you feel me?
i'm talking living rooms, offices, kitchens
who knows when a moment of inspiration;
bent red; an american bullfrog ingenuity
too much murmuring;
so when you ask to hold that thought
in a meeting, you tip-toe over
to the organ, turn up the volume,
sit and play that sound that melts
away the furniture; there's a shift
and a pulling away of the tiles.
"play it... loud." tears on the subway
give me twenty-five pedals
and i'll carry church organ pipes
under my arm through the town
unimaginable sonic hand grenade
to make the wibblies fall out
My Dad! My Dad with hands so grand
whether shapely straight as a clarinet
or conical as a saxaphone. He blows
through a woody-reed, his tongue
not lashing at us, but conditioned
to musically relay his love for us.
My Dad! My Dad with hands so grand.
They put together a Hammond organ.
His feet so cheerfully press the pedals,
his fingers twinkle across the keys.
Whatever instrument, he sings to us;
his voice good enough for us. Occasionally,
my Dad would get mad, lash out, but
it was not his habit. He is compassionate.
He’d keep quiet, and quietly entertain.
The visiting doctor, the pediatrician,
the family man - came and played
He played on our Hammond organ,
sat on the storage bench, opened
one of the books. Those compassionate fingers
ran across the keys and leapt into our memories.
My sister was home sick, and he came
and he cared for her and pleasurable
was his visit, as my mom would recall for us.
lined up tall to small —
tailored suit on middle child.
Brady Bunch dress on sisters.
the Hammond organ,
put together by our dad —
the masterpiece behind us.
my mind’s eye opens
the bench, practice chart on keys,
wiggle of toes and fingers.
i flip old pages
with eyes closed. I see the song:
Merrily We Roll Along
we’re only self-taught.
the silly keys and chords squawk.
how i long to touch the past!
i’d find room for you,
with each grandchild cheering you,
near the sunlit window panes.
the Hammond organ
built by your great-grandfather —
the masterpiece behind you.
lined up tall to small,
i’d bless your fingers and toes
and let you find your own song.
4/30/2019
CONTENTMENT IN FAMILY CONCERTO
Dabbles in music, tooting on clarinet.
His pipe medley alongside a wicker chair.
Dynamically plays broadway tunes,
As
We
Kids
Lean
On
His
Knee.
I can smell the tobacco aroma,
And
See
Smoke
Haloes.
The Hammond organ in the living room,
An instrument assembled by dad,
Produces pleasure though no geniuses.
While dad practices for hours every day,
On his brilliant woodwind descendant,
Masterful in his eighty year old hands,
No audience
Except for an occasional family solo.
Dad’s an enigma,
Deaf to tooting horns,
His own.
6/18/2017 Father’s Day
Heaven’s to Mergetroid, what dire straights had the moon men gotten themselves into this time? Lunar craters were filling with nuclear waste and there was not a friend to be found at the convention. The UFO (Unified Foreign Oscillators) team was too busy singing itself silly in the far corner around the Hammond organ. It was a regular wine and dine of vacuum salesmen with dozens of oxygen masks, slamming traditional medicine and promoting laughter, pushing the sucking of gas vapors through a straw! Each new sale brought forth new tid-bits of bad breath and gafaws. The Listerine soaked tissues drifting in on silver trays from the kitchen were bound to quell the stench! Rosie the robotic maid yanked the club Presidents spandex boxer shorts up so high he squealed with pleasure! The robot bouncers had to launch wormholes into the raucous crowd to thin them out. Those still standing after that gig would have the dislocated jaws from laughing after having taken their medicine.
Rosie played the Hammond Organ at the church
This week she left us in a real lurch
For Rosie went off with one of those vaccum salesmen
Who turned her eye wearing Spandex boxer shorts on tight skin
The choir director will be in dire straits
Because a mouse built his house in the organ with his mate
We placed a listern soaked tissue in there
Hoping it will stink those meese away __that pair
Now Rosie's husband is one medicine for insomnia and emotional pain
He's drifting in and out of being nearly insane
I heard some tid bits the other day
At the convention for women only what can I say
Well this is it, "Rosie's now playing gigs
At the "Wormholes" all night club where truckers park their own rig."
It's right next to those lunar craters
Where in their kitchen at night the vacuum salesman peels potatoes
That night they saw a UFO land and steal nuclear waste
And this was beyond half-past eight
When Rosie wined and dined her friends
She told them the whole weird story..The End..
Believe it or not your choice....
"Man, I love that Dire Straits song "Brothers In Arms" ", he said in the kitchen
"That Hammond organ just takes me drifting..."
Through wormholes and lunar craters in a UFO.
Friends, nuclear waste, pain, insomnia, vacuum salesmen, all disappear in a single tone.
"Rosie!!!...bring me a Listerine soaked tissue for my cold sore...Ahh! That's the medicine!"
She struts by in a pair of Spandex boxer shorts, like a groupie at a gig.
So far from the Sci-fi convention where they first met
Not the old "wine and dine" for them, no sir!
He set the trap and baited her with Tid-Bits of his inner self, painfully bare.
From humble beginnings, a love, long and true, exists in quiet majesty.
She's lying beside me,
A beautiful vision...
My fingers ache to touch her...
This beautiful vision...
I sit and admire her
Aware of the joy she will bring me,
A beautiful vision,
No, this beautiful thing,
Will never argue with me.
We will make beautiful music together,
This beautiful vision,
Her teeth a striking wonder,
Her voice a joy to hear,
I am so happy,
My beautiful vision is near,
No, she's not a woman,
Although those words hold true,
For many a beautiful lady,
This one is mine alone,
My new Hammond organ
Her merest whisper
Can make one moan....
In ecstatic wonder,
Oh, such a sweet groan,
I've waited long and hard,
My beauty is with me now,
I look forward to the 'morrow
Can I last? I know not how.
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