Fiddle (Concrete Poetry – shaped poem)



In the space






And honed

Limbs sculpted,

Into serpentine curls

Outlined in ebony filigree

I pour the music of my soul

Into your lonely hollow places

The sound of mahogany red

The shape of time

Silver bound

On the wires

Where we dance

Fingertips playing

Pulled close to your body

I draw you in, breath and bow

Exhale, down stroke resonating

With the pounding ache of love

Bearing us to a place where

 The time cannot be



© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Violin



16 thoughts on “Fiddle (Concrete Poetry – shaped poem)

  1. Wonderful. I play too. Have had similar thoughts but never articulated. Playing music can take one there more directly than writing, but it is so more mysterious, formless, in the space above words. And old violins… who cannot love old violins.

    Liked by 1 person

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