i used to play piano but i kinda lost interest in it. It just wasnt for me so i picked up the trumpet. i <3 the trumpet. although i need something more. that something was guitar. :D
She sat at the piano, her blonde hair clicked back, her long, elegant fingers gracing the keys like a skilled artist graces the brush. Her lover came in, carrying a violin, a smile playing on her lips.
“Think you can play my newest piece, love?” the violinist smirked and nodded, the blonde passing her the piece of music
“Let’s go…” she whispered as they began to play.
The piano sits in the corner being played by a small child. The tink of the keys and the sound of the notes echo through the room. A simple tune resiliently plays through the rest of the noise. One child and thier love for playing. One Child, One Instrument, One Love.
The piano played on and on, and I never even heard it over the din of my own thoughts. I missed him -I missed them all, but I knew they were gone. I shook my head, lifting my drink to my lips, and let the last delicate ivory strains wash over my ears.
the piano is a beautiful instrument. there are no tuning problems. a note is a note is a note. everything is in its place. it is not the sound that makes it beautiful. it is beautiful in its simplicity. it is music.
There was a piano that knew everything about life. He was wise, beautiful, and sweet. With his poetic keys he could play a melody that could cause women’s hearts to flutter. however, men hated his gift because he caused all the women to swoon. The piano didn’t mind the attention nor care about the men’s envy. He was the piano. Maker of music. Beauty of ear.
piano. elegant, dark, deep, mysterious. an instrument used for years in nearly every genre of music. a staple in classical, jazz, blues, classic rock, blues. without piano, or musically word would be radically different.
piano je nesto predivno. tako jednostavno a tako..komplicirano. zabavnije od vecine stvari sta radimo u svakodnevnom zivotu a opet tolko pristupacno i jednostavno. barem naoko jednostavno.
nikada ga nisam naucio svirati kako bog zapovijeda ali hocu..jednom.
this is a player/. i love piano music. the bell like sounds that come out are wonderful to hear.only thing that is wrong abbout it is that it is huge in size and is very costly.
I wish I could play the piano. It has such a beautiful sound. It sounds like poetry; like suddenly any thought you have is beautiful and pure. Hatred and evil doesn’t exist in a piano’s words. Someday I will learn and I will express myself with its wonderful sounds.
reminds me of my aunt and how her hands were so strong and veiny. old people sitting around playing and singing when i was young. church. chicken dinner after with everyone eating at the big table
As she played the tunes, the notes rose in the air and scattered around her. They rose in the quiet night and flowed, in trails of melody into the neighboring houses. She stopped her fingers on the last note of her recital and the after-melody lingered.
i sit at the piano, no music infront of me. i hit the keys, trying to find a tune. suddenly one flows from my heart to my hands and i play. i begin to cry for i realise, i wasnt trying to make music. but instead, i was trying to find your voice in the notes. i found it. and your gone.
“Once there was a secret chord”. What the hell? Who ever heard of a secret chord. When I sat down on the bench my eyes welled up. I can’t do this. I can’t write for him. He’ll laugh. I know he will. But I placed my fingers on the cold, white keys anyway. The sounds that came were anything but beautiful, but I played anyway.
Lightly, she laid her fingers on the faded yellow keys.
“I used to have a piano when I was younger, but then when the house burned down, it was gone.”
A chord rang through the room, slightly off key, but still beautiful.
you play it, it is a beautiful musical instrument consisting of loads of white keys, and not so much black ones, they come in different forms and sizes. grand, normal, electric keyboard. many classical musicians composed music on them and they are commonly used nowadays in popular music.
the ivory keys shine only in pictures. in real life they are dull and chipped from years of use and the edges have a yellow tinge. when you play there’s a kind of hollow echo inside the piano and you know that today mom and grandma are getting along.
I have a piano in the corner of my living room. I played it from the age of 4 to 11 and then lost all interest.
I wasn’t sudden, playing was just slowly losing meaning. I guess I had learned enough to enjoy music.
But yet, there it sits. And yet, I won’t let my mother sell it.
i never really learned to play. they say, or said, no one bothers to try and inspire me nowadays, that i have perfect fingers for such an instrument. my sister plays, and guitar, and flute, and glockenspiel….i danced. my toes are now ugly; my fingers have tobacco stains. well, i love billy joel, so who cares.
i never really learned to play. they say, or said, no one bothers to try and inspire me nowadays, that i have perfect fingers for such an instrument. my sister plays, and guitar, and flute, and glockenspiel….i danced. my toes are now ugly; my fingers have tobacco stains. well, i love billy joel, so who cares.
The piano had lay dormant for years. It was covered in a thin layer of dust. The keys were yellowed with age and neglect, and the wood was bleached and rotting. It probably hadn’t even been tuned within my lifetime.
