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The Fiddler Plays
My #17 for National Poetry Month
When the fiddler plays,
we dance the troika
plucking strings of memory
of those who came before,
opening doors we thought closed.
They grace the ground
and breathe in our stillness.
when the fiddler plays,
our roots grow wide,
until toes feel earth
pulling it up through veins
letting the ground cradle the heart once more.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015
Comments
"When the fiddler plays our roots grow wide" I love that line. I love the show and your poem as well. I feel the movement of a people and how music can connect us to our ancestors.
This truly has power in the words, pulling forth the illusion to Mother Earth as well as one's heritage. Perfect.
I love the idea of strings of memory. You create a lovely picture with your words.
This reminds me of one of my mother's phrases regarding the music she loved (in her case the piano); 'It makes your toes curl.'
Wonderful, happy, lively poetry. I can hear the fiddler in the background.
Ann
A kind of Fiddler than pens exquisite words. Some 'playing' here. Peace.
Your words reverberated with me. I see double meanings and resounding depth. And I agree with Genna, you are a 'Star' of poetry month.
Audrey, you make poetry month come alive in "every sense of the word." I loved this. :-)
you can feel the connection in this one to those who came before
Another poem with deep roots. loved it...
I love it when the fiddler plays, and this poem. Voted up.
Audrey I am loving you April poetry book..daily voted awesome :)
A beautiful tribute to the fiddler and the roots he evokes.
Voted up, awesome, and beautiful.
Excellent closing line. Just wonderful. Jamie
A connection we have within our roots. Nicely done my friend. whonu
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