Music-Dots Poem by John Carter Brown

No amount of studying
makes dots seem any less dire
I see them perched upon the stave
like swallows on a wire;
Fat and lazy, every one,
defying explanation,
despite my best endeavours
and full-on concentration.

The instrument I've learned to play
has six full-sounding strings,
my teachers were my ears
and the joy the guitar brings;
But dots remain just dots to me,
inanimate and still,
and of these hieroglyphics
I now have had my fill.

The page of ink is wasted
and may as well be blank,
I cannot hear the music
so I may as well be frank:
I'm giving up my efforts,
though I tried with all my heart,
I've failed, and I am sorry
that I ever made a start.

(Written Oct 2015)