His fingers danced. There was no other word to discribe them. I’ve seen people play before, but never like him. Never the way he seems to be one with the music. There’s nothing else in his world, I think. Just him ant the piano.
blue, i hear blue, the fervent prayer that is the hand, the foot, the ear and the living heart, melding ebony, ivory, metal and heat, stroked by a heartbeat, the deepest stir of a joyous autum, a piano.
Her fingers brushed lightly on the keys, her lips parted slightly. It was like a first kiss. But she knew she would never truly be a pianist. Her hands were not big enough, and her mind was not sharp enough. She loved it though, and her meager performances were enough for both her and it.
Felix swiped her hand on the ivory. It was out of tune. Grams never cared much for the piano, she said that when she was little, it was a torture device especially made for her. She would play it when asked. Dutifully.
The teacher cracks his knuckles with a wooden ruler, and barks with a thick accent, “hand position. Again.”
The result it the same. A sharp crack of the ruler across the child’s small, white hands, a rash of red spreads across them both.
“Hand position. Again.”
The child fights the urge for tears, lets the metronome take the pain away.
The master knew best.
And the pupil wanted so much from the dark, rich, seductiveness of the piano.
The square jawed man was the kind of guy who kept a piano in his condo even though he didn’t play. She remembered the piano she and Jon bought together, how they would sit beside each other and make up silly songs, stringing improvised words together to tell each other musical stories.
lyricless melodies
tunes are made up and the sound of keys echo around
then silence
as like a child staring at her loving father
peace overwhelms the room
and she lays her head to rest
Piano music piped tinnily into the elvator. She strained her brain trying to recognize the bastardization, was it supposed to be sythesized Chopin? Then the elevator doors oped and the real deal spilled in.
i used to play piano but i kinda lost interest in it. It just wasnt for me so i picked up the trumpet. i <3 the trumpet. although i need something more. that something was guitar. :D
She sat at the piano, her blonde hair clicked back, her long, elegant fingers gracing the keys like a skilled artist graces the brush. Her lover came in, carrying a violin, a smile playing on her lips.
“Think you can play my newest piece, love?” the violinist smirked and nodded, the blonde passing her the piece of music
“Let’s go…” she whispered as they began to play.
The piano sits in the corner being played by a small child. The tink of the keys and the sound of the notes echo through the room. A simple tune resiliently plays through the rest of the noise. One child and thier love for playing. One Child, One Instrument, One Love.
The piano played on and on, and I never even heard it over the din of my own thoughts. I missed him -I missed them all, but I knew they were gone. I shook my head, lifting my drink to my lips, and let the last delicate ivory strains wash over my ears.
the piano is a beautiful instrument. there are no tuning problems. a note is a note is a note. everything is in its place. it is not the sound that makes it beautiful. it is beautiful in its simplicity. it is music.
There was a piano that knew everything about life. He was wise, beautiful, and sweet. With his poetic keys he could play a melody that could cause women’s hearts to flutter. however, men hated his gift because he caused all the women to swoon. The piano didn’t mind the attention nor care about the men’s envy. He was the piano. Maker of music. Beauty of ear.
piano. elegant, dark, deep, mysterious. an instrument used for years in nearly every genre of music. a staple in classical, jazz, blues, classic rock, blues. without piano, or musically word would be radically different.
piano je nesto predivno. tako jednostavno a tako..komplicirano. zabavnije od vecine stvari sta radimo u svakodnevnom zivotu a opet tolko pristupacno i jednostavno. barem naoko jednostavno.
nikada ga nisam naucio svirati kako bog zapovijeda ali hocu..jednom.
this is a player/. i love piano music. the bell like sounds that come out are wonderful to hear.only thing that is wrong abbout it is that it is huge in size and is very costly.
“Play it again, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By’.”
or
“Play it again, Sam. Play as time goes by.”
i wish i could play the piano. i used to be incredibly good, but, things change. hm, maybe i’ll take it up again, perhaps we’ll see.
horrible
[[this is such perfection, I could write forever about piano.]]
what a perfect instrument
though
I didn’t think that way
for all the past 10 years
the ultimate
dream machine?
anti-depressant?
chick-magnet?
well i guess i wouldn’t know
all i know
is a steinway grand
in rosewood
somewhere out there
has my name on it.
Is the word always “piano”? That really sucks.
