artist, music, musician, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

Diary Entry 44:

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Based on ‘Signora Al Pianoforte’ by Giovanni Boldini.

Started 10:34am outside of Stewart. Finished: 12:14pm. My dorm.

Untitled

Who hands a song to a chorus of one

to hammer each note into place?

Is not the musician, a certain position

assumed in a window of space?

Who lets in and lets out

and so gathers the nails

on the tails of the notes that they form-

from the pulse of the moon,

and the twister in June,

to the bister blown in by the form.

-Amy Struthers

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flute, flutist, music, musician, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhyming, Uncategorized

The Flutist

Ambrosial seeds that sprouted song

entice the plum-pursed lips

gripping for the galaxies

confined to sullen sips.

 

A cup-eared chorus hollers back

to smooth the clods of clay

molded by the penchant of the potters who will play.

 

A honey-suckle sound escapes,

to which the bees reply,

“Had only we a gentry cup

our lot may never die.”

-Amy Struthers