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WRITING IN GENERAL

The Organist

YAFOOEY!  :: 15 :: POETRY

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The Organist

Post by P on Tue Dec 09, 2014 3:45 am

don\'t know

The Organist

Once tall the organist shuffels in
Now bowed by age his frame is thin and gaunt
His shoulders bowed
His hair is snowey white,
Thick and cobwebbed, long as ever
Brushes his shoulders round.
Not one grey strand amongst those tumbling locks
A scarecrow mop
Like snow across the downs.
His ashen face,
His boney hands,
His ancient suit of black
Hangs loose and creased
Draped baggily upon his bony frame.
His jester shoes of dusty black
Match his dust covered tie.
 
Painfully he takes his seat
Shuffling awkwardly across the bench
He settles, sighs,
Shuffles the broken sheets of music
Juggles the stops
Pulling,
Pushing
A long pause....
He is composing - himself this time.
As once the composer paused for thought
Weighing the notes, sequences, chords of music,
The organist weighs his life.

He leans forward,
Nose almost touching the page,
Straining to see where to start.
No toccata today!
His bony fingers span the keys
He begins, decisively
Notes of silence
Unnoticed by the congregation
Lost in their grief

Gradually the notes rise
Imperceptively.
Gradually, the background noise subsides
Gradually the hubbub dies
Gradually, the music flows, building.

The rythem falters, hesitates,
(A page is turned falling to the floor)
And then continues as before.
The odd wrong note submerged
In tangled pipes and tubes
Ceiling to floor

Ceiling to floor, and back again.
The music rings around
Those now pensive,
Lost in silent thought.

Another page is turned
avatar
P
LUNATIC
LUNATIC

Join date : 2014-09-06

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YAFOOEY!  :: 15 :: POETRY

 
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