Sounds of improvisation

poem by: Robert Kohlhammer
Written on May 29, 2017


We have hoisted our flagging family anthems 
Mum leaning against the armchair with a shawl.
I Feel aggrieved that she has passed away from disease. 
Ultra sound hones a rusted harmonica, that I have found 
scat tuning my emotions, a sick note difficult to ignore.

Harmonica stethoscope, buttoning, rasping , collar necklace 
Harmonica in the doctors pocket, the cup of the stethoscope on the chest.
Swab the mouth, buds if you must in the ears, play it suddenly, poignant with regret
some notes sound dead, punishing inhalations and exhalations, unable to forget.
Practice meditation, so much room waiting , harmonica intervening its music.

I learnt to read, every good boy deserves favours.
My late grand dad pencilled in the alphabet in a couple of clefs, 
easy graded  sonatas , etudes and  triplets in minuets, 
preludes in the majors, minors , unstressed, stressed, 
in flats and sharps, written upon the staves in  silhouettes. 

Mum said,`I require you and your  dads  cooperation┬┤. 
My influences, contrasting volume of the shock absorption.
Improving my voice , the larynx  are swollen, anatomy of helix.
It is finished, I am upset, now technically  automatic improvisation.
I repeat the sounds as if ever I have played myself so seriously before. 


Tags: sad, pain, fear,

Add Comment

Cecilia Crasto commented:
It is sad and I feel your pain Robert, death isn't easy to cope with, but to put your feelings on paper and share it with others is a good thing...very well written.
Christopher Russon commented:
Well written that I can relate Robert.
Ja Ja commented:
Thoughts from the heart. Thank you for sharing


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