deepundergroundpoetry.com
Farewell Lady Mozart
You forgot the precious flute
bequeathed it to dust
on top of the wardrobe
the damp of a London flat
milk and a baby
your music of the day
I tried to turn us
into what we were not
failing hopelessly
at the expense of a heart
practicing scales
fingers and mouth bemused
poor notions of love everlasting
Now I regret
the music we never played
if only I'd trapped it
to seal in a jar
a jewel to cling to
beyond loneliness
Not even my wildness
understood
the sweep of the second hand
bruising silence with our fate
every minute a stumble
each hour plundering a ruin
Those moments were never replaced
no fresher memories
would ever transform the truth
or eclipse such magic rising on the air
to tease a bolder shadow
But what a concerto!
Brasher than strawberries
or all Nigeria's headscarves waved
sweetness spiked with weeds
abandoned softly without rage--
then tossed to sprout in the rain
bequeathed it to dust
on top of the wardrobe
the damp of a London flat
milk and a baby
your music of the day
I tried to turn us
into what we were not
failing hopelessly
at the expense of a heart
practicing scales
fingers and mouth bemused
poor notions of love everlasting
Now I regret
the music we never played
if only I'd trapped it
to seal in a jar
a jewel to cling to
beyond loneliness
Not even my wildness
understood
the sweep of the second hand
bruising silence with our fate
every minute a stumble
each hour plundering a ruin
Those moments were never replaced
no fresher memories
would ever transform the truth
or eclipse such magic rising on the air
to tease a bolder shadow
But what a concerto!
Brasher than strawberries
or all Nigeria's headscarves waved
sweetness spiked with weeds
abandoned softly without rage--
then tossed to sprout in the rain
Published 3rd Jun 2012
| Edited 17th Jul 2013
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The author encourages honest critique.
Abra...as usual you have some highly inventive phrasing here. You have unique images, fresh perspectives. You are spinning something with a story-line. I does for me however lack the clear sense of direction in the pacing that you normally provide for me. Maybe it's at the headgear from Nigeria that I feel that you have become idiosyncratic with the image at a crucial point in the flow. I understand sweetness and bramble thrown together at the whims of time, left to become what it will. I just feel a bit like you stopped forming the idea in my head and let that image remain in your own. It's just that one line, I think, and maybe it's just me though.
3rd Jun 2012 1:03pm
Hey Stevo
Thanks for your input. It's a fresh write and those strawberries have been edited in and out
more times than I can count.
I think it's because someone recently accused my poetry of being too mournful (which of course most of it is!) that I wanted to finish with an impossibly sweet surreal flourish reflecting the impossible undulation of the instrument in question rather than on the dullness of just another sad note.
There's a bravo feel to the image which makes me smile but it may be a trick too far for most, so I've given it yet another tweak.
My thanks ~ Abra
Thanks for your input. It's a fresh write and those strawberries have been edited in and out
more times than I can count.
I think it's because someone recently accused my poetry of being too mournful (which of course most of it is!) that I wanted to finish with an impossibly sweet surreal flourish reflecting the impossible undulation of the instrument in question rather than on the dullness of just another sad note.
There's a bravo feel to the image which makes me smile but it may be a trick too far for most, so I've given it yet another tweak.
My thanks ~ Abra
3rd Jun 2012 1:18pm
Ah...scarves. I was picturing a boxer's headgear. I digest it much better now. It was the headgear and not the berries.
3rd Jun 2012 1:21pm
4th Jun 2012 6:34pm
O my word this is beautiful! Your word choics are lovely. Its modern with a hint of old school broken heart. Lovely reflectIon at the end too.
5th Jun 2012 11:15am
Anonymous
13th Jul 2013 3:13pm
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