Concerto

Orchestra Night - AAO & Forsythe

Orchestra Night – AAO & Forsythe (Photo credit: CaZaTo Ma)

Pain has long washed over me
like the waves of a symphony orchestra.
It’s manifestation from pizzicato strings,
up the ranks to shrill reeds and blaring brass.
The concert master within plucks a string,
a twinge, a spark in my body,
or draws his bow long, back and forth,
so seamlessly extending the exquisite tone
across my neck, my shoulder, all the parts
grown to accept the groaning background music
of a life full with this symphony
of self-written suffering. Today,
muffled timpani, always there, almost-hidden
by itself in the left side of the back row,
thuds its dull soreness, the ensemble resting
for a few bars. It’s a manly ache, this,
a limping, crippling thump played
with a pair of lives I’ve left ungrieved,
the heartbeat of my days, my nights,
this concerto of my times.

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23 thoughts on “Concerto

  1. So good I could feel your pain and hear the music too. I played violin in an orchestra and have fibromyalgia so I love this poem.

  2. I am a master of pain, or at least pain is my room/body/mate–18 years of CIDP, so tkkhis wonderful dark yet hopeful poem resonates within every fiber of my husk. Great job, magnificent metaphors; hope to see one of your pieces over at OLN tonight. dVerse is calling.

  3. It’s so hard to face the betrayal of our bodies… and so hard to be patient with the time and treatments required to mend. Your poem reflects quite beautifully all of those feelings… I wish you all the best for a speedy recovery!

  4. I felt like giving this poem a standing ovation but stayed in my seat because it was so painful to contemplate the sorrow expressed here. Needless to say, it moved me.

  5. Having an orchestrated pain almost makes it lovely, liveable, but all the parts–these definitely need a conductor!!! And when you add the drums played with unexpressed grief, the extended metaphor finally slays me. I sob with such overwhelming music.

  6. Making yourself a musical instrument (or a combination of many, depending on how you are “played,” is such a novel approach, Joe. The title doesn’t give it away. Sorry for the stress, but I understand this poem completely… Peace to you, brother. Amy

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