Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
||||
Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 12:59:10 AEST | ||
|
||||
|
||||
|
|
Array
(
[sid] => 129711
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Organist
[time] => 2006-12-23 01:07:55
[hometext] => A work in progress . . .
[bodytext] => Slender and slight, Reminiscent of some delicate flower whose perfume stirs up memory, She sits poised, commanding the structure Of pipes and ivory. She has seen all of eighteen summers, Many of them from this seat, high above That of the pastor, or his audience, or even the choir. Hymns roll down whitewashed walls Painted by glass with stains of light. Outstretched, her thin hands (Ringless, save for one on each index And one on a thumb, all of Celtic design) move in unison; Long, sensitive fingers Sink deeply into the keyboards (or manuals as they are called) at once enslaving and liberating the instrument with measured caresses alien (so far) to young men. Twinkling in the shadows below the black gauze skirt That reaches down to her ankles And billows in the spring breeze that drifts through open loft windows, pale bare feet dance an elfin ballet across a forest of wood the color of clover honey and chocolate. Free of the comfortable leather sandals that lie kicked off on the floor nearby, delighting in springtime, girlish toes summon deep harmonious thunder with each gentle press and release of a pedal polished by her tread for half a young lifetime. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 43 [informant] => nvember [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
|