Smidgens
These notes are chromatic
Tumbling up and down
Mere half-steps
Semitones are impossible
My fingers cannot
Slip between keys
Into a dampening effect
Of felt touching felt
My foot twitches
Upon metal pedals
To sustain, to soften
This melody I’ve chosen
Is a tone cluster
A chaotic attempt to know
How to place my hands…correctly
Upon coldness, the feel
Of keys, plastic, polymeric dead
Seeking to revive, for
Only touch can be dynamic
I open the blackest of lids
Gaze at the crisscrossing strings
Pluck a few with my finger
Hold a few down to feel
The cycles produced by hammers
Hitting string, thumping
Placing myself between
Sound and silence, where
Only the most careful listener
Can read the melody I suffocate
I catch my breath, then lose it
Scraping my finger along vibrations
Low ones, stutter, jump,
High notes, tickle with
A pain, an abrasion, a thought
Everybody must feel this
Earthquakes, sky, a cloud full of rain?
Closing the lid, I look underneath
The legs of the piano appear
Too skinny to hold the weight
Precarious, unstable, fragile
Then my eyes survey the space
Atmosphere of a million melodies
And all the hearts that have
Embedded themselves in them
I must be careful with this song
And not force my arms down.
All depends upon my touch
(Read a short Christmas story by Elan here.)
Such power and beauty in your words! Teresa
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Wow this is an amazing piece 😱
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I know you posted this a while back, but I was just browsing your blog 😀 I’ve never been much of a poetry fan, but this one struck a particular chord with me. No pun intended. I believe I enjoy your writing thoroughly!
I can’t explain why, nor would I be well read enough to even try.
I read that you like the readers critical view in one of the previous comments, so I will make a better effort on these comments in the future 😀
Cheers to a new horizon I never thought I’d enjoy!
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You might want to check out solid-state physics
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I wonder, does the wood in the frame absorb the music, holding it close to richen and warm the next playing? alas for me, the picture leads me back to the puzzle upon which I’ve spent hours and hours these past few days…and I shudder to think how difficult a puzzle ‘twould be…perhaps made easier were I to play Chopin whilst puzzling… love it!
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amazing
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Very nice. I recently posted a poem I wrote about my 1917 Parlor Grand Steinway. “If only my those fingers could help me make music,” the keys whisper.
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Thanks so much. The Grand Piano has received more feedback than I initially thought it would.
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“Atmosphere of a million melodies
And all the hearts that have
Embedded themselves in them
I must be careful with this song
And not force my arms down.
All depends upon my touch”
BEAUTIFUL!!
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This part really resonated for me as well. Agreed, stunning words.
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Same! I just commented and started scrolling up to see what others have said… 🙂
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This is beautiful! So thankful for your follow, and to have found you! Your poetry is simply stunning!
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Nice!
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I loved this – glad you decided to follow my blog – if you had not I would not have fund it. Beautiful.
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Reblogged this on Kacey's Creative Writing and commented:
A very nice piece I found through one of my followers.
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Very nice. Fun to read. The ending was very on point.
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This is stunning:
Placing myself between
Sound and silence, where
Only the most careful listener
Can read the melody I suffocate
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Creativity is embedded beautifully. Great work. God bless you.
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Reblogged this on Still Another Photoblog.
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Beautifully done
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Fantastic!
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Reblogged this on wwwpalfitness.
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Love it. ❤
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Rich imagery. Your poetry tells the picture in less that a thousand words. Well done.
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Silky sounding – love it 👌❤️️
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Exquisite!
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Thanks. I tend to like the reader’s critical view, for when you read, it is just you and the words. Although, I like Mozart’s Piano concertos played upon the pianoforte, a piano with no pedals.
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Either way it had some great imagery 🙂
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Could be, but then again it may be not be about music at all.
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Great poem! Definitely describes that piano in the picture.
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Is this about a particular piece of music?
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Beautiful.
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“I like it buttery on the bottom end, to tighten up and get woodier if Iean on it.
The top clear and open and I want it to ring like a bell when I spank it. And in the middle, let it breathe. Too tight and it sounds like a banjo.”
I once had an old grand piano chopped off after the pins for an advertisement. At the time I thought it humorous. Now it feels like conspiracy to murder. Enough.
Nice plug there at the end for the cosmic radio.
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A Chord well struck !
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