At The Piano
Wanting to cleave clearly in the mind the wooden chopping boards of the house into piano keys,
and the long tables of the dining room into some imagined concert:
Do you hear it?
Yes?
Do you not since then not realize this grand scale?
The poor boy is playing a sonata in his head, yes?
Yes.
Now. (Pushed into agreement as if pushed by birth into an empty room without choice and flowers for wallpaper and a mirror kept blind dark in a drawer)
There was a piano, once, in my head.
And a stage.
And the world surprised by what had been found.
Difficult piece: the left hand flying over the right and the air-pedal stepped through and clean to sustain.
And all the world standing behind kitchen counters and the dinner plates waiting for the imagined overture to complete its applause:
If only there was no need to explain.
If only the real thing was as clear and as audible as once the beautiful music.
* Brown beaver in a stream and the grass green
Small girl on a swing and a bird wing
And because he thinks it’s meant to be spring,
he colors the clear edges
of all living things in his piano book-
Where the paw touches sharp the blades
of the green patch
and the bare arm of the blonde girl arcs
her slender reach to the sun.
And old Brahms who lifts his hand in a wave,
even if this is meant to be a slow waltz he’s playing,
and a packed piano concert hall he’s set in where a bright blue blazer’s not the right suit for this true master to wear.
This genuine thing:
Every day before the sun rose,
I dreamt the world already in color.
Ivy on the old wall greener by far
than any I had seen the lush trees
bending some friends hiding behind jars,
sliding doors snuck into the empty cabinets of the garage wanting to be found and: everyone loved.
Wanting to tell the truth, to play it.
Song remembered from somewhere else
and someone else’s mistake:
the bored boy on the waiting couch
knows the girl now playing the piano has no applause in sight. The day could be awash with light!
what colors blind him with the waiting bird on the wing wrap his hands with a song small girl’s swing fill his eyes while he’s playing a fast loud trick of a trill in his head
in what was said to be “with feeling” terrible terrible thing
* All encompassing terror of the grand design
I wanted the great concertos,
the Bach arias.
I wanted: Praise be to God who fashions with his own hands the universe and all of creation out of a deep love for everything without choice.
Without being dramatic.
I wanted the long pause.
I wanted the audience stunned to tears because:
this we have not heard before in the streets this song this beautifully done.
It moves.
It brings us to the edge of our sight.
I am not the light.
I was not even part of its terms of recovery or perfection.
Joy without end without just reward.
Who has not, faced with a sin, said:
I want to be good?
For he hears even our thoughts.
I wanted that silence.
I wanted the huge applause after the silence.
*by L.L.Ypil
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For All Pianos All Around The World
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piano brand name
anno piano twenty twelve
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Pygmalion And Galatea
Your sight was poignantly penetrating
me within. Your blue eyes were even more
bittersweet in that opaque singleness, our
touch was like a sadness piano song. I did
not know when you really wanted to exist
for yourself while pretending to be existent. I
kissed you and you thought that it was only a
kiss, but I wanted to swallow your silence and
to blow into the air your defense. You were
dying inside of you. You loved me in this
secret room of ours. We could understand our
existence. That room kept us hidden from
the whole world for a second. In our
dream, we became free. We tried to free
our mind and our souls, but our dream couldn't
generate any idea. We made love for no
other reason but to love each other. I
became a milky white ivory Galatea of
yours.You made me your woman for
that sense of belonging. I needed that, I
wanted my own metamorphosis. I became
that Galatea not being able to leave the
love cell. In your absence, I became that
Galatea wallowing in hopelessness,
understanding that the sadness was the
only thing really existent inside. I became
that Galatea wanting to see again your green-blue
loving eyes. You became that Pygmalion of mine,
for without me.....you.....
poem by Marieta Maglas
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I wanted to play piano in restaurants in the south of France. I went there on holiday once and I saw this guy playing in an old tuxedo. He was all disheveled, with a whisky glass on the piano. I thought that was the coolest thing. So what's happened to me with 'Twilight' isn't really what I'd planned.
