The Upright Piano – July 31, 2014

The upright piano

Credit: Favim



It was a misty hour at dawn
When walking through the woods I heard
A melody echoing through the trees
It was neither wind nor bird …

At that misty hour of dawn
It was a melody of a ghostly strain
An echo of a piano filled the air …
Like a sonata by Mozart or Chopin

I thought, how odd to hear this sound …
Perhaps it comes from the valley below,
Someone playing most beauteously
I continued on my morning walk.

Then I came upon an object,
Which I’d never thought to see …
T’was an old abandoned upright piano
In the undergrowth among the trees.

The music had stopped I noted then
I touched the keys, they were dead …
This could not be the eerie source
Of the music of that misty dawn.

I went along that misty morn …
Then I felt a chill go through my hair.
When the piano was far behind me
Music again echoed through the air.



Written for Freewrite

Free Write Bandit – Flash Fiction

typewriter and coat rack I walked into the office at 5am…a little early for most people, but I liked the peace and quiet.  Sitting down in front of my old Corona, I began to type out my editorial.  1500 words of ideas, which some would agree with while others would find something to complain about.

O course, I  wrote to pull out the complainers.  You might think that an opinion editorialist is writing to form opinions…and you’d be right.  However, what’s the good of reinforcing someone who already agrees with you?  I wrote about politics, social mores and whatever else came to mind, and I’d been doing it for nigh onto 25 years.

I decided to write something a little different that morning.  I sat back and listened to the quiet.  And let the words come out as they wished to come out.  Nothing fancy, no thinking no pondering, just writing.

That morning, at 9:00, my boss came over to my desk.  He looked down at me and asked me when I was going to replace my Corona with a word processor.  Then he began to read me the riot act.

“What the hell got into you this morning?  You, writing about dawn and birds!  For Crissakes Matt you’re a opinionist not a ruddy poet!”

I did feel a little out of my box, as they say now days, but I just said: “Thought it’d be an interesting change … we’ll see what the public says, ok?”

The replies started coming in and instead of the 25 or so e-mails from irate readers, I received about a 1000 e-mails each a little different from the other, some happy, some sad, but no polemics… some even were by wannabe poets and writers.  Lots of good stuff too!

“My boss came over at the end of the day.  Hey Matt, about your column today … uhm … why don’t you do something similar tomorrow.”

Now I have a new column, I call it “Free Write” sometimes its even about poetry and writing but often it’s about a walk along the river or about things I see going on around me.  I even publish some of the work my readers send it.  I sign my column: The Free Write Bandit.


fwf-kellie-elmore-badgeFWF – Just Write Special Edition

In this edition of Kellie Elmore’s  Free Write Friday…we’re asked to make up our own prompt and basically just to write, without any special direction, towards creating a ‘real book’.  I’m probably short of the prompt this week…but who knows, my editorialist Matt seems very much alive to me…I’ll have to see if I can give him more space.

A drop in the sea – FWF Image Prompt


Source: We Heart It

A converstion between two men in a café after hearing the news report that an unidentified very rich Italian “ex-premier” who had been in politics for the past 23 years had just won the Irish sweepstake.

“You can say what you want…it’s not a drop in the sea, it’s a whole bloody flood in the sea!” Marco wailed.

“Oh you do so exaggerate…I mean, ok so he hit the jackpot and won a million dollars…so what’s the biggy?” replied Maurizio.

“Good grief…he already is a blasted millionaire, I mean what is it with fate? Can’t she see that that is just so unfair, I mean where’s the justice in this?”

“Don’t they say that Justice is blind…luck is too if I remember.”


“Come on, you’re really over-reacting, I mean it has really nothing to do with you.  It certainly isn’t going to change your life!”

“Oh yes it is, I’d already bought a Ferrari convertable,  the house of my dreams and had planned to take a trip around the world!”


“Well, in my imagination, but still…I could just feel that car as it went speeding down the road, my hair blown back in the wind…”

“Well, just as well you aren’t racing down the road, with your luck the Carabinieri would probably have given you a ticket.”

“Yeh, thanks, rub the salt in!   Why did he even bother to buy a sweepstake’s ticket..he’s a fracking millionaire!”

“Guess that’s why he is a millionaire, never let’s an opportunity pass.”

“I wonder who he bribed?”


Trust: January 25, 2014

and the others…
one never knows
where you will go
if you find the
trust within
you may meet your muse,
or maybe just
a soft kiss
in a
dark winter’s night…
everyone talks of summer kisses
as though winter always misses
the opportunity of love…
it would seem that that season
is so dead and gone
that no one could know of love
prey…how is it that so many
children are born
not in the month of May
but in August…


love (free verse)


and as my Muse
hid in the laurels
thinking to be well-hidden
his sweet perfume
called to my mind
his light beamed
’round the leaves
nearly blinding me
and I imagined
an embrace
warm and tender
an eternal warmth
and a song to be sung
near a water fall…
and I called it love
for it was a poem
being born.

Written for Free Write Friday, which I found thanks to Cher Shares.  The prompt was:

The following speech from “Dead Poets Society”: 

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” — John Keating (Robin Williams) Dead Poets Society