A Friend or Three
Your smile, my sister friend, floated around the room, evaporating and adding to the room's humidity,
it permeated the air and condensed on the slender wine glass half full of rolling rock,
slid down the stem and, your smile, watered my hand resting there.
Your five o'clock shadow (our was it four?), my dearest, massaged the face of the Cat,
a purr then forced itself from his throat like love shot from cupid's arrow;
he licked your chin, and, with a small leap and after noticing the drips on my hand,
frolicked over and licked my sisters smile clean from my hand.
Your hand, my brother friend, strummed gently upon the strings of an out-of-tune acoustic.
Setting it down and scratching the sofa fabric, the Cat sauntered over to catch the sound.
Snatching him in mid-air, your hand placed him on your lap, each finger gently touching the soft
fur, shedding my sisters absorbed smile onto shirt sleeves and dusty corners of the room.
Why sweep the floor when its so full of you?
Friday, May 21
Tuesday, May 18
Not a poem; just an experience
I had a dream last night. I was....hmmm.....it was blurry. I'll describe the most significant piece.
I saw this house on the hill of a cobblestone street. It was sort of old and decrepid, but not too much. Just probably looked that way because it needed a paint job. The house was tall and a faded red with a huge staircase winding down from somewhere, I could see through the window. Following the stairs was a line of curtains hanging from the ceiling on a track. They were unmatching curtains, but they were big heavy dusty carpet-like curtains, like the kind you see in old victorian homes. They remind me of a fabric out of Jane Eyre. The next thing you know I am in the house. I see a large black woman handling the curtains, trying to move them or hang them up in a different pattern. She was high up near the ceiling, on a ladder or something. I left the main foyer of the house and meandered into a room. The room was old and dusty, but beautiful. Things seemed in transition, furniture semi-covered, piles of things in the corners or middles of rooms. This room had two pianos. I went over to the first one: it had keys but looked to function more like an organ. It had ugly blue and red keys that were a plastic material. . I remember calling it a harpsicord in my head.....and I played one key and it sounded horn-like. I didn't appreciate the sound.
The next piano set up right next to it and actually closer to the door where I came in was a extremely long grand piano, the huge heavy type that aren't shiny or polished. The sort in old practice halls for choirs and orchestras. This piano had beautiful keys, ivory colored and clear and cold to the touch, slippery and smooth. The keys played under a medium to hard weight of the fingers onto the key. Soft touch pianos make playing too easy and less strenuous on your fingers........but harder touch piano keys give much more satisfaction when one is struck. Strains the fingers a bit more, gives you more weight to push around. Makes each key, each note, distinct. I like hard key piano's like a like the spanish language: each letter is pronounced; nothing is slurred.
I don't rememeber what happened next but I know that I suddenly had to run out of the house and away from it becasue someone was trying to find me and I was being chased. I did not feel alone but I did feel like I was supposed to run from something. I looked back at the house from a block's view away. Then I got in a car that pulled up and drove off.......
I saw this house on the hill of a cobblestone street. It was sort of old and decrepid, but not too much. Just probably looked that way because it needed a paint job. The house was tall and a faded red with a huge staircase winding down from somewhere, I could see through the window. Following the stairs was a line of curtains hanging from the ceiling on a track. They were unmatching curtains, but they were big heavy dusty carpet-like curtains, like the kind you see in old victorian homes. They remind me of a fabric out of Jane Eyre. The next thing you know I am in the house. I see a large black woman handling the curtains, trying to move them or hang them up in a different pattern. She was high up near the ceiling, on a ladder or something. I left the main foyer of the house and meandered into a room. The room was old and dusty, but beautiful. Things seemed in transition, furniture semi-covered, piles of things in the corners or middles of rooms. This room had two pianos. I went over to the first one: it had keys but looked to function more like an organ. It had ugly blue and red keys that were a plastic material. . I remember calling it a harpsicord in my head.....and I played one key and it sounded horn-like. I didn't appreciate the sound.
The next piano set up right next to it and actually closer to the door where I came in was a extremely long grand piano, the huge heavy type that aren't shiny or polished. The sort in old practice halls for choirs and orchestras. This piano had beautiful keys, ivory colored and clear and cold to the touch, slippery and smooth. The keys played under a medium to hard weight of the fingers onto the key. Soft touch pianos make playing too easy and less strenuous on your fingers........but harder touch piano keys give much more satisfaction when one is struck. Strains the fingers a bit more, gives you more weight to push around. Makes each key, each note, distinct. I like hard key piano's like a like the spanish language: each letter is pronounced; nothing is slurred.
I don't rememeber what happened next but I know that I suddenly had to run out of the house and away from it becasue someone was trying to find me and I was being chased. I did not feel alone but I did feel like I was supposed to run from something. I looked back at the house from a block's view away. Then I got in a car that pulled up and drove off.......
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