I gazed down at my hands whist at one day fingers all out of control
Like a line of drunken and disorderly ballerinas released on parole
The erratic movements held my gaze, hypnotically to a random beat
Sat at my computer I watched the show then one pressed the delete

That night I watched a musical competition where they played rock
Contestants paid tribute to heavy metal gods they did not mock
They thrashed out imitations they hammered out tunes on ‘Air Guitar’
Like a thunderbolt it hit me why couldn’t I turn myself into a star

I looked at my hands, there position and their erratic improvised dance
Could it possibly be, yes I could pass as a piano player at a quick glance
Can’t play a note, why couldn’t I play ‘Air Piano’ be a wow at a show
I could see it now I’m ‘world champion’, make a living, becoming a pro

I started watching all the famous pianists Oscar Peterson, Les Dawson
I showed my talents to all in showbiz all they said was “I’m sorry son”
Even André Preview questioned the range of notes that I was playing
They are the right notes but not necessarily in the right order, I was saying

Not daunted I took my skills to the people on the street started to busk
I started in Manchester at dawn ending up in Liverpool by dusk
Got spotted by Pete Waterman whilst busking outside the ‘Liver’
I’m now world famous, watch me play ‘Air Piano’ at Wembley for a fiver


© By Philip Golding
13.01.2007

A very fuuny poem, I like the concept behind it the rhyme scheme works and it flows well too.

Thank you for feed back on my poem.

With my Parkinson's and the poems I have written about it they tend to be a mixture of serious and tounge firmly planted in cheek.

This particular poem enjoyed writing and seemed to establish its rythm.

Regards

Phil

AKA

Bard from Urmston