The trumpet, a special gift
when I turned sixteen,
lies neglected
(and only recently rescued
from basement storage)
in a corner of the family room.
Never abandoned in any move,
it claims a special spot in my heart,
if not on my lips.
Silence blares from its valves
accusingly
whenever I walk by.
Craig W. Steele resides in the countryside of northwestern Pennsylvania, not far from Lake Erie. His poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies, literary journals and magazines, most recently in Plainsongs, The Lyric, Stone Path Review, The Fib Review and elsewhere.
Categories: Poetry
Tags: Bluin' the Blues, Craig W. Steele, poem, poetry
Melancholy Hyperbole 