Monday, November 19, 2007

NaBloPoMo 2


Of all his music papa played Mexicali Rose the very best.
Now the saxophone lies on a high shelf in the dark of the closet.
The last notes are departed, the reed split, the keys are stuck in old times.
Yet, I sometimes hear those slurred notes in the wind, in the wide cave of night.
Someday he'll take it up again, and then every earthly thing will change.
And all my dreams will be aroused to his slow music, a long lost voice.

.


Image: www.mexicali-rose.com

11 comments:

Becca said...

A beautiful poem - especially poignant to me as we have an old saxaphone put away, its music silenced everywhere but in our memory.

Lovely :)

Jo said...

This is gorgeous.

Linda said...

Lovely! The sentences flow so well and the images are poetic.

Pauline said...

loved it - a story without one wasted word

UL said...

What a wonderful story to tell using American lines...beautiful.

Jessica said...

This is really beautful and touching. Plus, you use verbs really well in here.

Kimberley McGill said...

Lovely sentences strung together to create a poignant poem.

chiefbiscuit said...

I love the long lines. A beautiful poem.

Crafty Green Poet said...

Lovely, it brought the saxaphone right to mind - my favourite instrument

gautami tripathy said...

Marvellous post!

Pam said...

The echoes of the past, this is beautiful, Joyce.