Widor's Toccata, fr. Symphony for Organ No. 5, generally lasts around 6 minutes.Longer than it takesto readthispoem (I promise)A well- wornRecessional featured atRoyal weddings,Funerals n-such -itspeaks tothe vitality- some might say-freneticism of walkinginto the light.Go forth, it says.Be brilliance,stamina,be the orderedrepetitionand deep basspulse of lifeCelebrate.It’s a showcase for organists and,I hear, notan insurmountabletask to learn. … Continue reading Be Light
Belly Burns
John had problems.But so did all of us. This is not my storyto tell -yetthere are girlswho wentto his house tosee if he was kidding aboutbaking himselfin his mom’s oven,and they learnedthat he woreboxer shortsand slatheredhimself with oleo margarine,and in fact,could hardly geta leg in the pre-heatingoven before tipping the whole thingforward ontothe linoleum with … Continue reading Belly Burns
Whistling Your Way Home
A house still stands near the place you crashed but it creaksand it leans -paint peels, eerie white lights twinkle within.People ran out ona moonless night, whenyou struck the combine cutter barbroken off too close to the shoulder.The road you’d traveledfor 70 years offered no signtrusting, it does, local driverslook out for themselves.And farmers too, … Continue reading Whistling Your Way Home
Junkyard Song
All the singing we did in carstrails behind us.Cartoon notesflutter from open windowsin the time beforeair conditioningandtape decks.An old brown Ramblermay still be rusting somewherealongside an aquamarineFord station wagonbusted seat cushions hummingthe harmonies.When we were violinsHornsDrumsClarinetsgoingdoodle doodle doodle doodle det
Preparing to Meet Maestro
Siinnnnngg-Ah, emphasize the ng abuzz in the nosethe four descending notes on Ah, listen to thoseOur director pushes us higher and higher up the scale in a warmup that leaves me dizzy and cold. Lately, I sing Tenor and had forgotten the fun of readingtreble clef, transposing an octave down, the thrill of carrying a … Continue reading Preparing to Meet Maestro
Not I
The day they lined us up,siblings 1,2,3, and interrogatedthe vandalism of our father’s lunch box twinkies, one-by-onewe claimed innocence and no one cracked under the cracklingglare of the grownups accusing silenceNot I, I swore, and it was truththat time. In fact, the culpritwas a mouse and all the littleliars went free, hoping forreward later. Sadly, … Continue reading Not I
Tell About That One
When you moved again,deciding which pieces to bringwith you took days. Disappearing roomsdisappeared objets d’art. Yourfamiliar touchstones were spirited awayalong with your memorieswhich still totter in a multitudeof worlds lately, but you hold onto a familiar question: “tell me a storyabout that”.We saved a few treasures in the purge.The too-large postmodern painting of adistorted violin … Continue reading Tell About That One
Early Morning Poems 