Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Imagine banjos made of silk, their strings

Of satin and their cases made of cloth

That’s stiffened just enough so music sings

Its melodies as if a luna moth

Has met the Muses.  Then imagine flutes

Made up of tears and laughs, their balsa wood

Winked tubes with sexy holes.  Imagine lutes

Of pig iron played with plectrum’s brotherhood

Of darkness, harps in Heaven played by breath

Of angels, torture violins of Hell

Enjoying brimstone flames in living death

Forever for the sinners as they yell.

  Imagination, instrument of heart

    And mind, will always play the poet’s part.

C♪mp♪ositi♪ns

Imagine banjos made of silk, their strings

Of satin and their cases made of cloth

That’s stiffened just enough so music sings

Its melodies as if a luna moth

Has met the Muses.  Then imagine flutes

Made up of tears and laughs, their balsa wood

Winked tubes with sexy holes.  Imagine lutes

Of pig iron played with plectrum’s brotherhood

Of darkness, harps in Heaven played by breath

Of angels, torture violins of Hell

Enjoying brimstone flames in living death

Forever for the sinners as they yell.

  Imagination, instrument of heart

    And mind, will always play the poet’s part.

© Phillip Whidden