Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Golden Haired Harpist

The golden haired harpist,
to have her symphony,
exchanges her instrument of tranquility
for one of urgency –
Bleating disturbance in the healing halls
as trumpet only can:
Harp harp harp
for bleat bleat bleat –
in her manicured hands
there is little difference between them.

Harpist, harper or,
as trumpet is her choice, trumpet she now blows,
Trumpetress may have the priceless notes -
Her lengthy rote sounding or resounding
near and far, all around;
whirling cacophony in a dwindling prairie,
once a place of peace where, now,
grass, reeds and dust dirtily mingle
in a composition of destruction.

She plucks, strums, or blows
her notes of haughty righteousness,
absolving her own acts,
molesting passersby,
or mere moles in holes
that come out to blink just twice
for light
before scampering back underground,
fearing being trodden,  stamped and mangled
beneath the deadly stiletto heels
propping up her femininity –

Away she goes,
Jezebellian priestess,
Jester of Hippocrates,
Conjurer of explosive discord;
leaving the simmerings of strife in a cymbal,
salted and peppered to perfection.

Mia prima donna,
you play not for me,
for I am no child of Apollo;
but swerve not from your symphony:
Your notes, my offering.

This piece was shared on Poets United in Poetry Pantry #108


  1. I like how you weave this. I especially like your opening and closing stanzas. And...

    beneath the deadly stiletto heels
    propping up her femininity –

    ...a great line. Nice write!

    1. Many thanks for checking it out and for your kind words!

  2. Word choice is on point here. Great, assonant/consonant jab throughout.

    1. Thanks very much for reading! Medical transcription can be a funny job sometimes, haha.