The nice thing about poems is that there’s no wrong or right way to write one You just do. Meanwhile, I wrote this poem almost as though a sensation called “automatic writing” came over me.
What’s this one about? Hmmm. How do I tell you this…it’s pretty speculative. Wishful, I daresay. And the piano can be a metaphor, I realized…
I saw you in the piano room today
How your concerto was only child’s play
The keys mourned the end of a summer breeze
Such longing! I thought the night-stilled air would freeze
Meanwhile you were lost in a soliloquy
I just lay there and felt your eternal sigh
I’d be the gem to your forte
In those same little notes that swept my breath away
You said the time, while it lasted, was a bliss
What, no parting kiss?
I’ll hear of you again, if the future’d entail
For Anthony Greninger lingers on in your trail…