quote by Robert Pattinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love A Piano
[1st verse:]
As a child I went wild when a band played
How I ran to the man when his hand swayed
Clarinets were my pets, and a slide trombone I thought was simply
Divine
But today when they play I could hiss them
Evry bar is a jar to my system
But theres one musical instrument that I call mine
[chorus:]
I love a piano, I love a piano
I love to hear somebody play
Upon a piano, a grand piano
It simply carries me away
I know a fine way to treat a steinway
I love to run my fingers oer the keys, the ivories
And with the pedal I love to meddle
When padarewski comes this way
Im so delighted if Im invited
To hear that long haired genius play
So you can keep your fiddle and your bow
Give me a p-i-a-n-o, oh, oh
I love to stop right beside an upright
Or a high toned baby grand
[2nd verse:]
When a green tetrazine starts to warble
I grow cold as an old piece of marble
I allude to the crude little party singer who dont know when to pause
At her best I detest the soprano
But I run to the one at the piano
I always love the accompniment and thats because
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through Paris 1970
As you rode through Paris
in the packed coach
the radio played
Beethoven's Piano Concerto #5
and Mamie
sat beside you
her head to one side
sleeping
her mouth open
like some fish
out of water
her hands tucked
between her thighs
her blue skirt
riding high
and the slow movement
of the Beethoven piece
began
the piano playing softy
as the bright lights
of Paris
lit up
the dull space
inside the coach
and you closed your eyes
laying a hand
surreptiously
over hers
hearing the piano
and orchestra
as if in a dream
and Mamie
never minded
your hand
on hers
or so you thought then
and as now
it would seem.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Game of Life
Games people perform in this life-
Playing Chopin’s waltz on the baby grand piano- I am a believer.
My father stood still- whip in hand.
A big black cat carrying a crimson red trunk entered my room past the midnight hour
Dumping live boa constrictors atop my bed- although I only saw soap bubbles emerge before from the gates of heaven’s past.
In my mind I still can hear Chopin’s waltz playing on our baby grand piano-
I listen to voices that aren’t even real-
My father giving orders- he was once a soldier.
My mother’s negligence screams and
Stabs me with her cruel and toxic words-
My father passed in the springtime.
Roses and wild violets grow freely- in the back of my mind.
I never promised anybody flowers- only music-
Games that people play are what life is all about-
My thoughts are spinning out of control-as are Saturn’s rings.
Our baby grand piano is out of tune-
I do not care- I sing an opera solo-off key though gently-
The wind is blowing outside at hurricane strength-
The power just went out.
I am in the dark- as I dream, and I dream-
My hands are still playing the baby grand piano-
Out of tune as it may be-
The back door to my mind’s prison is locked-
Life is a gamble- my thoughts have spun out of control-
I dance the tango in the woodlands where
Oak trees and evergreens have fallen-
But I foresee no moonlight-
I gave my father no flowers;
I play him Chopin’s waltz on the baby grand piano-
I know he can hear as souls never die-
I can listen to my dreams –
I hear my father’s orders and my mother’s wrathful vengeance-
I never promised them flowers and
They never promised me the world- I was invisible-in the eyes of millions-
I hear angry voices echo about- nature’s bounty-
Life is a venture, but
My soul shall reap its reward
Before hell’s brush fire is extinguished-
Can you hear the music playing and
The lonesome screaming of the deceased?
I can only hear a neighboring car alarm sounding as too many days have passed since
the doorbell sounded and fog has lifted-
Rain is falling into a bloodbath. –
Where extraterrestrials are inclined to exist-
I am a believer…my soul shall live on.
Can you hear the calling of the wilderness?
Only where mountains meet with the horizon and
I keep on searching for rainbows in a fleeting moment?
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Deep River Woman
Deep river woman
Lord Im coming home to you
Deep river woman
Lord I know shes waiting
Just anticipating all my love
I spent a night
Just another chance to see you
Just you and i
Wanted you to know
That my playing days are over
Cause all I do is think of you
The writings on the wall
Ive been out in the world
Yes, the fast life had me going
Now all thats changed
I finally make up my mind
About the one thing
Ive been knowing
Youre the only girl
Ive ever crying for in this world
You kind of love is forever
It took me a long time to realize
That Ive come so far
And end up going nowhere
Oh, girl, I need you by my side
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flavors
*there was a red light coughing up a room of blood
And there were forecast seven inches of snow
And there were two tunes playing in my head at once
Arguing guitar and drums
There was a lover standing by a bed
With a cigarette burning in her hand
And there were moonbeams playing on her porcelain flesh
*i caught the arrow while it shot
Company cars and shoes were never meant to play the blues,
You were the only fool I ever wanted to make love to.
Even within my youth I denied I wanted to,
You were the only fool I ever wanted to make love to.
But as her bed made ? ? ?
And there were weak spots only she could detect
And as I rolled over to block the ? ? ?
? ? ?
There was a blue light the other side of the door
*and there were four cats stretching our their claws
And there were two lovers separated by the telephone.
Company cars and shoes were never meant to play the blues,
You were the only fool I ever wanted to make love to.
Even within my youth I denied I wanted to,
cos you were the only fool I ever wanted to make love to.
Your flavors are getting to me
Your flavors are getting to me
Your flavors are getting to me
Your flavors are getting to me
Your flavors
Your flavors
Your flavors
Your flavors
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I bought a piano once because I had the dream of playing As Time Goes By as some girl's leaning on it drinking a martini. Great image. But none of it worked out. I can't even play Chopsticks. But I've got a nice piano at my house!
quote by George Clooney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Encounter.
