The Little Brown Church
By
J.A. Long
I belong to the honest little brown church on Simpson Road
The one that everybody passes like Levites in a hurry
Perhaps looking for something kind of furry critter
Or perhaps for a house sitter at the very last minute
Perhaps even for a Spinet
The little brown church that is located directly across the street
From the popular yellow colored diner
But on the same side of the street which
Usually has more parking spaces than cars
The little church that needs more people
Including students for its quiet Sunday School
The little church that was once larger on
Third Street- you must know the one
THE SILENT PUMP ORGAN
This wooden brown spinet…
it waits in a back room
in this Clovis museum
till someone can fix it.
Played at a home or church?
Its last song?
How long must it stay voiceless,
its last song
played in a home or church,
till someone can fix it?
In this Clovis museum,
it waits in a back room,
this wooden brown spinet.
This is a palindrome poem (Last line is the same as the first line, penultimate same as the second, etc.), first published in Medusa's Kitchen.
Wildlife 34
A talented musical linnet,
Played tunes on her grandmothers spinet,
But once, at a loss,
She said "Who gives a toss!"
"It's fun playing music, Well i'nnit?"
Play this simple tune upon your spinet
so that I can know the notes well, my dear.
Restful music sounding sweet to my ear.
I am greatly eased and made charmed by it.
Home is truly most blessed by whole bit.
We sit listening while her tones are made clear.
Fine, well keyed, and gentle music we hear.
Showing perfect phrasing she's a great hit.
Tiffany roses circle in séance,
cut crystal vase in a sparely lit room,
round antique table opal in nuance,
ivory candles with saffron in bloom.
Raven shadows deepen the ambiance.
Ashes of roses in draperies loom.
Onyx spinet plays deceptive cadence.
Sequined masquerade masks heighten the gloom,
reflecting with vermillion radiance
the flickering flames of marigold plumes.
Masks on the wall traipse in amaranth dance
as a pale evening breeze enters the room,
the petals and flames a-flutter in trance
as past flower spirits rise from their tombs.
Morning calls as her spinet notes hum
a heated Fur Elise with many rays of love
dancing drops of glory beat upon a song
inside my painted dreams I sing along
Gentle thoughts float as I arise
longing toward such soothing eyes
wafts of honeysuckle fill the air
a precious smile for you are there
As day breaks and we take a pause
enjoy all her beauty without a cause
my hand rests upon her placid cheek
for another love I shan't ever seek
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