Evening Ivories

A poem about a man and his piano

Under the hush of the season

a peach moon blushes,

and smiles down on the baby grand.

Anticipatory whispers spill into evening air,

as he methodically strides near

and he gathers.

 

In tailored Loro Piana he slowly lowers.

His ascending arms bring an anxious stir

as his palms gently settle.

So delicate are his cautiously kind hands

with tremendous respect he treats her,

like relations for the first time with virgin keys.

 

His fingers come to rest

offering the perfect touch of unspoken words,

and the pristine ivories engage them in conversation.

Felt covered hammers bite down

giving birth to hypnotic sound.

They speak to us in precise measured tones.

 

Each chord stricken

lifts gracefully into the night,

bouncing rhythmically between the stars

as the venue rides first class in melodic flight.

Playing the atmosphere into a subdued submission

elegantly rolling up and down over the black and whites,

vibrant yet composed

he perspires with passion through each composition. 

 

Loaning us a final piece

neatly, he tucks the console back in.

For this night belongs to the evening’s ivories,

and to those who make the magic happen.

Author's Note

One of the most relaxing evenings I've spent in the last few years was a night out with my wife listening to a stunning performance by a man and his piano

Reviews

[Devyn Summers]

This poem is really beautiful, and the imagery and figurative language used is very well done. The title itself was engaging with a well written poem to match.

[Beyond Words]

Thanks so much for the kind words and review Devyn. Means a lot and is very appreciated