
“Abstract Piano” by Debra Hurd
play that red silk music
lascivious fingered
glissandos that beckon
the credulous virgin
adapted to easy arousal
of mindlessly eager and
readily tumescent ears
pay no heed to the daylight
that harsh piece of clockwork
immodest with truth
it’s the nighttime holds forth
with sly prurient promises
nubile ideas dripping ecstasy
craved by the plainest and
most inexperienced minds
all it takes is to drop off
one’s ballot in care of
the crone at the door
cheap enough for a few
thrilling hours in arms
of a lover-for-hire
accompanied by that
dissembling piano-man
playing his sheer
insincere serenade
*********************
“My choices in life were either to be a piano player in a whore house or a politician. And to tell the truth, there’s hardly any difference!” – Harry Truman
Thanks to the English Professor for the irresistible cue.
Great! I’m so happy that the quote fueled your fire. Re-bogging.
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once I read your post, I couldn’t get it out of my head
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Reblogged this on The English Professor at Large.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers – and moreso for the inspiration
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My, my, It was an enigmatic but enticing read, how mundane and unholy the virgin’s mind was. Every lines was uncomfortably titillating, the luscious words and its flavor turned your piece into a delicious full-course meal. Thanks for the food.
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I appreciate your kind and generous comment more than I can say
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Love this one. I can see Donald Trump tickling the tinny ivories in a house of the rising sun.
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it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy
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Paul, this reminded me of Bogie’s boozy, angry response to Bergman in “Casablanca” after she tells him she was married when they had their Paris fling.
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Oh my gosh, this is incredible. Love it!
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I appreciate that most sincerely
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Wow! Super metaphor: ‘Whorehouse piano’. Great piece of writing…. 👍
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wow is my favorite comment – thank you, my friend
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Cheers!
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Hemingway’s Montparnasse, back home in the States style. Superb…bravo moment is due!
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I humbly bow to your compliment
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Dear Amazing Friend: I myself would be such a piano player. I think you are too. But let it be for a better cause than just “getting off. ” Let it be for evoking the magic of the evening, and the connection that sex, swift and passing, satisfy. This moment when we are not alone.
You are definitely the poet of our times. I will reblog this so that others might read your works. I assume you allow this. But, I would do a piece around it that celebrates the siren’s call. And I am not sure it is insincere. I am aware of the “Hotel California” and that one can never leave, and like Truman said, there is little difference. It is about calling. Calling to no longer be alone. Also, for many people, that moment of connection is the best they ever ever have.
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I appreciate your most thoughtful comments and insights – and thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Shared on my Facebook page. Stunning. And very beautifully illustrated.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers – and for the kind words
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Ok, I know this is bad form, but I wrote a piece of fiction based on that quote awhile back. http://wp.me/p4O8fw-1Cs
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not bad form at all – I thoroughly enjoyed it
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I am always intrigued by the way certain ideas get caught up in a wave of shared consciousness.
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A magnificent poem, Paul!
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thank you most sincerely, mirjana
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Ah, ‘divertissement’ at its finest . . .
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I would like to have met Truman
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I would prefer the piano player in a whorehouse. There is less subterfuge in her profession. The wonderfully slippery words of your poem could come out the mouth of either one and I prefer music to ranting.
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well said
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