Isis had let the girl into
her small private room
at the school, she should
have said no, but she was
of two minds, and then
one, and then she just let
her in, and turned to the
window, not wanting to
face the girl, and let her
look break through to her
heart, and she had heard
the girl whisper, I love you,
so soft it seemed as if breathed,
as if a small knife had entered
under her ribs and inched
towards her heart, and she
had not turned around, and
had just replied equally softly,
I know, and then a few moments
Later, I love you too, and then
there was silence, and she
sensed the girl put her arms
around her waist, but she had
done nothing, just stood there,
looking out on the school grounds
at the playing field, and the girl
had released her, and Isis had
uttered, Best go now Jodie, and
she heard only quiet footsteps
and the door closing with a dull
thud, and the room seemed
suddenly empty, as if a world had
begun to die and another been
born, and over the playing field
a warm sun opened up like a
young god to a bright new dawn.
poem by Terry Collett
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Piano vs. Guitar
i sat down at the piano bench for 10 whole years
i never stood up and moved away because of my fears
that i had been wasting my time and i wouldnt express myself
i couldnt rewrite erase scratch out replace what i had been taught
not by myself always with a hand moving me left to right right to left
until that day i wasn't afraid to stand and i saw myself not moving just
shifting from side to side i was only getting morose with no sense of wit or pride
i could get soulful and stand and swing liek the wind on the trees and no more was i trying to express myself on the piano on the keys where my fingers tried to get crazy but all i could do was type at the same rate with a bomb between my knees
so i saw my dad's guitar one day and my hands went up and down and not
from side to side and i didn't have to sit down and i choked the neck, twisted the head and realized that i saw in the face of what i could become and never hide
i saw in the face of it who i wanted to be, not what i was but what i could be come
and my past was behind me, and it chided me antagonized me until i saw that
my hand worked better as a claw
my father's guitar i saw it and i saw his face and i saw mine too and since that day i learned to scratch out and erase and revise what i felt inside and what i could
express and that i could get soulful when i wasn't sitting down to rest at the bench
to stagnate to get comfortable and masturbate and never get out of my comfort zone so my mind vacated the place where i was sat naked
i could get soulful and stand and swing liek the wind on the trees and no more was i trying to express myself on the piano on the keys where my fingers tried to get crazy but all i could do was type at the same rate with a bomb between my knees
waiting to explode, or reload the dissapointment inside my head untill i remembered that one lost phrase that my fingers once said on that guitar with that bar chord sliding up and down and noticing that for the first time i could get funky and move around.
poem by Maxwell Ames
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His Girl
Why do girls get so offended,
When a guy calls her 'my girl'?
'You're my girl'
What's wrong with that?
Don't you want to be wanted?
I love being called, 'my girl'.
I want to be his girl,
I don't want to be known as...
His girlfriend, how lame!
It's so normal.
His girl, his baby,
His love, his cuddlebear.
I like those, I don't mind them,
Maybe I'm just weird.
I love that though,
Being his girl rules!
Feeling wanted and cared about,
In his arms, being his girl.
'She's my girl'
You have no idea!
Wanting to be his girl,
I love being his girl!
poem by Ocean Myranda
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The Grand Piano
The grand piano stood in the corner
no longer played anymore.
Once it stood under the spotlights
in crowded concert halls.
Famous musicians from around the world
sat and played concertos
and solo arias with soft melodic tones.
Each note graced lovely
from eagerly expectant ears.
Now the crowds have disappeared,
loving fingers no longer graced
its black and white keys.
The grand piano just stands alone
locked with memories
of the great old days.
25 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Piano Recital of Isser Slonim at the Rubin Academy in Jerusalem
A PIANO RECITAL OF ISSER SLONIM AT THE RUBIN ACADEMY IN JERUSALEM
An old man is not a paltry thing
His hands are hammers and strings
His mind holds the whole composition
Before it unflows to us.
In this bare room
With these simple chairs
His Russian students long hair
Bright their laughter- Youth,
He gives a life of integrity
To playing a music of strength
whose tones deepened
by mastery say,
“This is a real thing a great thing. “
And this time its name is not fame and celebrity
but is one small man,
a teacher who bears in his own inner depth
all the music
his students have in long years
learned from him
whose fingers with fierce flexibility
play through
to the end
with intelligence and humor
the sounds which make us feel
we too may sometimes live
in a higher world, also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Take me to Paris With flowers
Take Me to Paris With Flowers
I'll run away, I'll run away
By your eyes of blue and the skies of gray.
To the heart of France, Paris
The city of love, magic.
I'll run away. I'll run away
Past the doors and gates that lock me,
That controls me.
Into your arms of loving,
Your eyes of wonder.
I'll run away. I'll run away
Through creeks and woods,
Re- Walking the steps that we had once stepped in.
Ride me with your bike,
and my basket of flowers.
