Craig S Bury | + Follow Poet |
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The Player of Strings

An ode must be written to the player of strings
Thanking them for the joy their playing brings
Reminiscent to a puppet master they strike the strings
Like a ventriloquist with seemingly voicelessness the object sings.

Sometimes seated or even when they stand
By pick, by bow or by hand
Played as an acoustic or powered with juice in the form on an electric
Like perfect circles both sit perfectly concentric
A lute, a cello and guitar
A harp, a bass, zither or sitar
A double bass, banjo or mandolin 
A cigar box guitar or violin 

Treble, Lyon, Pistoy, Diapason and fret gut
As different as a cashew and macadamia nut
As long as it is played well and not abused
It doesn’t matter how or what is used

The impact of sound orders the audience to be silent
In a forceful way which is strangely non-violent
The sound created is so divine
As delicious as a creamy cheese or well aged wine.

If a picture tells a thousands words
There must be infinite words present in your soulful chords
When you arrive at that magical sound
Body quivers and feet lift off the ground.
Like a boat in the ocean calmly afloat
There is a calming peace that arrives when you hit the perfect note

Choosing between being blind or deaf is decision one wouldn’t want to make
But if I was to only hear, for heaven’s sake
Strike those strings and create those harmonious sounds
And the visual images will come in leaps and bounds

Play me an a, b, c, d, e, f or g in major or minor
When beautifully played nothing could be finer
A verse on its own can be said and cheery
But without the strings it becomes tiresome and weary

The body shakes when the sounds of the strings reach perfection
In peculiar cases it has been known to aid downstairs in an uplifting direction
With the perfect note the soldier stands to attention
Here’s hoping it doesn’t occur at a men’s only convention

Undoubtedly when you play
The dark of night turns into the bright of day
Like a perfect duck dive without a splash
Or a burnt out fire with the remaining golden ash

Whether you’re in your twenty’s or seventy five
The magic moments keep you alive
So thank you to the player of the strings
For the absolute pleasure your playing brings
And sheer delight when your instrument sings

THANK YOU PLAYER OF STRINGS

Copyright © Craig S Bury | Year Posted 2007

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