Rhyme

Poetry Mondays “Ode to the Ukulele”

Ode to the Ukulele

Your name
a song in syllables
paints,
with watercolor hues,
the sand and trees,
warmth
and comfort.
Hold a seashell
to your ear.
Hear a ukulele
sing
the ocean
to sleep.
Close your eyes,
hear the sweet
lullaby
of quiet strums
and fading
shorelines.

Your tiny frame seeks
gentle hands
and
more gentle
hearts,
but your body
vibrates
and your
spirit resonates
with confident
charm.

Criss-crossed legs
brush
worn carpet floors.
A paper,
scribbled lyrics and chords,
shuffles on the coffee table.
Both
delicate
and sturdy,
a ukulele rests
against
a restless
trunk.
The musical alphabet
recites a
love poem
to butterflies within.
They fly away.

What would the world
look like
if fighters fought
not with
fists,
but with
exchange of sounds
of the ukulele?
The ukulele
dares you
to hold your
stubborn frown,
your furrowed brow.
You lose.

Fingertips
dance across
nylon strings
in sets
of two or three or four.
Quickly,
the room changes
from major
to minor,
like a summertime storm.
Clouds swallow
air and sky.
Mr. Weatherman performs
for a busy crowd
on the five o’clock news.
The storm clears,
clouds linger.
Minor kisses Major’s forehead;
resolution.

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