Posts Tagged ‘hear’

Here’s a plank to think.

A response to an oral: an assembly.

Assemble quickly,

silently, or not so.

Better to think than preach, so they say.

So they say there’s a way. Even in.

An even you don’t. You catch.

An assault of lights.

A wink. A thousand brights. Yellow globes of strobe.

Yellow burning white.

Little planets.

Comets. Of whirring and flash

there is no worry.

And so to stick to mind.

And so stick a tongue, so stick a lip;

there are worse, and there are white lights.

And there are purses, there are people.

Where there are purses, there are people.

Mind not the blinding, the light

from up.

Think aloud.

“So they say.”

You say.

And there’s applause.

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It was when I realized that

shadows

have no color,

and sunlight is white,

that music turned to thunder

in my ears,

and I was blind for a moment,

because I had seen

and had to give back in to the mirage

I had been raised to see

in order to see once more.

The Intonation- of the Wind-

scraped against my Ear-

but what Fortune that it was

the Last thing I would Hear-

“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating.” ~ Joel Barish (Jim Carrey), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Let me honestly say,

love, I have no idea

what I am doing.

I monologue

because you let me.

That is a mistake.

I’d rather listen.

When I open my mouth

something honest and stupid

always pours out,

and I’m so critical

of everything I say and do

and you might be too,

but you won’t tell me-

your feelings get lost

because you’re letting me talk

and talk

and talk.

There is a certain nobility

in silence.

If one is composed,

one can slip juicier tidbits of conversation

back, into the stomach of memory.

A silent one can hear his or her house fall, and buy a new one.

A silent one can hear the animals die,

and go out and bring them in to save her family.

A silent one can hear poison

dripped into his cup.

A silent one can hear the stars falling.

                         *

There is a certain terror in silence.

In dead of hours of day,

the sound of the sinking sun

reminds the listener

that this will all end- washed out, black,

without a sun.

In the warm clutches of folds of night

a listening one has only her thoughts,

or his heart to listen to:

and the thoughts say

“you will die, you will die. This darkness

may be the last, or only thing you see,”

and the hearts says

“i am dying, i am dying. Hear how faint i am?”

                          *

Dear reader,

you are a listener.

You are also a silent one.

Everyone, occasionally, is.

Curse

Posted: November 5, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wishing to move

with cramps in every muscle

and pain stemming

from every joint,

to speak with a tongue

overrun by idle talk

until the mouth

is dry as a carcass,

to see with eyes scarred by a forest of cataracts,

smell with a nose sheared off and clogged,

touch with doll-like skin,

and listen with lost ears,

that is the cruelest curse.

We could look objectively at everything,

but then the heart would remain unseen.

The fire would be doused;

the flower would droop its full and unfurled head,

there would be no crystals within the bloom,

no smiles on the petals,

no dreams in the scent.

There would be no call of the ocean,

no challenge or caress in its waves,

no luster in the sand;

there would not be temptation from the dark forest;

there would be no warnings from the wind,

or grasp to it;

there would not be hope released with the rising

of the sun, nor fertile beauty in the glow of the moon;

there would be no celebration with death.