Friday, March 30, 2012



The records were red
Vinyl I suppose
More like flattened rubies
In velvet lined cases
Or so they seemed
Stacked with precision care
We sat side by side
In the tiny living room
Eyes closed
Impossible violins
Tchaikovsky himself
In our kingdom of crescendo
Walls thrumming in palaced
Perfect echo
There not quite four
melted into his side
Him, that raven haired father
Of the single tear
Always as the final
Music broke over us
And then receded
Leaving only static silent
Crackling in
Pounding heart
Melted by the tsuniamied
Power of
That single
Tear tracking his
Unlined transported
Under still closed eyes
And always just then
she called from her
grounded sublime misunderstanding
“Supper’s ready!”
His strong hands trembled
He rose
a signaled sigh
trailing us
as we left 


  1. "...that single tear...Tchaikovsky himself In our kingdom...sublime misunderstanding."

    find words, i was transported, Tchaikovsky does that to me.

    i love this poem.

    thank you.

    1. Ooooh thank you so very much...I love that you love ... so very moved by your words. Thank you again for stopping by and commenting. Your site is wonderful!

  2. This was so touching and beautiful~
    Well Done transporting to such a tender moment!