Journey

Music takes me on a journey
From the present to the past
Through an air on the fiddle
To a whistled jig so fast
War pipes play a rousing march
As slippered feet skirt sword
Rememberances of ancient times
Where warrior cries roared
Now forward and four sit around
Each with fiddle of differed size
Two on shoulder, one upright
And a fourth betwixt player's thighs
Music from those instruments grand
Flows gently and so controlled
And great men and women
Have forever its virtues extolled
Shifting onwards and up a gear
We enter a club full of pizazz
And there stands fiddler and pals
Pumping out some Hot Club jazz
Through smoke thick and blue
And over excited crowd noise
Flow fingered improvisations
From those French tongued boys
But suddenly the fiddle it is lost
Replaced by rhythm, lead and bass
Guitar's plugged-in, electric
Blast from speaker-filled space
Pop and rock are the names
Then there's rhythm and blues
Everybody up and dancing
In denim and in blue suede shoes
But now I'm back in the present
No instruments now, but dj's found
Pumping out mixes, cuts and reverb
Improvisation is still around
Decks are now their instruments
Their sound, so very alive
For you see, no matter the journey
Music will always survive


Terry Rhiannyr
November 2012