chiaroscuro moment molten chords in golden glow titian ringlets cascade from linen shoulders as your hands bring liquid color to idle black and white chorded words of three parts Not easily broken Ebb and flow as breath over water a shift in timbre resonant teak fettered in silver heady scent of resin and balsam reeds echoed drones the cantored dance begins Taking flight the quiet arias rise coursing low over open moors Eyes veiled green a fog shrouded shoreline We leave transient prints In damp sand... Sonorous notes From kilted pipers A flash of tartan on thistled field Drummers pulse the motion of life You raise the standard This ancient song is yours and mine.
Open eyes to desert sky Burning blue and empty As fresh pages fall un-inked on thorny ground Only the ache of a melody remains Lost refrains broken notes in my DNA Inspiration drifts away
*in high school I had the opportunity to play a bagpipe that had been made in Pakistan....the drones (for those of you unfamiliar with the instrument - drones are the three pipes sticking out from the top of the bagpipe) were made of teak with silver joints. In each drone there is a reed and you tune the drone by adjusting the wood pieces at the joint. the lining of the bag - and the joints of the drones are resined - so a set of pipes has a specific scent to it. - Pipes are instruments of WAR....and I loved playing them)