In Harmony

A flaw in the record

has immortalized a nine second strain

of Benny Goodman, swingtime jazz.

 

The melody, a mélange of clarinet

and nimble piano, settles

on the furniture like dust.

 

For a moment, the room ages.

The wallpaper yellows as the vinyl,

like the world, spirals on,

 

oblivious to its cycle, the constant

big band harmonies, oblivious

to its beginning and to its end.

Author's Note

How evocative is the overall image here?
What kind of feeling are you left with once the poem is done?
What would you want to see added or subtracted?

Reviews

[jesserose99]

Seems like music is a step into a new awareness of reality at times. This is so descriptive, it gives the music life, or maybe the music gives us life.