Fellini parade..

For Open Link Night, my response is to Tuesday's circus prompt. Instantly I thought of Fellini's movie, La Strada, with Anthony Quinn and Fellini's wife.  I wanted to express how fond I am of his work with a poem, not just a synopsis.   dversepoets

Fellini parade


Townspeople gather
to watch the strongman in chains,
and his waif partner,
perform under soft pink skies.
Traveling circus of two,
clown noses, drum beats,
she sounds the rousing
language of a trumpet, plays
meek foil to his brutish strength,
intuitively -
her purpose as wife.

Yet she he taunts and teases,
abandons at night.
Unknown to his foolish heart,
she's admired by another
walking a high wire.
He does not recognize
his desire till she is gone.
Dreams sustained by a face round
fade, the spirit gone
from her rag tag eyes.

Her childish loyalty is
no more,
the fantasy and magic,
gone.
Ultimately - he
crawls in agony
on the empty windswept beach.
Snow falls quietly
on the ocean where
there are no answers,
he weeps
and dies in the sand
alone...

A Gift That Keeps Giving

 

My house sat empty the 

day of the sale,

except for the baby grand.

She stood alone

 in the dining room,

   holding countenance.

I lowered the price again,

   but to no avail.

Unable to move it to the new place,

a desperate post to Craig’s List,

“You pay to take piano away,

    give good home."

Later that day, the door bell,

a handsome young man did say,

   “May I play.”

He laid his hands on the keys,

and they became part of
his anatomy, 
fingertips penetrating 
my soul.
Surrounded by soft, rich tones, 
acoustics I did not know 
existed in the room.

A warmth came over me,
I admired his expertise and style,
he smiled, swaying side to side.

From the time he sat down,

the piano, clearly, 

was his own.

Occasionally, 
I  played Christmas carols,

 Kumbaya...I paused  and  thought.

I could take lessons again,

    take a few bows...
reap  praises for 
my brilliant talent and poise. 

But a deal was to be made.

He embraced me briefly.
 I watched the truck 

pull the piano away 
as he smiled and waved goodbye.

It was my pleasure
to hear him play,
 more than enough for him to pay.

Water filled my eyes,

tears of gratefulness,

 after all.

It's Open Link night at dversepoets, any subject or theme. 

Crickets’ Song

                     Crickets’ Song


Sun sneaks through the sky’s smoky haze.
Clothes hang drowsily from the line.
I’ve learned another lesson
in an awkward snare of time.
There's agony I had not foreseen
in loneliness of aging.
In deers' dark eyes, I see my tears.
Crickits try, but cannot drown out my
raging.
It feels strange and wrong
no one waits here for me.
nowhere do I seem to belong.
Feeling set apart is a deeply unsettling,
drinking song.

Cut flowers from the garden drink
their last drops of water.
I taste the last of the strawberry lemonade.
From the first pitch of baseball season
to the whiffs of autum's vinegar air,
unimagined events torment my mind.
I've been a part of life's big picture
unfolding,
shared narratives from birth.
I search in vain for familiar patterns
of living.
The wind that has sustained me
and shook my soul with meaning
blows in a different direction now.
I'm not built to be broken
yet another time.
Too much is expected at this late date.
I've started over again and again.
The remaining chapters of my book
suspended before me,
pages of unfinished stories,
blank canvases devoid of my joy,
unwritten poems for lack of a muse.
Alas, no one wants to hear it.
I’m sorry for myself -
for releasing unresolved pain,
there is no coronation
at the end of the parade.