M. L. Kiser Poet Free verse

My Harmonica Cries

My harmonica cries, 
in tones of silver sighs and golden tears; 
wailing bittersweet joy.

Sound of sadness; sound of laughter; 
it’s in the wailing that color blooms.  
Mouth-harp memories fill many family albums.

Circle of breath, circle of life; 
winding in and out; among the reeds.  
As we all wind down life’s road.

Diatonic monotones blending with 
chromatic colors of sharps and flats; 
my harmonica sings the music of diversity; 
notes in keys of primary colors and unending shades.

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Jennifer Proxenos June 16, 2019 at 9:49 AM A colourful, melodious write about a harmonic, do you play the harmonic MLK, it is a wonderful instrument, my father from a young age, used to play the it, he played by ear, never read music, and played anything you asked him to. Hugs, Jennifer. M. L. Kiser June 20, 2019 at 9:46 AM Thanks Jennifer, I do play, I learned by teaching myself but, I had an aunt once, who learned by ear. She was darned good at it, too. Thanks for stopping by.

Line Gauthier June 14, 2019 at 8:18 AM Lovely poem, ML. M. L. Kiser June 18, 2019 at 8:36 AM Thank you.