Friday, 6 March 2009

Blues

These notes do not flash

They do not skitter

Spiderwise from the fretboard


The hands that wring them, calloused

And cracked from living

Know more than simply practise


They linger as a lover’s should

Knowing the curves of neck and body

How to wring the weeping cry


These notes know smoke and darkness

Speak of years in bar rooms

And of times spent before that


Sharing their knowledge of suffering

Hard earned, kept beneath smiles

A legacy held well disguised


Except here, in moments given

To changing wood and wire to more

A fingerborn alchemy, blended things

Heart, and fire, and hard worked notes

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