Musical Fantasy

The piano keys keep playing in my mind, 

it's all on a great giant gorgeous rewind,

of all the time we had that so was so short, 

every new song i try to deport your memory,


but the addiction is still there like a giant cut,

it's a damned door dancing freely open that i can't shut,

it's a the wind that wails wistfully away,

notes never kneeling, dancing on piano keys, I can't say, 


my peaceful sleep i can't keep,

medication or counting sheep, 

there you are and i remember regretfully,

why i stopped listening to music so frequently, 


30 and frozen at 15, where the magic still flows,

i'll only be released when time knows 

allows for my story to continue onward onward 


it's just a moment, a flash, and i worry 

that you aren't full of happiness anymore 


and here i am in a musical fantasy. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's poorly constructed but I suppose that could just reflect my state of mind right now. 



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My Aunt's Piano

I always wondered how to play it. The old fashioned grand piano just stood there, in the living room. Nobody would play it, nobody would acknowledge it. Was it special? Did it even work? Every month, since I was 7 years old, I would attend a family reunion in my Aunt’s house, and I would think about the polished piano that seemed as if it were just another piece of furniture in the spacious living room. It seemed insignificant to everybody, it seemed as if I was the only one who recognized the charm in this instrument. Until one day, I finally asked my aunt, “Does anybody play the piano?”. She laughed, and told me that it was merely an ornament for them, they had bought it 10 years ago and nobody ever even took piano classes. Yes, the $5,000 piano was simply, just, there. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t stop thinking about this piano that seemed so elegant, fancy, and even stylish. As I got home, I told my mom that I needed to learn how to play the piano. I fell in love with the gentle, emotional and mellow sounds it made. As I started taking clases, I realized that I really did enjoy playing. It became my only hobby that was not related to sports, which was incredibly strange and awkward to me. Until this day, I have no other hobbies (besides reading and playing the piano) that are not sports related. I grew up, the years passed and my 13th birthday came, the greatest gift of them all was from my aunt. Yes, she gave me her piano. She said that it would make her more happy if someone actually played it. I stared in amusement, not understanding the fact that she had just began to realize that. I thought about saying: “You don’t say?”, but my parents taught me that sarcasm is bad. Yes, really really bad. So I actually said: “Thanks!”. My aunt’s piano, which is now my piano, now sits below the stairs in my house, and finally, has someone to play with. It now feels satisfied, complete and seems even more joyful than before. Now, thanks to my aunt, I have a piano that I would never thought I would have. I take care of it more than I take care of any of my belongings. And my aunt, as weird as she can be, and as weird as she may think, will forever be the aunt who gave me her grand piano.

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A minute to remember

A minute to remember

By Pedro Gómez de la Garza

I was reading the newspaper, Nicholai Tibets (Russian) had won again. That would be his 49th fight and his 49th consecutive victory, he had been born to fight, or that´s what everyone says. He was the sensation at the time, everyone would talk about him. At just the age of 19 he had become the best boxer in the world. He had beaten all of his foes in the first round by knockout. No one could survive his ferocious fighting style.

I remember the first time I read about him, he had been boxing for just three years, but still he was at the top. How? Everyone was wondering, how could he beat all the professionals who had started fighting since they can remember? How? There was no answer, not even he knew the secret of his inhumane strength. Once in an interview, he said that every day since he set his goal, he had done 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats along running 10 miles each day. But that alone could not be. That simple exercise routine could not possibly be the secret of his strength. How could it be? Any normal teen could do it. So was he really born to fight? was he really meant to be the best in the world?

“Don´t waste too much time reading the newspaper Thomas,” my brother interrupted my thinking, “only three more pianists and it´s your turn.”

He was right, I needed to clear my mind, I had prepared myself for this moment, and it finally came. Hours and hours sitting next to the piano and now the time had come for me to show the results of my sweat and sacrifices. But I knew it was useless, there were too many extraordinary pianists in the competition; I could never be at their level. I was just and average pianist maybe even a mediocre one. After listening to the first participant I decided to get out of the hall, calm my nerves think about something else until my turn to play comes.

