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Strings

A lonely fiddle, its strings once taut tense and stretched, waiting to be tuned and played. The limp horsehair bow, longs to be tightened and drawn in sweet reverberations. A grounded kite, too long flightless - too long not tethered to laughter and coaxed to fly in a summer sky on the breath of smiles. A forgotten puppet - still strung; a keepsake perched like an ornament that never moved, never danced and never brought smiles nor tears to those with inimitable imaginations, waits patiently for a child to say, "Daddy, will you help him dance once more?"

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 3/1/2020 9:58:00 AM
Congratulations on your win in Greg's contest with a snippet of this poem,Craig - I just had to read the full version. I love the imagery and on a deeper level, it has inspired me to remember the importance of using our natural gifts to their full capacity whilst we can.
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cornish Avatar
craig cornish
Date: 3/1/2020 12:27:00 PM
Thank you Dear Wendy--and yes, we should
Date: 3/11/2018 12:19:00 PM
Ahh!!! The puppeteer. Enjoyed reading your work. I wonder if my puppet will come out of the closet ever again. Soup mail. Sara
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Date: 1/29/2018 2:26:00 PM
the collected things from life never used again put away like a museum display...
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Date: 1/27/2018 8:24:00 PM
Discarded strings ... so very sad. Love how you describe the violin, the kite and the puppet Craig. Best, Judy
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Date: 1/27/2018 3:30:00 PM
Those "no stings attached - strings".
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