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Two Hours On a Bench: Scribbles As I Wait

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

Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives on The Big Island in Hawaii. When she is not hanging out with Amoeba, she is likely teaching or sewing. Or she could be cooking, taking photographs, or even writing. But if she's not doing any of that, she's probably on Facebook or tinkering with her blog.

11 Comments

  3. 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.

  9. 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 lazy busy to post it.

  10. 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?

  11. 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.

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