Nachtmusik
I keep a notebook on the nightstand,
pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts.
A flock of crows
takeoff at once, their clatter is musical,
it is an hour-long symphony
played in a single moment.
My Scots grandmother
would sing to me in her Highland tongue
sounds so beautiful that my brain
would stop deciphering or even thinking.
I recall now those chanting-chimes.
Mozart must have leapt from his bed often.
I wonder did he stumble around lighting candles,
cursing the dark until he found his keyboard?
Did he lay his sleepy forehead on that forte-piano
willing himself to recall the bitsy songs
of Pipistrelle bats?
My head swings from the pillow.
If I could only reach that pencil,
but it has moved-on,
to a place where Celtic grannies,
and jet-black crows wait
to enter some other dream.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
