy to post it.I could see your surroundings and sense the atmosphere. I could hear the instruments but not the melody. Music is very hard to describe in words, isn’t it?
Mumma — I didn’t know how to write about the melody. It was nothing I had ever heard — OC has since told me that they are practicing Armenian dances.