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Piano Poetry

Dear Readers,

I am a piano player by nature and recently am taken with the idea of writing poetry as if playing piano. In my case that means thematic improvisation where most of the playing is exploration of the theme and every so often an interesting passage arises and I riff till it passes. This all came about from an intense conversation after which I could hardly keep up with the thoughts and wrote and wrote. In retrospect it seemed quite like how I often played piano to process emotion. With poetry, however, there is need to formulate thought which is helpful. Though I think I prefer the more physical nature of piano, both together seems a matching pair. This only makes sense considering most music being melody and lyric. The long poems that I have posted recently are written in this style. In bold are the more poignant passages and the titles have a “No.x” as if they are a classical composition. Some day I would like to post some piano pieces, too. Until then.

Best,
Redbear

Alight

Your hand alights the lips
And lights the listless life
I miss this missus
of the quiet night. 




Hello broken hearted
Your lawn is spare part strewn
They seem to fit 
Where I am missing

I have a box of odds and ends
Maybe they likewise fit
Where you are missing




I like to think
It Romantic that
The food wrapper you left in
My rubbish bin
Inspires Nostalgia
To kiss again
I would do it in a heartbeat
For
      you
Make my heartbeat.

 

 

I wish this love
To be always
As strong as it goes.
For when we
Cry crow, cry wolf, in row —
As will be —
We will know
To let pass the water
Under the bridge

Mirrors

Mirrors:

I sit here
I send to you a butterfly
A mirror
A reflection of your grace




As Ever:

Think of your beauty today
And know I have missed out.

You have too, though;
I am handsome as ever.




Harbor Master:

I asked the harbor master,
Send her a boatload of freesias

I then changed my mind
No, send her two.
He said,
        Okay.



Stuck Fast:

Stomach rumbles and I do not go
Stuck fast to the Spot
By a 
Glue of Prose