Forte - Poem - on hearing about a book of poetry being burned

Poem based loosely on D.H. Lawrence's 'Piano', one of my favorites

Occasion: I heard that one of my friends was burning a book of poetry due to a lack of shelf space.

Forte

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is burning me;

Taking me back down to the state of ashes, till I see

Myself sitting on a book store shelf anew,

Waiting for the first human to crack me open and take a view.

In spite of myself, the insidious mystery of rhyme

Betrays me back, till the spine of me weeps to belong

To the old Sunday evenings at home, with April 25th outside

And hymns by the cozy fireplace, the blinkling iPod our guide.

So now it is vain for the book to burst into flames

With the tiny black Apple audio appliance appassionato.

The glamour of editorial days is upon me, my table of contents is cast

Down in the flood of remembrance, I smolder like a charcoal briquette for the past.

POETRY LINK: next poem in my blog ...