With a nod to Swift:
The notes issue from my clarinet
like Celia from her dressing room,
rising clean and beautiful
to leave me behind –
red eyed from forgetting to blink
with spit dripping on one foot.
Some poetic licence there, I actually sound bloody awful because I’ve hardly played in months.
It’s not how they sound when you play for yourself, it’s how you feel. The poem feels comforting. 🙂
yeees…. but squeaking and playing the wrong notes does not make me feel good. 😀
Thank you for your kind comment Stephen. 🙂 ❤
You made me smile! This was great. I picked up my flute the other day (I got my grade 4 in like…1994 🤣) and you know…it wasn’t great but at least I remembered how to do it!
💞
Nice to see you here! I enjoyed your rant about love poetry – brutal but very funny. I don’t do love poetry. Well, except maybe for my darling girl… https://anotherkatewilson.wordpress.com/2020/02/11/sonnet-for-my-pig/
It was the ’80s when I was playing clarinet at school! It does come back, even after decades.
If you could magically disappear all the brass and woodwind instruments from an orchestra you’d have a bunch of people pulling weird faces and dribbling. 😀
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I love it!
Dwight