Naughty Words

Green grows the lacy bush that whispers to the wind.
I reach for my words; they are dry, parched for experience
having been wrapped too long in disuse.
I summon them but they disobey, scatter
and I am left, alone and lame on my couch
watching the stately trees dance.
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One Comment on “Naughty Words”

  1. Pat Says:

    This poem brought something to my mind. The “disuse” and the metaphors that convey that.

    Have a big, black grand piano (pretty good sized– 5’8″) that sat unplayed for about 8 years — up until last fall. Oddly, we always had it tuned. We were spending good money to protect the piano’s . . . silence.

    I started playing again last September, in part feeling the FOOL for owning such a fine piano and just having it sit there, silent and sad, year after year. In part out of sympathy for that big black piano.

    After six months of practice and lessons, I have most of my abilities back. Playing Chopin waltzes this week– playing 1-1/2 to 2 hours a day.

    I sort of visualize this big piano as a kind of being with a “great voice.” I am just someone who helps her sing. I love to hear her open up that big voice. Yet, under the right control, she can be almost as quiet as a whisper . . . The notation “pp”.

    Regards as ever–

    Pat (& Terrorist)