PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Praise to  guitarists all that play and sing,

And spare no pains and efforts to appear

In Churches, temples and make music ring,

To all of them hail! praise! and cheer!



                *******          



They loved it so, - the good parishioners,

They  loved good music played on the guitar,

That  the guitarists had so well rehearsed

Attentive as to rhythm, time and bar.



But on a dreary dismal  rainy day

Guitarist Beth was late and had to run

To make it to the church on time to play,

Where Sunday  Mass already had begun.



On the musicians platform stood deft John,

And picked his strings with great dexterity,

Distinguished looking, classy, like Baron

Von Apfeldampf before his company.



Beth had prepared a passage classical,

Carulli and Purcell, to well enhance

Some vacant music bars, to thus enthrall

With fill-in trills and runs the audience.



She sneaked up to deft John who played away

(The Offertory was by now half past),

And waited for the bars wherein to play,

The well-rehearsèd mordent trills at last.



But Oh! what shock!, the two  guitars did spar,

A jarring  sound offended much the ear,

Most fiendishly,- two instruments at war,

Shocked worshippers up front and in the rear.



A nightmare from which Beth tried hard to wake,

And to awake she played her chords  again,

With extra strength that made the hearers quake,

So fearful  was her  Music Muse’s strain.



The celebrating priest stood stiff and pale,

With lowered eyes he dared to look around,

And then his gaze fell on  his fingernail,

To save him from  the so disturbing sound.



What caused this war? - deft John had slipped a tool

Five  frets  up on the neck of his guitar,

Called “Capo”  that  guitarists find so “Cool”,-

(It changes key without the need to bar).



The ushers tried - and  failed,- but  did deplore

To well protect  alarmed an audience

From  jarring sounds and dissonance that bore

Down on the temple - with irreverence.



A German gentleman moaned in his pew:

“Ach lieber guter Gott was ist denn das?”

A lady, lost or slipped out of her  shoe,-

As tenors crooned in baritone or bass.



In line with the intriguing melody,

Some members of the choir seemed near a swoon

Suspended now  between  key  “A”  and “D”

And  the community  switched  pitch and tune.

.

Yet John pushed up the clamp another fret,

So deftly. oh!, - and - unobtrusively,

Now reveling  and hugging key  B Flat,

While Beth persisted in the key of “D”.



The war continued, -- war - not just a spat,-

Both played away with zest  and energy,

Beth played in “D” and deft John in “B Flat”,

In extraordinary strains of harmony.



The stoic sexton mirrored Socrates,-

Ambivalent as to man’s final fate,

Agnostic as to anguish, strain and stress,

And sounds that on the nervous system grate.



Uncertainty remained until the priest

Who celebrated the solemnity,

Looked with reproach upon guitarist Beth,

Who loyally stuck with the key of “D”.



“Guitarists dear! - please take and heed advise:

Agree upon the key in which to play,

And watch guitar necks where the weird clamp lies,-

The fatal clamp” - there is  no more to say..

©