Harps and Violins
The ashes have reduced to cold
The fire is out...
The cockerel’s lost his crow and he is humped
And dying. Horns, playing on the radio
Do not appeal ..
...a violin...heartbroken strings is more
My thing..heartrending
Angst and wail my Billie Holliday
My Queens of broken hearts...
I liken them to singing.
The wish was mine..but singing never came
To me...
My throat was visited by chords
That strung themselves like
Eels upon a hook .
My chords were choking mammals on a hill.
The valley could not hear.
I can pretend no more
To fit where I do not belong.
The playing of a Harp
Cannot be plucked over a denim bulge
And my poor cockerel’s dying
Soon there’ll be no more of him.
Kristine Byrne 20th March 2013