I am the old wood
receiving you as the rain
in all its aspects,
as mist, as the splash
or the roar of a tempest,
with the black of night
or the sun peeking
and the arc doubled sometimes,
receiving your moods
and the feel of you
whether you are cold or warm
and you strip me down.
August 9, 2011 7:40 PM
Perfectly realized, sir.
ReplyDeleteONly poems, and the occasional guitar licks, can be perfect in human hands.
Thank you for saying so, but I fear that violinists, players of drums, cellists and brass players and so many more, including the choral and solo voices would in arrogance and humility differ with that last bit about guitars. I think the prose of masters may approach perfection too. At least my high school teacher thought that way about Stephen Crane's "Red Badge of Courage".
DeleteI have been a pretty good guitarist in my day, but I have stopped playing in the last several years.