Saturday, December 01, 2012

TABLE TOP PIANO, by sandra, ttgp

in the rich house i saw a piano
a piano not once played
used only as a table top
where pictures are displayed ~
in suede or leather frames

in the poor house lived a young boy
longing fingers; much to say
songs to compose, music to share
but no piano 'round to play ~
and for lessons, couldn't pay

in the rich house i saw a swimming pool
sparkling water still and blue
so beautiful to look at
which is all that you're to do ~ "
look at that beautiful swimming pool!"

on the poor house lawn were children
running through the sprinklers
oh how they would love to splash
and swim, and plug their noses and dive to the bottom of the pool to find pennies, and pretend that they are mermaids, or sharks, and cannon-ball off the side of the pool, and get yelled at like this... "walk. don't run! the cement is slippery, i don't want you to get hurt now" and dry off on a great big fluffly towel under the sun with snacks and drinks nearby... then jump back in whenever they wanted

oh how they would love to splash ~
and swim the day away; with friends.

at the rich house i saw four cars
but three were never driven
three unused cars for just in case
now, that's some kind of livin'!

at the poor house, shoes and passes
for walks to bus or train
yellow plastic coats and boots
umbrellas for the rain ~ "
$3.52 a gallon!"
don't hear them complain.

in the rich house i saw lots of books
with matching leather covers
alphabetized and organized
-not by an author lover!-
who reads by size or color?!

in the poor house, dated magazines
a library book or two
hungry minds, big appetites
for stories that are new ~
books owned and loved; not due.

in the rich house, cleaned by maidens
many objects to observe
crystal designs so shiny they blind!
shout, "see what i have earned
!" ~ see in college what i learned!

in the poor house, small but tidy
family pictures line the hall
in wal-mart frames, big smiles remain
shout, "i love you one and all!" ~
keep your chin up and walk tall

in the rich house, pride and prejudice
aversion to the weak
mistaken thought, that what they've got
is what every person seeks ~
but this is mine for keeps! i earned it

in the poor house, hopes and wishes
for a better life with more
piano's, pools, books and transporation
a better life with more

~just one car, not four
~their very own musical score!
~to swim with friends galore
~own books bought from a store!
a better life, a better life, a better life with more.

and i wish you all a better life
a better life with more
to everyone who's hurting
knocking softly on hopes door

and i wish sometimes that i
-me- that i could even out the score
and give to the poor thought rich
the wealth of the rich but poor

so that everyone, poor or rich
everyone rich or poor

can manifest, become your best
~know a better life with more.

by sandra, the traveling gypsy poet. final touches, may 24th, 2006. spell check edits...

that's wal-mart, not wallmart and who's, not whose... by favorite blogger friend, len stegmann.

thank you.


At 3:33 PM, Blogger Kelly said...

What a beautiful poem! I really enjoyed that.


At 3:20 PM, Blogger Joan said...

Wow. That was fabulous, Sandra. It makes me think I could enjoy poetry ... if only I could find more poems like this.

At 5:18 PM, Blogger she said...

"thank you!" -written some 3 years ago; think it all the time.

& always appreciate positive feedback. -helps keep me going

love all around, ~s.

At 2:41 PM, Blogger she said...

Original post 05/26/2006.

A recent visit to see my dad & family inspired this re-release. They are renting... And the owner still keeps some of her belongings in the house, including not one, but TWO pianos... Which just take up space... And are covered in protective blankets and are never played...

OF COURSE this would trigger a memory in me about my table top piano poem

As does the sight of this tree on valley avenue... Another one of those trees that someone tried to cement and brick within a pretty landscape circle... But those roots on that tree have just busted write through the cement and bricks...

And I do honor a formulaic poem when it comes...

But my greatest inclination is to believe, that -real poetry...

Refuses to be contained!

As is demonstrated in this poem you just read.


Post a Comment

<< Home