They say I am an
Isosceles Triangle –
whatever that is.
They say I am an
Isosceles Triangle –
whatever that is.
“It’s my triangle!”
She said, with tears in her eyes;
“It just will not ting!”
Granville, sat with his anvil,
at the back of the orchestra pit,
waiting for his moment,
the time when his chime would fit.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Anvil, #Granville, #musician, #Orchestra, #poetry. #poem, #Triangle
“I’m Telyn, the Harp.”
“Telling the harp what?”
“No. My name is Telyn, and I am a harp. The Harp.”
“Oh.”
“And what, may I ask, are you?”
“May you well ask. I am… fanfare of drums… a piece of metal that has been twisted into a shape.”
“A triangle.”
“That’s it. I have been twisted into a triangular shape… but, I don’t know what I am called.”
“Perhaps, ‘Tingy’ might be a good name for you.”
“Ooh! That would be lovely. Tingy the thing made into a triangular shape. How happy I am!”
And with that, he struck himself on the head with a small rod of metal.
“Ting!!!!”
Telyn sighed, a lovely glissando of a sigh, but, a sigh nevertheless.
The sardonic triangle player in the orchestra stood on one leg, held an outstretched arm aloft, and gave a wry ting on his instrument – for he had recently been on a creative wry ting course.