I wish I could play the piano. It has such a beautiful sound. It sounds like poetry; like suddenly any thought you have is beautiful and pure. Hatred and evil doesn’t exist in a piano’s words. Someday I will learn and I will express myself with its wonderful sounds.
keys. Ijeamaka’s poem. Purple. Mitchell Davis. White. Elephants. Hemingway. White Hills. Capitalization. Run on thoughts. ranting. music. lullabys.
makes ‘golden’ by fall out boy, even more beautiful. kudos to patrick stump.
reminds me of my aunt and how her hands were so strong and veiny. old people sitting around playing and singing when i was young. church. chicken dinner after with everyone eating at the big table
sfgfedg
As she played the tunes, the notes rose in the air and scattered around her. They rose in the quiet night and flowed, in trails of melody into the neighboring houses. She stopped her fingers on the last note of her recital and the after-melody lingered.
i sit at the piano, no music infront of me. i hit the keys, trying to find a tune. suddenly one flows from my heart to my hands and i play. i begin to cry for i realise, i wasnt trying to make music. but instead, i was trying to find your voice in the notes. i found it. and your gone.
“Once there was a secret chord”. What the hell? Who ever heard of a secret chord. When I sat down on the bench my eyes welled up. I can’t do this. I can’t write for him. He’ll laugh. I know he will. But I placed my fingers on the cold, white keys anyway. The sounds that came were anything but beautiful, but I played anyway.
Lightly, she laid her fingers on the faded yellow keys.
“I used to have a piano when I was younger, but then when the house burned down, it was gone.”
A chord rang through the room, slightly off key, but still beautiful.
“I can still remember it.”
you play it, it is a beautiful musical instrument consisting of loads of white keys, and not so much black ones, they come in different forms and sizes. grand, normal, electric keyboard. many classical musicians composed music on them and they are commonly used nowadays in popular music.
the ivory keys shine only in pictures. in real life they are dull and chipped from years of use and the edges have a yellow tinge. when you play there’s a kind of hollow echo inside the piano and you know that today mom and grandma are getting along.
I have a piano in the corner of my living room. I played it from the age of 4 to 11 and then lost all interest.
I wasn’t sudden, playing was just slowly losing meaning. I guess I had learned enough to enjoy music.
But yet, there it sits. And yet, I won’t let my mother sell it.
i never really learned to play. they say, or said, no one bothers to try and inspire me nowadays, that i have perfect fingers for such an instrument. my sister plays, and guitar, and flute, and glockenspiel….i danced. my toes are now ugly; my fingers have tobacco stains. well, i love billy joel, so who cares.
i never really learned to play. they say, or said, no one bothers to try and inspire me nowadays, that i have perfect fingers for such an instrument. my sister plays, and guitar, and flute, and glockenspiel….i danced. my toes are now ugly; my fingers have tobacco stains. well, i love billy joel, so who cares.
with the exception of her fingers, she is still.
The piano had lay dormant for years. It was covered in a thin layer of dust. The keys were yellowed with age and neglect, and the wood was bleached and rotting. It probably hadn’t even been tuned within my lifetime.
His fingers danced. There was no other word to discribe them. I’ve seen people play before, but never like him. Never the way he seems to be one with the music. There’s nothing else in his world, I think. Just him ant the piano.
blue, i hear blue, the fervent prayer that is the hand, the foot, the ear and the living heart, melding ebony, ivory, metal and heat, stroked by a heartbeat, the deepest stir of a joyous autum, a piano.
Her fingers brushed lightly on the keys, her lips parted slightly. It was like a first kiss. But she knew she would never truly be a pianist. Her hands were not big enough, and her mind was not sharp enough. She loved it though, and her meager performances were enough for both her and it.
I had a piano once, it was a large brown thing with multiple keys. Mys sister use to play tih itmore than me. I was preyy
Felix swiped her hand on the ivory. It was out of tune. Grams never cared much for the piano, she said that when she was little, it was a torture device especially made for her. She would play it when asked. Dutifully.
The teacher cracks his knuckles with a wooden ruler, and barks with a thick accent, “hand position. Again.”
The result it the same. A sharp crack of the ruler across the child’s small, white hands, a rash of red spreads across them both.
“Hand position. Again.”
The child fights the urge for tears, lets the metronome take the pain away.
The master knew best.
And the pupil wanted so much from the dark, rich, seductiveness of the piano.
The square jawed man was the kind of guy who kept a piano in his condo even though he didn’t play. She remembered the piano she and Jon bought together, how they would sit beside each other and make up silly songs, stringing improvised words together to tell each other musical stories.
I used to play the piano now I just lay around all day watching movies and stumbling. I love my son!
lyricless melodies
tunes are made up and the sound of keys echo around
then silence
as like a child staring at her loving father
peace overwhelms the room
and she lays her head to rest
Piano music piped tinnily into the elvator. She strained her brain trying to recognize the bastardization, was it supposed to be sythesized Chopin? Then the elevator doors oped and the real deal spilled in.