Poetry -- page 1

On this page: I Play the Harp, For the Record, and There is a Calm.
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I Play the Harp

I play the harp --
not the big clunky one
like Harpo Marx played --
but the small one, delicately curved,
carved from rich maple.
I play the harp
because it heals me,
restores my sanity,
invigorates me.
I play the harp
because it reaches others,
soothes, steadies, comforts them.
And I play the harp
with other harpers.
When we gather,
we call ourselves
"Harpers Hall and Culinary Society"
because we love to play,
eat, and repeat.
I play the harp,
and I am at home --
even when I am not at home.

-- Verlene Schermer

For the Record

I feel the increasing pull -- the curve
sharpens. Relentless, unchanging -- but for
The timbres and tempos and brief voids between tracks.

Riding low in the groove, my needlenose
knows only the moment’s note -- but for
The bump that skips me back

In time, where I would forever repeat
the same small flick of phrase -- but for
The pressure to gain the gravity I lack.

-- Verlene Schermer

There is a Calm

There is a calm that consumes me
The moment I walk into
the room with the instruments.
My footsteps call out a greeting,
the strings shudder in warm
Welcome. I step onto the sea
of blue wool -- in this space
Even I can walk on water! All
the forces that would pull and
Push me outside are impotent.
Time hangs suspended -- waiting
for my command.

I sit on the cushioned chair and
ease my harp to my shoulder
As a mother would a sleeping baby.
I brush a chord, arpeggiating
Up, and back -- gently, to avoid
the tangles that bring tears.
My body feels the energy, the
vibrations catch like fire and
Spread from shoulders to toenails.
With a rhythmic rocking,
the storm is played out
Into calm. The sea is still.
The power is in my fingertips --
I will not abuse it.

-- Verlene Schermer

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