The way his fingers moved over the ivory keys
Notes pouring from his hands left me in awe
"Sing" he urges so I do, voice, piano, and
Laughter like a symphony of our own kind
The intimacy of the moment is so thick
it threatens to burst out of the room
and consume the whole world in love
I forgot for a moment to keep my guard up
I forgot that I should be weary of this
That I should be cautious of anything
I let myself be engulfed by the love
we shared and I let the intimacy
of that moment consume my world.

there is nothing quite like playing the piano.
feeling the ivory beneath your fingers and gazing along the endless row of keys,
fingertips dancing across black and white,
sitting at the bench and feeling as if you have the whole world beneath your hands.

and at the same time, it is so daunting.
you are in front of a crowd, and they are watching so intently,
yet you feel as if you are somewhere else, somewhere far away.
and it is just you and the piano, the emotion pouring from one source to another.

it is so nostalgic.
family members at Christmas, playing carols; guests tend to gravitate towards the instrument.
little Polish tunes being played with liveliness; you can hear the accordion from the other room
and your grandmother still plays Chopin, after all these years, after so much pain and arthritis

but it is timeless.
the struggles, fears, and triumphs all seem to be continuously poured into the same instrument,
and it takes it all in. it repeatedly absorbs the emotions of those who dare to touch its keys.
and as i continue forth with my career, i say
there is nothing quite like playing the piano.

When you look at yourself in the mirror and you notice something.
Your not the same person  you used to be.
Yeah you look more mature but your smile don't show.
Your eyes don't shine as your mom says.
You don't laugh like you used to.
You think your loved ones are crazy but one day it hits you.
Your not the same.
You don't smile the same.
Your eyes don't shine like they used to be.
Maybe this is growing up?
Or maybe your just walking through the rough path to lead to the next open door.
This world has a lot of twist and turns to meeting people and burning bridges.
From finding yourself to finding what your worth. It's an endless battle with yourself your mind or anxiety and your worst fears coming alive.
Maybe it's all a test.
A lesson by the sky above.
As I clean my face off from the drool from last night.
I notice myself.
And notice how much I've changed.
Maybe it's time to grow up and swallow that dreadful pill.
Dreams come true.
But effort motivates.
And passion makes the heart worth beating.
And the eyes the clear hazel eyes will finally one day shine again.
Till then.
Let the rain come down and let the piano Play.

11 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I keep hearing the echoes of piano keys and guitar strings.
I’m intrigued by the joy Luyanda brings every time she sings.
It’s amazing how every single note becomes an unforgettable poem.
Sometimes silence echoes through the urban streets of ghettos.
The world’s love and light tries to illuminate in all our broken halos.
My creativity was trapped in broken dreams until I heard her sing.
People give her their absolute attention as she strokes each string.
The sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I know that we will all be okay.
I hear echoes of a million heartbeats between abandoned buildings and crowded streets.
A million heartbeats keep echoing between Hammanskraal and Atteridgeville.
I hear millions of echoes within the silence of busy ghetto and urban streets.
I hear echoes of piano keys and guitar strings every time Luyanda speaks.

There is no experience in the world
      that I cherish more
            than hearing my father play the piano.

It's imperfect and beautiful and
                                                       sounds
                                                          ­     like
                                                            ­      home.

The notes are often choppy, and there are pauses
      as his mind turns over what keys to play next --
            sort of like our lives as a family.

We're awkward
      and have
            broken             periods,
but altogether we're making music.

Every breath a note,
      every laugh a chord,
every      "I love you"      a harmony
            that
only our family
      can hear.

And there's staccato! arguments,

and there's fortissimo days with pianissimo nights,

and there's repeat on repeat on repeat,
      making our lives seem
      constantly       andante.

But life is like a series of randomly placed fermatas --
unpredictable, yet musically enriched because of it.

            And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Gold glitter
Only stays on the ceiling
When the upholstery is gray.

Church gyms are suddenly
Piggy banks to play
Basketball upon.

I will draw a city on
The bulletin board
And owl pushpins will inhabit it.

My mind is no longer in a
Casing of gray rick-rack
And suppositions I do not feel.

It is a precarious thing to
Play a solar piano
Under the midday sky.

Have you ever heard
A pumpkin-flavored
Volkswagen van?

It happened suddenly
That everything I could possibly
See became a photography contest.