The PianoThe PianoThe Piano10 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
She gives it all she does posess
The worn instrument\'s sound is dim
How to create beauty, she cannot assess
She plays the keys upon a whim
A tear streams down her cheek
So warm against her skin
This one girl - soft-spoken and meek
Must find the soul within
Desperately with sadness she plays
Her beautiful, mournful tune
This which her heart portrays
But her song must die too soon
Strong is the power of her art
That lone girl, who was so sad
Created a song from her heart
And gave it all she had
Piano HatI remember when we got our first piano. It was a black upright. Not exactly gorgeous, but definitely a nice instrument. I was really excited to get my hands on the thing, but dad wasnt too, um, keen on the idea -- "Keen"? Really? I say things like that sometimes even though I know they sound lame. What can you do, though? I didnt have my first piano lesson until a few days later. Sounds of tinkling piano keys filled the room. Bassy notes caused the whole foundation to shake. It was a thing of beauty. It really was. Best part: It was me. I was playing it. My hands couldnt throw a ball with any sort of accuracy at all, and I wPiano Hat5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Piano DemonThe first time I saw her - really, really saw her, not just glanced at her as we tried our best to catch the back seats in the small university classrooms - she was at a piano. Maybe I'd never have really been able to notice her had it not been for that one, strange evening when destiny gently pushed me out of my awkward life and into hers.The Piano Demon2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
If only children can be prodigies, then I wasn't one any longer. I'd lived through my glory years at school, where I'd gone off and won prizes for art and English, maths and physics, running circles around classmates and less talented professors. Eventually, when push came to shove and I had to figure out
The Piano The voice you hear is not mine. It forms words, but it's not me. I can no more speak than I could fly; not if you begged me, if you tortured me.The Piano2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Once, a lifetime time ago, I could sing, and I lived for my song. Once she sang with me, and oh, how beautiful we were.
I sing no more.
I don't know where she went; far away, I believe. Perhaps she replaced me with another who sang more beautifully than I ever could. Though she tried, I give her that, she tried to take me with her; brought me all the way down to the sea shore, onto the very sands, but that's as far as I could go; the end of our life together.
Do you think me foolish, allowing my
piano lessonsi.piano lessons3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I don't know a damned thing
about playing a piano, I just know it
begins with your hands
and ends with the tips of your fingers.
but maybe I can teach you anyway.
Now to begin, I believe--
you close your eyes
before greeting the first song
imagine you're conducting a choir
of finches and cardinals
on a Sunday morning,
and you've skipped church just to do this.
God will forgive you, though.
He will forgive you because you're
not teaching birds how to sing,
you're taming noise.
Imagine that you are
in your Sunday dress
and your Saturday sneakers
and somewhere in the distance
bells are swaying their
Piano The room was full of shadows. Full of false illusions and full of darkness. The Washington rain tapped against the window, casting a grey overtone on the room, in which the light wasn't kept turned on.Piano11 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
"And I've been housing all this doubt and insecurity..."
A young, long, lanky boy was sitting at a piano, his fingers moving magically across the keys.
"And I've been locked inside that house, all the while you hold the key..."
He had short black hair, currently falling over his glasses, so he gave his head a casual flip back. Sometimes bangs could be such a burden.
"I gotta get out of here. I'm stuck inside this rut that I fell into
my octopus can play piano, tooi transmit my love in the form of an etude scarlatinamy octopus can play piano, too4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in g minor. i am a sawhorse by design
and a stratosphere by choice, with all
the unmistakable sensibilities of a dragonfly.
i scour available guides to bird-watching and
recycle my dictionaries, one monster at a time.
i entrust stray facts to strangers:
killer whales are dolphins in disguise.
i recite the alphabet backwards instead of
memorising war generals and their contributions
to entropy. there are wrong answers but
i learn them by another name.
PianoPiano10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Corpses strewn upon the floor -
The floor of the ballroom,
Blood cakes where their heads used to be.
These people were my friends,
A party took place here,
A party gone wrong,
An uninvited guest.
An unwanted soul.
I take a seat upon the piano's bench,
The grand piano of the ballroom.
Begin to play one of my favorite songs,
But something sounds quite wrong…
I play and play and finally realize,
I realize one note is missing.
