Stella has music
all over the floor.
At 93
she finds the notes
trickling from the piano
into the empty room
to litter the carpet.
She wades
and shuffles through them
with her walker,
pushing them softly before her
as they drift with dust motes
to her ear.
Pieces of memories
all humming gently
causing her pausing
and feel the need to organize
or sweep them from the corners.
Elaborate sheet music,
mysterious,
faded code books of history,
share space with an army
of family photographs
atop the polished upright
grinning
with yellowed ivories.

A great read Holly, I thoroughly enjoyed this one.

Les

Thank you Les. I haven't been here in a while. Working a great deal. H.

Yeah, this is quite good indeed

Seems like she should check her rye bread for mold.

Hey, Tex,, you done good ag'in.

Stella has music all over the floor
It covers the carpet it's blocking the door
And though she's donated a lot to the poor
THe mailman's delivered a hundred sheets more

Holly:

Nice nostalgic touch without being melodramatic. I particularly liked this image:

she finds the notes
trickling from the piano
into the empty room
to litter the carpet.


Joe

There's times when she beckons and times when she waves
At packets of crackers and things that she saves
And somewhere in time between rants and the raves
The notes kept on changing as ants climbed the staves

She'd tripped on Tchaikovsky caught under her sock
She'd fallen face down on an old Frere Jacques
Avoided a toppling tower of Bach
and didn't get up til 11 o'clock

Good work, good story, Holly. I'm reminded of my own piano teacher from over 35 years ago. It's always nice to see her out somewhere, to know she's still alive, but it's also sad to see she's no longer able to do the work that was so important to her and had such an impact on the many children she taught over the years. This is a nice tribute. Three cheers to piano teachers and to your poem!

Mary

Beethoven stared from the mantle, aghast
At the chaste tutor's glee when her body was cast
O'er the stunned,fallen Frenchman who couldn't stand fast
As she tuned up his pitch-pipe and hit high C at last.

Holly took her pen in her hand
And wrote down some words, in language of man
The words did not rhyme, but painted a scene
Of an old woman, not one streak of mean


Music will soothe the big savage beast
And make spirits to rise, like bread full of yeast
But Holly seems to have stepped in a trap,
Why must she put up with this crap?

Each of us goes on our own little mission
But Holly ain't goin' a-compliment fishin'
With a woman who drank during Ol' Prohibition
And whose parlor is littered with old composition

Joe, thank you. Stella just walked by my desk and muttered, "I have music all over the floor." and it was enough for me. I had copied a very old piece of sheet music for her earlier in the day. The colors were faded and the paper was soft as cloth from use. It had long since torn down the fold so it was easy for me to copy all the sides without doing any more damage. I guess I am too literal and I could see the music itself on the floor and not just the sheets.

Noodleboy, you are too, too much. I have to say I love it. Your brain works like mine does and just takes off with something. Sort of like a ride in a go-cart down a hill with no steering. Yeee-haw.

Thank you Mary, and I congratulate all the people who take the time to teach music to children in any form.

Terry, My problem you see, since I walked out the door
is my new found desire to be crapped on no more
my bullshit meter is set pretty high
so it goes off in the blink of an eye
therefore I do what I can with the little I have
and know that my freedom is loneliness salve
because under a thumb is no way to live
no matter how many times you have to forgive

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/22/2008 01:32AM by hollygolightly.

Very touching, and obviously, very inspiring!

K.Q.

H.

This is a really good poem. I haven't commented simply because I haven't had anything to say, even though I have gone back to it six or seven times just for the enjoyment of it.

Peter

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/26/2008 01:42PM by petersz.

K., Stella is only about 4'11" now. She's shrunk from all the years on her. All these women in the retirement home inspire me. The stories they tell me......

Peter, thank you. I, too, read a great deal of the poems here and many times I don't know what to say either. I appreciate what you did say, however, very much. H.

I'm happy for you, all of the way
And looking forward to the bright day
We can sit and eat and chatter again
For contact with you is good for the brain.

Stella is just Four Eleven
And a couple of years past her prime
And "The Wreck of the Old Ninety Seven"
She will dance to in Three Quarter Time

excellent poem with a really strong ending to a well "orchestrated" piece. Sorry. I couldn't resist the pun but I mean the comment whole heartedly.