August 2010

PLAYING TO THE DOGS (a poem written during lesson in teacher's garden)

August 25, 2010 12:29


             they've come for the musicians, not the music                  

          they're not concerned about legato, rubato, allegro or

              pizzicatto (they're bored by open strings)

              the only vibrato is in their tails

          Do they prefer the sleepy languor of D minor,

             the bright clarity of A major,

             or the work-a-day stolidity of the key of C?

    The violins may be screechy or sublime,

           halting or heavenly, it's all the same

           it's the price of a bowl of food.

Buddha stands watching, contemplating,

      knows that flowers, animals, people, music

          are transitory, ephemeral

Only the cosmos is eternal.



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