"registering" poems - Hello Poetry

We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing. He was as good as he had always been. But half way through, a woman appeared, Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage. Entering the ring of bright spot light near him. Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck, Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs, Reflecting the light. Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress, Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day. Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin, Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend. Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting. The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message Only they understood. Then starting slow and low, The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin. The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed, In summer breeze, began to gently sway, Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty, The voice of both her Instrument and from within she, Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall. With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made, As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords. Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings. For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone. Her actions of body, hands and head in concert, To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said. The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there. The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage. I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted, I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made. Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless, Little black dress. It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again, I know not, even her name. And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell. Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web. With me sitting, third row, isle seat left, Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty, Slightly ***** naked feet, the striking Blond woman in the black dress.

0

Nov 6, 2013

Nov 6, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC

stephen-e-yocum

The Woman In a Black Dress

We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing. He was as good as he had always been. But half way through, a woman appeared, Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage. Entering the ring of bright spot light near him. Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck, Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs, Reflecting the light. Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress, Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day. Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin, Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend. Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting. The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message Only they understood. Then starting slow and low, The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin. The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed, In summer breeze, began to gently sway, Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty, The voice of both her Instrument and from within she, Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall. With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made, As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords. Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings. For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone. Her actions of body, hands and head in concert, To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said. The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there. The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage. I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted, I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made. Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless, Little black dress. It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again, I know not, even her name. And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell. Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web. With me sitting, third row, isle seat left, Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty, Slightly ***** naked feet, the striking Blond woman in the black dress.