Staccato Heart


There’s quite a quartet in her head,
really, the addition of
sirens to the usual sting and grind
of her song, the natural bend of bow
to strings. Of course she sings along
in response to the bouncing ball, hits
all the high notes, even when she’s over
-tired and plenty low. Silence is an
old rival, long slain, so she’ll weary
her way through the slogging rain
until every last beat is bent,
blunt and broken.





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7 Responses to Staccato Heart

  1. oldegg says:

    Great alliteration at the end. It put in my mind all those old singers that just couldn’t give up no matter how bad they were but knew no other life.

  2. jae rose says:

    Poor heart..your words sound out each blunt beat..I hope it can repair

  3. Misky says:

    Love this: bent, blunt and broken. Great line.

  4. Pamela says:

    The final sentence in this is the truth of the matter here, De. Fine alliteration indeed, I agree.


  5. Once again, wonderful title. This puts me in the frame of mind of how we muddle through the music of the world… move on no matter what because that is what we feel we must. If we give in to “silence” – pausing, nothingness – the song we hear there might be too much to bear. The beats keep us in check. Specifically, I’m thinking of how we feel after the death of someone; but I suppose it could be toward any tragedy one goes through and then feels they must hold their chin up and get through.

  6. Sara v says:

    This is a fantastic title–I think you could start a poetic business of coming up with awesome titles 😉 Sometimes we have to keep singing the song and the beat goes on…a wonderful poem

  7. drpkp says:

    This is truly a wonderful poem – from the staccato title to the crisp lines and images –

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