Minstrel’s Song

On weathered leather of piano stool
Postured songster croons a poetic churn
Smooth as butter yet with a rustic spin
Octaves played out, slow pentatonic verse
Ivory keys dance by gnarled fingers’ touch
Blistered, weeping digits play minstel song
Notes of pain and anger, words bitterly
Interrogate, chastise indifference
Of benign passersby, a wary glance
At this wordsmith decrying modern man
A scourge of society, whispered prose
Faint samplings of humanity eagerly
Bemused, his angst tempered by waning smile
Rhythmic notes linger, foot pedal caress
This barter of utterance lost in time
Walks to a beat of a different drum
Eyes turned away, tears fall in misery
His blackface painted somber, minstrel sings

copyright 2008 Don MacIver

Teardrops From Heaven

First drops followed by a lifetime more
Wind driven cascade of images
Reflections of past humanity
Crying out, voiceless with empty gaze
In a jolt of lightning, cloudburst rage
Freefall translucent, lost memories
Droplets mirror faith, molecular
Diffused energy drifting away
Laughter drowned by sorrow, weeping tears
Stained by the blood of their gaping wounds
Gone before their time, unfulfilled quest
To love, to live without sacrifice
Immortal beings in disbelief
Their demise imminent, teardrops fall
On dreams of tomorrow, unwavering

Thunder’s rumble distant, shuddering
Amid cloudscapes blackened, billowing
Release of whispers, encapsulate
The voice of tomorrow, Heavenly

copyright 2008 Don MacIver