She was the violin and I was the bow;
We pushed the boat out like Antonio.
Our river of sound became a Grand Canal;
She was my lover, my friend, my pal,
But now I’m on my ownio
Recalling our Four Seasons:
Spring, lovely when we met,
Summer, Pachelbel’s Canon,
Fall, I found my ears were wet,
Winter, forgotten like anon.
Want to review or comment on this poem?
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Reviews of "Vivaldi"
Reviewed by Rafika Anderson (Reader)
Reviewed on December 7, 2010
What an enchangting voyage! I love the vivid color and rhythm in each line. Lovely endeavor, Kenny. Thanks for sharing!
Having just returned from Venezia, I can picture this poetic music perfectly, our Ken! Venice certainly is a "river of sound" - mostly the high-heel-tap-tapping of the fast-paced latinos along the narrow cobbled alley-ways... a dismal sound, I guess, if of a lover in retreat! My wet-eared boy has this evening just returned and is now en route to Oxford's dreaming spires to meet instead with Anons and Dons xx
A whimsical treasure of a poem, absolutely clever! I can hear the music playing all through, and as you change tunes the needle scratching off the record.
Be well,
Christine
Under Amber Skies, written by author and poet Jill Eisnaugle, is a wonderful collection of rhyming poetry guaranteed to please every reader. In this, her second book, she writes of new friendships kindled, as well as old friendships solidified. She g
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Regis
Be well,
Christine