Exposed (an acrostic poem)

Everyone was playing so well, but now it was time to crescendo

Xylophone mallets at the ready, Bob waited for his cue for his first ever solo

Practically tasting the increase in intensity, Bob’s hands started to sweat

Only Bob didn’t dare dry them, he just concentrated on not letting them slip

Suddenly it was time for Bob to play.  He swung the mallets downward

Everything slowed down as Bob watched it all go so wrong

Down went the poleaxed conductor, and so ended Bob’s career

 

Image: media.defense.gov/2011/May/23/2000253049/-1/-1/0/110519-F-JA180-102.JPG

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Peanut Butter and Banana Dreams (a 150 word story)

Those people that thought Elvis was still alive made Travis laugh.  It had been almost 41 years since that fateful day and yet Travis could remember every intimate, crazy detail like it had been yesterday.  He was supposed to play Utica, New York on that tour.  Why on earth had they booked him in Utica?  Well Travis was happy it never happened.

Travis chuckled at that thought as he looked out the nursing home window.  He spent a lot of time thinking about the past and what might have been.  That was how Travis spent most of his time.  Getting older may suck, but the alternative was worse.  Besides, being 88 wasn’t that bad, really.  He still could enjoy his music and his peanut butter and banana sandwiches.  He then remembered the sequined jump suits.  Man he hated those.  Who thought they were a good idea?  They made him itch.

 

Image: s3.amazonaws.com/zweb-s3.uploads/visiontv/2017/07/19122555/Elvis_Hawaii_600_1.jpg

Timeless (an acrostic poem)

Tossing his fedora onto the coatrack, Martin sat at the piano

In no time the keys began to sing what was in his heart

Melodies rose and fell on the emotional tide

Enveloping Martin in memories of another time and place

Listening to those faint echoes of her laugh in the harmonies

Envisioning her smile as she joined him on the violin

Softly he finished his musical poem and smiled at her picture on the piano

She would always be a part of his soul

Creation

Johan stared at the grand piano in front of him.  Eighty-eight keys stared back at him, wanting him to touch them.  White and black, each key was holding a tiny piece of music inside.  It was up to him to set that music free, to let the world experience it, but still Johan didn’t reach out.

Johan knew to do so would bind his soul, to the music yearning to be free.

Johan knew to do so would shatter his soul, to give the music its shape.

Johan knew to do so would expose his soul, clothed only in the notes he played, to the voyeurs in the audience.

Johan almost left the stage, but then, ever so softly, he did reach out and caress the keys.  That act of intimacy coaxed his desire, which inflamed his passion, exploding into a rapture of creation.  Nothing was ever the same again.