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The Symphony
by Rachel Bennettthe clink of detached slides
ceremoniously emptied and replaced
as communion plates stacked and ready,
and the incense of rosin and oil
pours into the concert hall.
a ritual of entertainment toward
blue-haired and binoculared ones
(mohawks and brow rings need not apply),
smug, knowing grins when a passage is read
from Brahms 1:14 or Berlioz 2 6:7 -
this church, too, is due a reformation. 02/04/2010 Author's Note: I'm tired of uppity musicians and listeners.
*Made a couple minute changes (one in line with Vince's comment).
Posted on 02/04/2010
Copyright © 2024 Rachel Bennett
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 02/04/10 at 10:41 PM ... excellent..... |
| Posted by V. Blake on 02/04/10 at 11:55 PM For reasons I can't immediately come up with, I don't really like the use of the word "try." The rest is spectacular. |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 02/05/10 at 04:40 PM I am with you on the uppity musicians and listeners...what happened to simply enjoying music, in any form you choose, regardless of age, race, background, classically trained or self-taught, despite any understanding of terminology or composition -just listen and breathe it in -or shut up and go home! |
| Posted by Nicole D Gregory on 02/05/10 at 05:28 PM Standing ovation from me! I could hear the haughty banter of ancient money, swoosh of satins... and oh!... the smell of old skin and stale cigarettes - when they look at me for "visiting" (tell-tale sign b/c I'm still in work attire). Call'em out! ~N |
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