the unknowable transforming point 196/ 200

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Delete bin

The donkeys are dead
on the andaluvian andaluvial pianos
art of europe and 2 cellos cranial clench
tango to the image of someone else
bechstein being hauled
haul it for a silence
isn’t worth a ficfuc across the sky
streak across the sky anyway
stick the postcards in the post
from years and years
and then demand to have them trashed
delete bin
thank you

For the long windwow

It could all become a story
and a piano
the dentist got his hand in your mouth
and singing quietly to mozart piano concerto
you know the famous one
slow movement played once for the long window
on a saturday morning lunch time

Red road

Then no one was hungry
enough to marinade the kenco
straight home to world war two
and flying sugar blows
strong smell of whisky
and all round temperament
kick the piano
and send myself packing
out in the hills
wander moors
bowl of red jelly left
spoonfuls for me red road
someone died of fright when the bombs hit
in a hallway
with shredded carpet
dust on lino
before the cleaners bucket of bleach had a go at it
then trick time plays tricks
every day same way
shrill swallow’s best tune
here in time
art and the landscape is coming for you
nuclear incinerators planning to make an appearance
at a cinema near you

Half pedalling

The leading lady wears biscuit shoes
wafer thin
half pedalling with caution
tales and raves and marcel duchamp
photograph me in negative states of mind
not so fancy
oh get out
get out of the piano room
and swim for the shore
splish splosh
fluffy plunges with arm over arm
playing bass notes in right
and mano destro
dextrous fructose quiet chords
the night swim toss and turn in the dark sea
and prosperous voyage

The zephyr coming home

Hello my swallow
speed over the roof top
and swoon the grey sky still
looked across the road at the ghetto bungalow
and didn’t see the zephyr coming home
no use denying it
at the bus stop people shiver
and apostrophise at the time keeping
two minutes late at 8 forty
a coney island of the mind must read
by fair hands and do dishes soft as your face
not milk and cookies under the keys
arrived at my destination
somewhat afraid

Advertisements

Author: Vv

Composer/ Pianist/ Writer www.virginiaaurorascott.co.uk

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s