These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Kneading the Pipe Organ

Up and down, back and forth
we play the fluid keys.
Little pipes are piercing north.
South a large pipe frees.

O'er and o'er like kneading bread
we make the sound become
a baken praise for One once dead,
but lives, again, Salvation's Sum.

Sound must always ebb and flow,
the keys, a lilting dough.
Kneaded loaf makes silence go.
Baguette musicians know.

A symphony of joy and praise,
serving to The Lord
the best of all our earthly days,
great food of God's Own Word.

With stirring hands, and churning mind
the player deftly smokes
these organ keys, while playing blind
for blest and flying folks.

The "baker" makes cacophonous
all kneaded dissonance,
not a moment aphonous,
but offered in magnificence.

Groaning, growling, kneading best
all notes upon the score.
Giving praises past the test
of notes, that carpet the floor.

When the loaf is offered high
as worship to the king,
let His children laugh and cry
at organs, that do sing.

by Jay O’Toole
on March 22nd, 2022