Words & Pictures East Coast, LLC

[Home] [Bookstore] [Gallery] [Poets/Artists] [Fun Stuff] [Vital Links] [Contact]

[Home]

Products
Bookstore
Art Gallery

Poetry & Humor
Lots of Poetry
Featured poem
Humor/Light Verse
Essays

Professional Services
About us
Writing Services
Art Services
Web Services

Guests
Poets
Visual Artists

News
Local Events
Releases
Archives

Fun Stuff
Free Samples
Free Art Lesson
Experimental Stuff

Links
Vital Links
Writing Links
Art Links
WEB Info Links

Contact
Email & Address Info

Music:

He keeps blowing
flowers
out of his flute.


Bubbling out, music
rises to the ceiling. We
float up, listening.


Rampal's gold flute
percolates over Bach's
rich dark grounds.


After the string concert,
wind in trees -
the unvarnished truth.


From his thin flute...
how did all these butterflies
fit inside it?


Perched on a stool,
the guitarist does the BEFORE
of a posture ad.


Grand piano
covered with books FOR SALE -
poetry reading.


Though I'm Jewish,
Christmas songs
remind me of childhood.


On top of the piano,
legs up, the piano bench --
exercising?


How long has this tune
been in the head I thought
mine.


Listening to music,
wondering, why to these sounds,
why just these?


Radio music.
Somewhere, some time, people
make this music.


Gray dawn. The Fourth
Brandenburg doesn't give a damn!
"Make my day," says Bach.


(The music stops.)
What did you say? (That light-fingered
pianist stole my ears!)


We sing old songs,
laughing at quaintness. Crickets
keep chirping.


On a piano
my fingers stumble across poems
I'll never write.


Passed in the hall,
someone whistling a tune
I loved once.


I'd dance to Bach,
but body's dance can't keep up
with mind's.


Spring

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Rain

Wind

Night

Morning

Dusk

Walking

Places

Children

Lovers

Loss and Loneliness and aloneness

Characters

Old Age

Music

A Poet's Life

Cats

Dogs

Beasts

Birds

Insects

Plants

Trees

Telephones and TVs

Things

Mankind