I left the newspaper on the chair I was sitting on and went out for a smoke. It was freezing outside, I knew I shouldn´t be smoking minutes before my turn but I needed it, although my hands would freeze and I wouldn´t be able to play. I started thinking again about Nicholai. I needed to think of something else than the perfect interpretation of the first pianist I heard. I was nervous, even with the cold, my hands were sweating; I could not play that way. After I finished the cigarette I went to the restroom so I could wet my hand in hot water and then dry them with that brown recycled paper they always use.

My parents always tell me how talented I am, and how gifted, but I know those words are not true, those words are just because I´m their son. “This is not a competition with others” I remembered my teacher saying those words, “this is a competition with yourself, just do your best and the results will come along.” Some loads of bullshit, if I´m not here for the first place, then what for?

I remembered when I understood Nicholai´s words in the interview. What he really wanted to say is that perseverance is the key to success. And so I started to play for two to three hours every day. But, could that be enough? I know the other pianists would play for eight hours every day, but I just could not do that. Was I lacking will force? Motivation? What?

“Michael! It is your turn,” my brother had always been there to support me. My parents had made so much effort to afford my private piano lessons, to buy me a new piano; I needed to reward them, but against so strong foes, how?

I entered the hall, and glanced at my teacher, she was excited. I walked to the piano, it was a Steinway for concerts, beautiful. With my left hand I touched the piano and bowed to the public and to the judges. There were four of them, two Russians, one Chinese and one American. I sat on the piano and concentrated. I felt hot, the hall was like an oven. I started playing.

I began with a prelude and fugue from Bach, one of the easiest, certainly not at the level of my fellow competitors. I went through it perfectly, better than always, I felt great. Then, it was time for my Beethoven sonata, I could feel the sweat of my forehead dropping to the piano and to my fingers making it more difficult to play, but finally I played my third and last piece and the most difficult one, a polonaise by Chopin.

I heard the clapping of the public and stand up, and I looked at the judges, the two Russians had a cold feelingless look in their eyes but the Chinese had a smile, I knew he had approved my Chopin.

The time for the judges to declare the winners came, I was so sure I was not in the first two, but I hoped for the third place or at least an honorable mention. They gave away the honorable mention, the third and the second place. It was all over.

“And the first place,” started the American judge is for, “… young pianist Ana Fedorova …” not me. I cannot describe what I felt, sorrow, regret, desperation, I don´t know. But the judged continued “and Michael Hall!”


What I felt that minute was worth remembering.

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River Flows In You

He's playing the song again

The one narrating the sounds

Of the river water flowing

And it always flows in you

Whoever that "you" refers to

Remains still a mystery


The keys continue being stroked

I know this not because I can see him

But because I can hear him

And I'm certain it is him

No one else in this place would know

The precision needed to play this song


I stand in the middle of the room

Motionless as a statue

I'm traveling to the past

Where I see us in that same room

As he played the same song

Just for me

I remember it all


How special I felt at that moment

When I had him all to myself

And it was nothing but us

And the song without words


Perhaps he plays it for himself now

Or thinking of his beloved miles away

I can't help but wonder if he

Remembers me through it,

Even as an afterthought


He must know, though

That this is my song

That he's my first thought

Every time I hear it

They Danced On the Piano


They Sat there Completely Still,


Watching It All Burn to The Ground,


She With Her Red Dress,


He In His Pale-Blue Suit and Bow-Tie,


She With Her Uneasy Hips,


He With His Empty Gold Cup,



They Danced On The Piano,


As The Sunset Faints,


As The Flames Rise High,


He Kissed Her Technicolor-Lips






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The Pianist

The Pianist


Gentle, graceful fingers… so perfectly made to stroke the ebony with each caress against the keys…  a melody… is born, with each beat of your heart a symphony torn from the depths of your soul…. In-cred-ible… To witness its immaculate beauty un-fold, as you play without losing complete control of every passionate stroke… you flow.

I listen in wonder with every thunderous gesture of emotion… that grows… to its breathless crescendo!

As I’m lost in the splendor of your musical spell… as each finger possesses the keys; that in perfect harmony yell.


By jps 11/04/10

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this inspired by a young piano player and friend.

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