mildly musical

Yesterday the sunshine was silver over the River Severn; today it was rather more rose and gold. It’s Sunday and it’s been a very quiet day, but the sunset had me thinking of music.

Certainly those cables across the sky remind me of a musical score – presumably ruled out ready for the music of the spheres; they’re just missing the birds sitting on them to mark the notes.

Or maybe the apple tree is reaching up to pluck the strings of a celestial guitar.

I don’t think I have many musical references in my poems, but music and dance are closely linked, so here’s a very old, tangentially relevant, draft; it was abandoned long ago, but may as well find a home here:

The widow’s walk

In comfy carpet shoes she creeps:
toe to heel, toe to heel
bob and reel and cross.

She dreams of Sir Roger, and Morris
the dashing white sergeant, but quicksteps
are a memory; the whirl of life today
leaves her standing.

She slipper shuffles down the street:
toe to heel, toe to heel
dip and turn and cross.

There are no “excuse-me”s
as the youths skate by, their modern lives
all stomp and strut and jive;
she can’t keep pace.

She taps and sways her soft-sole way:
toe to heel, toe to heel
trip and twist and cross.

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion View all posts by don't confuse the narrator