On Listening To Bach

I'm listening to Bach,
The cello concertos.
There is a melancholy
In those Germanic staves,
Feeding in crescendos,
Diminuendos, soul talk.
I used to be absent from that.

Unaware of time or any
I feel my body sway,
Eyes fixed shut,
Thought discarded.
Beauty such as this
Usurps the ordinary;
It achieves Divinity.

I have no idea
Who's playing.
Maybe St Martin's In The Field
Or the LSO, doesn't matter.
I could be like this forever,
A heaven of sound
That has purpose beyond sound
Carrying with it religion,
Touching from a distance.
Maybe this and that God
Made me who I am.

The LCD display
Ticks down its minutes.
There will be a silence then
That disturbs,
Its edifices apparent,
Far too bold.
There's nothing much left.

As I turn to hit the loop button
The boys get back from school.
Taken back to conversation,
The need for comfort arising,
I turn off my lunacy.
Maybe they matter most after all.

Tomorrow, school resumed, isolation
Will happen. Devoid of particular
Thought, without reason,
I'll turn, flick the button
And vanish.

No one need know.

John Cornwall

If you have any comments on this poem, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear them.

Snakeskin logo