Pianotech Poetry

[Clyde Hollinger]

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Well, it's pretty vague to me, and that's the mark of good poetry, isn't
it?  Are you sure you don't want "breathe" in place of "breath?"  Yeah,
before you give up your day job, be sure you either have a market for
creative writing, or be willing to starve for it.  :-(

Regards,
Clyde

(P.S.  It was sorta fun trying to figure it out, though.  I think I got
about half of it.  Poor Betsy!)

Robert Goodale wrote:

> Poetry for piano technicians?  Why not, somehow I just got inspired
> I'm not sure why.  Here is my first, what do you think?  Keep my day
> job?  Perhaps some of you can relate to the topic. Rob Goodale, RPTLas
> Vegas, NV  Betsy’s CryBy Rob Goodale, RPT She cries for an echo, a
> ghost.History’s crude humor, the final insult. Fleece the fair passed
> by,Weak from the head, soft but without purpose. Should have been the
> box from which she came.The most critical was not rejected, begs for
> more. Newton’s dream, gravity without weight.Her input loose,
> compromises to the side. Not of wood, an unnatural element.Broken and
> crumbled, her children now silent. Slips away, her voice lost to
> friction and time.The steel now stolen, the gift lost. The savior is
> called and discriminates.Hours go by, she remains silent but
> hopeful. Moment of truth, will she breath?She coughs and sighs, tired
> eyes open. Exhausted and regret, the servant collects.The apprentice
> now sits and begins self torture.

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