“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label sounds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sounds. Show all posts
Friday, May 15, 2020
Orchestra
As we aim to silence the pain
which we are fairly allotted
by birth-right
a deafening calm consumes us
while focused on the pleasures
overdue to us
in the treble.
Signals cease to lift
the alarm lever,
if we don't
move
our lips
to speak
to the self
in the language of the body.
Before translation
the strangeness deters our curiosity
about how one thing may become another
and make melodies
by note, by color, by shade, by immersion,
there is understanding
needs to be met
and lyrics to listen to
while we move
this way and that
away from where it hurts most
toward what we know
says nothing
about us.
Painting by Wilhelm Carl August Zimmer (1853-1937) / Public domain.
Friday, January 18, 2019
absorption
The storm was done
and so it fell
into a fine mist
of crystals spent
in shards or more
mineral.
The after taste
of iron
smells like the steel sky
blowing by
or coming
from my mouth
in thin whispers...
Painting by Arthur Partin (1842-1914), 'Misty Morning off the Coast of Maine', c. 1865-67, in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Piece of quiet
Recluse, recover
Head on pillow, tucked in, begin to think peace and quiet-
Meanwhile
A riot swings a racquet the tighter my eyes try not to see
so many sounds blanket as epiphanies.
Snuggly, cotton covers partially, crinkling fibrous shifts-
sounded, a trumpet climbs up the scales, ring in speakeasy tones
two doors down from this bed, this horizontal head.
A boxer dog boofs over the fence, again and again,
the microwave chimes in.
My son strategizes and vocalizes his next cyber move with friends in virtual vociferousness.
In the next room, my daughter squeals, secrets I guess, tamping down her girlie giggles.
The man on the couch coughs, catches his breath then chuckles at the idiot box,
in muffled notes the next door neighbors converse in tension talking circles all tied up in Nots.
in muffled notes the next door neighbors converse in tension talking circles all tied up in Nots.
A muscle car motors by, fuel floats in the window crack, the bass is left behind
on the pavement, the other side, by the five, waves of autos roll by as white noise,
white caps, following white perforated lines, swooshing along over catseye caps.
The neighbors' small child cries in huge bursting idles this bedtime,
the grey cat on my left side sighs, letting down his heavy head, insisting
nothing is that interesting.
A dove coos to his lover, and purr
the phone vibrates atop the oaken tiny rec-table, my stomach churns bile,
Blood swirls around my wetware, grey matter, then hits the fingertips hard,
my heart sinking a steady beat,
my heart sinking a steady beat,
a door creaks down the dark hall, a glass in the sink, the faucet flows, pipes hiss,
door whines,
and falls shut.
Painting by Augustus Egg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by Augustus Egg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Silent Sunday Services
The clock on the wall hammers away
in the quiet house before sunrise, oblivious to Sunday morning
rituals.
Nary a breath escapes while the beat skips on along-
long whole, holy, sunny sun days-
while others pray I lay behind dreaming doors,
light pouring in, purring snores,
while that clock ticks off
and takes, takes, takes
its sweet time,
this time I think-the time-
Time-it takes too long to make every single
second
count
may be wrong.
***********************
The kitchen sink taps a tune
into a rose colored glass
muffling its measure
by the minute
becoming
optimistic by the hour.
Between that quiet space
of steady shine and rise
coming up on-
it is too easy to lose the pace
or miss the place
where to chime in...
.........................................
The fridge hums steady and warm,
the oven clean and cool
both standing white in the background.
Painting By Catherine Wiley (Tennessee Portrait Project) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Fifty-five shades of cadet gray
It was the thick piled blanket of gray
that made the metaphor more simile today.
Cumulative as a collector of dew
indulges in a spendthrift rain of blue.
Cowering behind high pressure,
it may have been up in the air,
but it lay down on all in between,
nestled in nature.
Birds under-cover, the grass
fast asleep,
And audibly thick sound
envelopes
from gravity's position
I fathom
to scream
inside-it does not carry
you out
I doubt it was definitely only one
up there-
clapping-
cutting, stomping, sucking, sputtering,
interrupting frontal intersections
Slicing with a mallet, tendering with blades
heart beating to ear drums
a-long the gray highway
in-complete-dis-guys
two-way mirrors like
our eyes,
the other side of sound
surround
don't bother to look-
it was only one-
a passing Chinook
in the stealth of May.
Image of painting by James Ward, Sky Study [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Fair share
A lone loquat leaf
curled and crisp,
tap dances down
the sidewalk
An empty aluminum can
dented in the middle
throws light and marches making
a din down the driveway
The loitering suburban trees
fluff their updos
while locks of leaves fall down
Two lips pucker in the sun
a short Spring song
now nearly done
wilting while the bulb goes out
A blurry old man shuffles a shopping cart
gripping his estate
for near life.
A trim mom runs in the bike lane
chasing rolled dollars
barreling down the boulevard
A police officer cruises by
in his city issued
beemer, observing the peace
A couple makes up
in the parking lot
as two seagulls squawk over scraps
out and out-mollifying
mean-
while
A raven snags the snack pack
with-
out
argument or a caw on the wind
This is how
gusts, nameless airs,
blow things
out of (pro) portion.
Does that make it more than it is?
If heard
it Is.
Image By Tomwsulcer (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
White noise words
I have sat and watched the ocean
for hours
and years
and while I don't quite know why
I still feel
justified
compelled
in waiting for a reply
for words I already know
will never wash ashore
for me to find
like unbroken sand dollars
glistening gold in the sand
reminds that chasing
never gets
wise by watching-
taking it all in by
each pebble upturned, every
gull and erne, the rhythmic
flap beat and crash, cymbalist
water splashing up word
dancing in wavy mockery
a song whose lyrics
are all pitch and roll
foaming at the lip
while I
still
sit quietly listening
to hear it again
and a-gain
in a grain
in all ways
voluminous, numerous
voluminous, numerous
white words
that tidally summit
and blend back in
singing to sea
and blend back in
singing to sea
and here,
the choir.
Composed 1/23/16.
Image by RicardoUrbinaM assumed (based on copyright claims). [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons (edited).
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