BEETHOVEN PLAYED THE BLUES
When arthritis stole her hands away it left her twisted claws
Mocking ruins of nimble fingers that once danced and won applause
First fiddle, Philharmonic – for years she’d held the Leader’s seat
As her music soared to heaven and the world lay at her feet.
When she gave her life to the concert hall her soul was unaware
It was imprisoned in sheet music seeing only what was there
Now the dust lies on the fiddle strings and bow she always used
When Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.
Brother Stephen haunts the cloisters at the dimming of each day
Wondering why it seems much harder every time he kneels to pray
How he’d longed to be a painter since the days he was a boy
But the voice of God spoke louder than the canvas and the oils.
When he gave his life to Jesus Christ his soul was in despair
It knew that seeing was believing- and artist’s brush could put it there
A life imprisoned in small Chapters – dreams and colours died unused
As Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.
So many songs in need of waking, so many poems need to be scanned
So many landscapes lie awaiting knowing brush and clever hand
But the piper only leads the band – all his brothers must be paid
Beware the ferryman who leads the life and soul on separate ways
And as Kavanagh dreamed his life away still his soul was not alone
Wandering Baggot Street and Raglan Road with the Gods of Sound and Stone
And they passed the tattered banner on in the game of win or lose
While Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.
Repeat last two lines