When pianos are not played,
they become very sad,
they collect silent notes.
Unplayed music floats –
invisible dust of overtones.
The dead are waiting expectantly:
so many keys – 88 – all untouched.
The day of silent music
sheds the signature of uncaptured Time.
(“What are you practicing now?”
my mother asks me quietly.
Her eyebrows raised. I shrug.)
from the archive; first posted 10/15/21
Go to Source
Author: Lera Auerbach
For the second time this week I’ve watched snow fall at sunrise, dawn arrive on a breeze (the way I think it always does). I don’t know which, time or the weather, woke me, charmed me out of a dream where a few of us floated around, gravity’s jokers, face-up in the quiet water and…
For today’s post I offer this exquisite poem “Bicycles” by Paul Hostovsky, first published in Body. If you haven’t checked out this superb literary magazine, please do! BICYCLES Now I would rather remember life than live it. I would rather imagine life than live it. I would rather watch life going on from the…
The spring rains Brought driftwood Down the river Depositing it At the boat ramp A mess That blocked the launch Of recreational craft I saw her approach Pulling a little cart She gleaned the pile Moving the limbs Searching for the pieces Bleached white By the turgid foam She eyed it Rejecting some Gathering others…
The good die young and the young die eventually. More at https://www.facebook.com/heath.brougher. The post Factoid | Heath Brougher appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online
_________________________________________________________________________ Made in America If I were a less sane person I would probably stalk Zoey Deschanel. After stalking her from nine to five, I would come back home to my wife and daughter and tell them about my day. “I stalked Zoey, but…
We all die and the only thing not to know is how:Some ‘cos they eat too much cow.Some ‘cos they smoke.Some ‘cos they don’t joke. We all go to the undertakers:Some ‘cos they’re unlucky overtakers.Some ‘cos they’re sinking death rowers.Some ‘cos they’re drowning maritime blowers. We all get our card marked and have to punch…
