The following works, most of which have appeared in Snapshot Couplets over the past
few years, will be displayed as large canvas prints in the Piper Gallery of the The Cary
Memorial Library, Lexington, MA, during the month of July, 2015.
Keys of black and white open me
to realms of multicolored melody.
Without a match, a pianist lights a fire,
a sonic blaze which needs no amplifier.
Sheet musical notes, eggs of black and white,
hatch when played, from fingers taking flight.
That melody in your mind is solely mental,
but you can play and make it instrumental.
Chopin had it right– at times the singers
are not our voices but our supple fingers.*
Beginner at the piano – excited and humble –
like children learning to walk, fingers stumble.
Wordlessly, whole worlds can be relayed
as music landscapes from a piano played.
A pianist presses, a guitarist plucks and strums;
through countless ways a beautiful music comes.
You have to turn some keys to unlock doors,
but other keys are touched and music pours.
Infinities incarnate, sensationally expressed
in touch as when a piano’s keys are pressed.
We each will see truth from a different angle,
but points of view converge around an angel.
While clothed in thick illusions, reality will strip,
where you can glimpse the space-time fabric rip.
Before it was chopped down, this gorgeous tree
held concerts played by wind and birds for free.
Those physicists think all is made of strings.
Like music from guitars the cosmos springs.
Putting in words what you mean to my soul
is like squeezing a galaxy into a cereal bowl.
Sparks at night shot from my black cat’s paws,
small lightnings with a blanket-plucking cause.
On summer nights – without a need for tickets –
it’s sweet attending concerts played by crickets.
From charted data we may learn a lot,
but there are truths we can never plot.
They are priceless – sparrows shattering my sleep,
outside the window chirping, “cheap, cheap, cheap.”
Your loveliness eludes all adjectives,
like waterfalls can’t be held in sieves.
Mario A. Pita