Ivory and ebony wood On thick, rigid legs Steel strings wrought Virgin tight, vibrate Moan and tremble for you Siren song carried On wings of reverb Pimples skin of All who listen, Tempting tepid spines A black bench, Not worthy, moans Gently under such Perfect weight. What luck For such dead wood! Parched ears quench, Ground beneath quakes, Climax in E sharp! The audience exits... To smoke cigarettes (c) Esteban Luis Soto *Written after watching a brilliant, beautiful young lady play piano at The College Of Santa Fe.
Showing posts from January, 2012
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Happiness is not for the poets It lays like lead on our lives Like stones in swimmers pockets Like fish breathing dead water Give us the sludge of society That we may grow gardens Sowing the seeds of sadness Into a brilliant bloom We are the poets unseen Yet heard and hollered A voice for the meek and mute The endangered weavers of words (c) Esteban Luis Soto