This is really about my piano that sits at the bottom end of my dining room. I forever fantasize about being a professional pianist but I don't believe that it will ever come to fruition.

Public Room Piano

Fingered keys up. Wooden touch, ivory like piano.
Murdoch goes on safe songs for Chopin and Mozart.
Lies bottom toe down ended at the door like small
Cobwebs hover, it immune to gravity and tasty spiders.

Stools sits soft pull out and sit then drag inwards.
Lifted hands fall up and slide down tapping some
Demented child all melancholy for the damned.

Poetry by Frederick James
Read 777 times
Written on 2006-05-31 at 14:08

Tags Music  Piano  Chopin 

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The last two lines brought it all together for me?
I am wondering if stools should be singular? Or depending on how you wanted to say this.

Good stuff. Had to rate this great poem - such a strong personal feel.

Pamela A Lamppa
Wow. Word placement is great here. Makes the stops and starts quite effective. Written from the heart of one who CAN play.
LOVED the last two lines, giving that attention to that spoiled brat who begs to be tickled properly....Wonderfully creative. ~Pam

Malin Johansson
A very describing poem here, good... if you doubt your self, the piano will to :))