Kitchen Dance

February 9, 2014 § Leave a comment

hot air spirals upward
toward haligen lights
a spinning, circling
steam of buttery garlic
and charred tomatoes
shines heavenly, a spotlight
framing four popping pans
of grease and glitter
that sing a bubble melody
of syncopated sizzle
circling and bouncing
across the very atmosphere
of that silvery room
then a punctuated ring
ends the glistening dance
a stir, a pinch, a lick, a whisk
three, two, one
and dinner is served

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Song

January 24, 2014 § 2 Comments

A melody singing
again and again
a sweet, faint tune
that rings between ears
but sounds different
each time it plays, perhaps
the very same notes
but melancholy
at times
or gloriously ecstatic
perhaps
red with anger
at moments
and painful sadness
in others
and then blind passion
flooding emotion
or just
perfect peace,
all fantastically interesting,
though.
A melody that speaks
everything
you cannot say,
a tune that plays
between your ears
day-in, day-out
a hymn that sings a prayer
when words don’t suffice,
the melody of a spirit
that wonders
how life is any different
than a song.

The Bridge

January 23, 2014 § Leave a comment

I was walking across a bridge
today, and thought of you,
because eight years ago,
perhaps on this very day,
our footsteps aimlessly traced
the same path to this lonely bridge
in the woods.

Although the arch underfoot
carrying me over the creek below
is the same as it was
on that day eight years ago,
everything else is different.

It’s strange how eight years
can double a tree in size
or overgrow a foot-worn path
be the lifetime of a blue bird
and completely dull emotions
that seemed so all-consuming
eight short years ago.

I wonder if you walked the same path
would our conversation on that day
replay in your mind?
Or would you simply hear a whispered song
of a bluebird landing on the bridge’s edge.

Sonata

January 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

The air in the room was old
like it had been resting there
unmoving and patient
for the past 75 years, waiting for someone
to breath it.

And I didn’t want to breathe it,
but that really was not an option.

And I sat at the piano and smiled
at the lady in the glasses
who was as old as the air
and probably just as stiff.

And she nodded, and nodded.
And I smiled and smiled.
And then remembered I was supposed to play
a Sonata,
but the air was so old
and the keys were so sticky and yellowed.

The air parted its lips, urging me to play
Or maybe it was the lady.
And the keys I had played for 5 years, or so
on my piano at home
looked foreign
And the Sonata I had learned 6 months ago
and practiced and practiced daily
lingered in front of me on the white pages.
And as I pressed the first chord
firmly into the keys
I heard a sound pierce the old air
sending it scurrying away
and then I heard the same foreign sound
coming from my fingertips
And I realized I had forgotten
my entire Sonata.

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