There I was driving,
Driving along the road
Looking forward to croquet,
Croquet the game that is now part of me.
But then it happened!
A piece of music came from the radio,
I was listening to jazz
When on came this sound,
Such a glorious sound,
A sound I did not recognise.
So I waited,
Waited in glory,
Listening to this wonder.
The music stopped
The announcer said who it was,
I repeated the name,
Repeated the name time after time
While I drove along the road.
At the club I stopped
And then I could write down the name,
The name of Rick Braun,
A name I did not know.
But I knew him in the evening
As his music surrounded me
As I sat in my lounge listening,
Listening to this new sound,
This new wonderful sound
Piercing my heart,
Piercing my heart with its wonder.
Yet again music had done it,
It had surprised me,
Surprised me in an unexpected way.
That is the power of music.
- Author: Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: November 11th, 2019 02:25
- Comment from author about the poem: Music always has the power to surprise me even after the many, many years I have been listening to it. The piece, Crossroads, was the piece of music that I heard in the car.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 20
Comments3
Good write Gold. I too heard 'Crossroads' tune years ago. it filled me with horror though, knowing that serials was about to start! Also 'Neighbours' tune - hideous! lol.
Thanks Orchi, the thought of the tunes to Crossroads and Neighbours still give me nightmares.
ANGELA HERE ! Thanks for sharing UNCLE ANDY - Finished @ 3pm today so Im back home with MAMA & PAPA getting ready to go out for a Meal with Brian & Ruth & David @ the Steakhouse - We are both Sirloin & Medium with a bottle (or two) of RIOJA TINTO of course ! We can walk to the Steakhouse & a Taxi Home. Love the video must download that for in the car - very cool. Loved the poem - we are never too old to be surprised by JOY !
Blessings & Peace to You & Joyce
Love ANGELA & BRIAN
๐งก๐๐งก๐๐งก
ohh!!! If I could have only remembered, by the time I got hold of a pen and paper -
When we think all that can be sung, has already been sung, we find new ways it can still move us.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.