That's all we have, something small,
Something, beautiful.
I'll run away, I'll run away
If I hadn't know that our love wasn't meant to be.
You wanted to wait.
Days after days of “wait”.
It's gloomy up here, up in my room,
Waiting and waiting for you.
The flowers have wilted, the skies are crying
Just like my hope had wilted, My tears are falling.
Your real eyes,
Until then I hadn't realize,
That it was just real lies.
All I wanted was a forever, All I wanted was a forever,
But it was just a broken promise,
beside a wilted flower.
poem by Nhu Nguyen
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All She Wanted
She was a good girl
Been true to herself
Never swayed by the notions of somebody else
Shed had it rough, maybe most of the time
With only one thing on her mind
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
Who was tryin to do the best that he can
All she wanted was a lovin, lovin man
There could be blue skies in her heart
She was waitin for the good times to start
She never wanted diamonds
She never wanted gold
She was holdin out for someone to hold
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
Who was tryin to do the best that he can
All she wanted was a lovin, lovin man
A loving man
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
Who was tryin to do the best that he can
All she wanted was a lovin, lovin man
Loving man
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
All she wanted was a lovin man
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Music Comes And Goes
by: Tripp
the soothing sounds of a piano to a guitar the sounds they make
the feeling It brings when the piano sings playing the strings of a guitar
the times come and goes as the music grows
in the heart of those who play
thinking of that one thing that brings epiphany to that instrument you play
as you hold and take care playing with hopes and dreams the music slips through
and sings
i can't get enough of what it does to me
when i hear that sound that voice
the music she brings to my heart when I'm with her
her voice is the epiphany to my heart
holding on to her the music keeps playing
my heart keeps beating as the music plays
i keep dreaming dreaming holding on hoping this song will never end
dreaming to fall in love with this instrument forever
she is my instrument
poem by Preston Trip
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Not That Kind Of Girl
Im not that kind of girl who thinks I can change the world
With just a simple twirl of my hair
Ill never break your heart, tear your soul apart
With just a simple spark from my stare
Wont go playing with your insides
Take your wallet for its big size
Wont be suckered in by those foolish games
1:
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Im not that of girl who think you can rule my world
With just a simple wave of your hand
So dont you push me down, or start to play around
Cause when you see me frown, just beware
Dont go playing with my insides
Tell me stories, tell me big lies
Wont be taken in by those silly games
Repeat 1
Come on, come on
Yo, tell me vc, what kind of girl are you?
Let me know
Im not the kind of girl to make you lose your mind
I wanna be the kind of girl youll never leave behind
Youre gonna take it, never fake it, you know youll see
That Im just the kind of girl I always wanted to be
Im not that kind of girl, Im not that kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl, I like that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl, I like all kinds of girls
I like your kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl
song performed by by Vitamin C
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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x Yes I am that girl x
I am that girl who is wanted
I am that girl who understands people
I am that girl who tells the truth
I am that girl who you can tell your secrets to
I am that girl whose heart has been broken
I am that girl who finishes fights
I am that girl who still studies her books
I am that girl who is a typical teenager
I am that girl who liver in west London
I am that girl who’s always friendly
I am that girl who will fight for her rights
I am that girl who has planned her life
I am that girl who respects everyone for who they are
I am that girl who will tell you it how it is
I am that girl who makes her own decisions
I am that girl who regrets things
I am that girl who wanted to still be with you today
I am that girl who still day dreams about you
I am that girl who you can turn to
I am that girl who will regret loving you
I am that girl who has always protected you
I am that girl who will give you advice
I am that girl whose heart has been broken by you
I am that girl who once wanted you
I am that girl who once needed you
I am that girl who once was dreaming of you
I am that girl who was once speaking about you
I am that girl who has dreams about you
I am that girl who you can call when you’re feeling down
I am that girl who wants you back in her live
I am that girl who once wanted to give her love away to you
I am that girl who once thought you was her everything
poem by Lisa Anderson
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My Father's Persistence
Was there rain coming down that day?
I really can't remember.
My mother says it was cold and dreary
on that day in December.
Was I welcomed onto this earth
as I took my first breath in?
My father wanted a boy to raise.
Should I have stayed where I had been?
Gradually he accepted a little girl
and held me on his knee.
He played LP records for hours
and I inhaled the harmony.
My mother says he was obsessed with this
and thought I should be left alone.
But his persistence through my first two years
paid off with each new tone.
By age four I was playing the piano
and my father praised God.
My mother was surprised I guess.
But she thought me rather odd.
My happiest childhood memories
was playing whatever I'd heard.
My father was deliriously happy.
My mother thought it absurd.
Most of my youth went so fast.
Most of it I can't remember,
just like the part about rain coming down
on that cold dreary day in December.
But the thing I remember the most now
was my father's pride and joy
that I was born a girl instead of a baby boy.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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