He wrote the night, flickering alive on the bones.
Daylight; window-smear, elbow, knuckle, pressure
Like the gas lamps fed by the curving brass pipes;
Sigh of gas, pressure, smear of light behind the glass
I keep my head clasped at the neck, my back alive
To the room, to the cooling lights behind me. They
Spin on those brass couplings, muslin skirts aflame,
Fairy wings arching until they choke, fade in the a/c.
Play, they whisper. Play the night--we need the shade
Nothing burns visible without the darkness, here.
Let the cool remind you--and their fingers glissando
My spine--we play our music when we fail to burn.
Keep playing, pause; smolder of wings; twine my fingers
With the lamplight until they ache in shadow,
Pulse, and breath. Wait. Tickle the shadows stretching
Across the wood, where a smear of music stains.
Hoping this finds everyone safe this week. Linking with The Sunday Muse and Poets and Storytellers United.
--Chrissa
I see fairies and moths dancing to the music.
ReplyDeleteI sense an audience urging for music... maybe they all need it to flee from the daylight... there is something sinister in the way the faceless audience crave obedience from the player.
ReplyDelete"...where a smear of music stains." Fantastic close to a very powerful write. Well done.
ReplyDeleteAh, this must be what happens when you get a gig at The Hall of the Mountain King. ;-)
ReplyDeleteYou had me at "He wrote the night flickering alive on the bones" & " Nothing burns visible without the darkness" is brilliant in so many ways! In awe as always! 🤩 Gorgeous!!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful yet edgy words, and I, too, loved that last line.
ReplyDeleteThis has a "phantom of the opera" feel and I really enjoyed it!
ReplyDeleteLovely descriptive phrases draw us into fantasy.
ReplyDeleteThe mysterious audience's desire is unsettling. I hope player and listeners find some comfort in the creation of art in the dark.
ReplyDeleteI love your word use in the first line, how the "bones" are the music and the skeleton that feels the dance.
ReplyDeleteAh, the fairy music, "we play our music when we fail to burn", the smolder of wings - enchanting.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely brilliant word smithing. I wish i had written this
ReplyDeleteThanks for dropping by my sumie Sunday Chrissa
(✿◠‿◠)
much love
Descriptive, magical, and killer ending.
ReplyDeleteI can feel the stress points in this poem, the audience seems to demand an encore...
ReplyDeleteSpooky in a delicious way.
ReplyDeleteI do love a poem that draws me in and envelopes me like this one. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteOoh this is absolutely splendid, Chrissa!💝
ReplyDelete"Let the cool remind you--and their fingers glissando
ReplyDeleteMy spine--we play our music when we fail to burn."
The inner rhymes and the meter are quite hypnotic, and I feel both the push and the pull of the music.
An enjoyable poem, especially as a response to that picture.
ReplyDeleteAwesome writing … the close: haunting.
ReplyDeleteTo me this conjures up the shadows of things past come alive with music, the moon, an old building...
ReplyDelete