One key will not make noise.
One key will not give sound.
One key refuses to play…
As I wonder in bewilderment,
I look upon my lap.
A piano string covered in blood,
PianoPiano10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A big crash and the piano falls
You're pretty good.
Maybe I should get you an orchestra,
Or maybe just some cellists
Who can add a little depth.
It's not easy to learn to play,
Like playing heartstrings or something silly same,
But you're self taught.
It seems the best of them are, really,
And I think you should have your own orchestra.
Quite an expensive instrument,
Money's hard to come by these days
And ivory is worth a fortune.
Beautiful keys though, I must say,
And you play them so well.
You deserve your own orchestra.
Maybe I'll even play my clarinet.
Your notes make me dance
And makes hardwo
Piano Man He could hear Sarah warming up in front of the microphone, her small, soft voice rising and falling. The din of the waiters and servers setting up the many tables in front of them echoed behind her; the grating clatter of silverware wore against his ears.Piano Man2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He turned his attention back to Sarah. So much clearer, so much more pleasant... His shoulders, which had been tensed, relaxed, and he ran his fingers over the piano keys reverently, letting the background noise fade away.
And a pure, clear note from Sarah cracked.
His hands stopped over the keys, turning his head slightly and shifting on the hard piano bench so he could hear
the pianoday one.the piano4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it started out as bare wood, thrown together against the wall,
a blank canvas in the shape of an upright piano.
it was just a prop, a part of the set.
as we primed the stage in white, the director told us
not to bother with painting keys into the piano.
the audience wouldnt see them anyway.
but i knew the little girl who would portray amaryllis playing the upright in the show.
she would like keys.
i was busy painting stripes on the walls of the set,
an assignment entailing picturesque sky blues
and picket-fence whites running up and down.
when i was done I found a group of girls spreading black b
AustriaXReader: PianoAustriaXReader: Piano2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You were visiting Roderichs house for the summer. You spent most of your time with Elizaveta, and she showed you some of the house you havent seen. As you were walking, you heard a beautiful song coming from one of the rooms. You most have thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world, because before Elizaveta noticed, you were walking towards the door.
Elizaveta finally looked over at you and grabbed your wrist before you grabbed the doorknob. "What are you doing _______!?" She said in a whisper. "I wanted to see who is playing the piano. They are incredible." You replied. Elizaveta shook her head. "Roderrich doesn't like people wa
Your Fingers Drip SonatasYour fingers drip sonatas, which shiverYour Fingers Drip Sonatas4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
like the whispers of late night love sighs,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
Your practiced notes fall as symphonic silver
as crescendos trip into passion cries.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
trickling through the silt of my soul like a river,
effluents that never ebb or run dry.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
as I wait with baited breath for you to deliver
movements like planets in celestial skies.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
out into the world in sharp staccato slivers
only to slip away to pianissimo, then rise.
Across the sile
Strangers In The NightThe conifers played the piano the night you died.Strangers In The Night3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
On reflection, because of what happened, I expected there to be rain and stricken bolts of lightening. A perfect storm for an imperfect night.
In reality, the sun set in a perfect ball of glowing embers. There was no need for fire, catastrophe would occur that night in many other ways.
Our paths had never crossed before. Or if they had, we never knew it. I hadn't heard your voice, and I didn't know your name. Your voice and your name would never combine to enlighten me that night, nor ever again. The most important moment of your life, and possibly the most memorable of mine tugged us rough
Piano ManIf you see a girlPiano Man2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who looks too young to be drinking,
don't try to cheer her up.
She wants to be lonely for a while.
She's never been truly alone, you see,
and so she's savouring this emotion
while it lasts.
She knows that it will go
when the poison leaves her system and she can dream again.
She tells the piano man her story
and he plays it with his fingers.
"Sing us a song, you're the piano man,
sing us a song tonight,
well, we're all in the mood for a melody,
and you've got us feelin' alright."
As she listens to the song
the memories come flooding back.
She changes them before they reach her heart,
and she's not lonel
mumbled piano musingswhen I hearmumbled piano musings11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
or infant grand
the tiny space
between the strings
it seems where
God would resound
upon a wooden
if only inspiration
could be tuned
by a guy
from the Yellow Pages