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Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Oak and pine

Electric lights
Harsh sounds

Crystal gaze
Wax figurines
Limp with a twist

Metal and plastic
Compose a score
Mozart baking tragedy

Red begets the black
Summer fun
Telli Rose Nov 2017
do you honestly believe
that just because she has
those infamous violin hips
that gives you any right
to play her?

you’ll be in for a
rude awakening
when you finally realize
no sweet harmony will
come from her

you will not hold her
by her delicate neck
and drag your worn bow
across her thin, ****** strings
as if she was the first, or last
orchestra instrument of yours

do not forget about
deep viola, and intuitive cello
do not mock mighty trumpet and jazzy sax
with your tenuous conductor’s wand
you are no master of a spectacular concerto.

go away Amadeus, you’ve lost your mind
if you can sit down comfortably
and think you won’t have to pay for
defacing every instrument in this precious ensemble
you once had.
-11/13/17 c.m.
Terry Collett Dec 2016
You play along
the piano keys
the Mozart piece
played from memory
your fingers can walk
in the dark,

your mother
is in the kitchen
preparing breakfast
you can smell the bacon
and imagine your mother
listening to you play
ears cocked
for any errors
in tone or speed,

you want Benedict
there behind you
his hands around your waist
as you play
his breath on your neck,

you play the Mozart
and imagine Benedict
is holding you near him
his chin on your shoulder
his whispered words
in your ear,

you are going too fast there
your mother calls out
from the kitchen
her tone critical,

you adjust the speed
focus on Mozart
not Benedict
that's more like it
your mother says
you must focus,

that half hour you spent
in the guest bed
where Benedict was
that night he stayed
is alive in your mind
as you play,

you come to the end
of the piece
the echo of the last note
hangs in the air
and you wish Benedict
was there.
Äŧül Dec 2016
Hindi (in Roman script)
Kyon maine tumse pyaar kiya,
Ye to mujhe pata nahin...
Maine tum mein kya dekha tha,
Ye bhi mujhe pata nahin...
Kyon maine tumse pyaar kiya,
Ye to mujhe pata nahin...

Why I loved you I don't know that...
What I liked in you I don't know that...
What I had seen in you I don't know that...
I don't know that, I don't know that...
Why I loved you I don't know that...
I liked in you I don't know what...
HP Poem #1309
©Atul Kaushal
Terry Collett Oct 2016
runs her slim
pale fingers
over keys
of the old
black piano,

the Mozart
coming to
life again,

but she sits
on the stool
a very

thinking of
who had left
10 minutes
before hand
to go home.

Her mother
sits watching
her daughter,

how she sits,

the fingers
moving fast,

her body
moving slow
side to side.

hugging her
in his bed
(the guest bed),

kissing her,

their bodies
moving slow
close entwined,

out in case
her parents' heard
any sounds.

Not so fast,

her mother

this part is
much slower.

slows the pace
of fingers,

but the touch
of fingers,


over her
still lingers.
Terry Collett Sep 2016
Benedict had
gone home.

Yochana's father
had driven back
to his village miles away.

Her mother sat
in the lounge
flicking through
musical manuscripts
on the piano.

Yochana came in
from seeing
her father's car
out of sight
with Benedict
at the back.

Your mind was not
on the Schumann
as you played,
her mother said
turning and gazing
at her daughter.

I was tired,
Yochana said
walking and sitting
on the sofa
where Benedict had sat
some moments ago
before his departure.

Did you not sleep?
Her mother asked
studying her daughter’s
expression eyeing
over her body.

Not well,
Yochana said
thinking of being
in Benedict's bed
(the guest house bed
where he was).

That boy
is a distraction to you
and I can see it
in your lacklustre playing,
her mother said
I saw the way
he looked at you.

Yochana looked
at her mother and said:
it wasn't him
that distracted me
it was the boring
Schumann piece.

Her mother raised
an eyebrow.

Schumann is
never boring
he is anything but,
her mother chided
pulling her lips
into a look of disdain.

He bores me,
Yochana said
looking at the place
on the sofa where
Benedict sat
the slight indentation.

I'm not sure it is good
for that boy to be here
if it affects
your piano practice,
her mother said
studying her daughter's face
and the eyes
looking far away.

I love him,
Yochana said
looking at her
mother's face
at the eyes
peering at her.

Love him?
What do you
know of love
you're still a child
and he is
nothing to you,
the mother said,
now enough of this
nonsense you are
to practise
the Mozart will
get you going.

Yochana looked
at the piano
and rose up
and walked towards it
and sat down
on the piano stool.

Now begin
at the beginning
of the 3rd piano sonata,
her mother said.

Yochana couldn't
get being
in Benedict’s bed
out of her mind
how they
had lain there
and kissed
and touched
and got overly hot.

She began to play
the Mozart piece.

Her mother sat
in an armchair
and looked and listened.

Yochana imagined
Benedict stood behind her
as she played
his hands around her waist
his breath on her neck.

Slower with the Mozart,
her mother said sharply
not too rushed.

Yochana felt him
kissing her neck
and all was hushed.
Mozart had twenty kids but he stayed with his wife
For most of his life
You get with these girls and forever change their lives
By inseminating them and running away when you find out the news
Not cool dude
Too many baby mamas
I'm going to need a whole lot more commas
If you can't protect yourself and her, stay off of her
If India and China are telling you stop, you really need to listen.
Sam Jun 2016
don't listen to mozart;
lack any dosage:
tea; no coaster:
broken toaster:
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