GOOD MORNING

Percolator's popping
drip, drip, dripping,
into the urn of glass.

Ten minutes before rising,
the bed creaks as much
as my back as I toss and turn.

A distant alarm sounds,
distant in that I must get
out of bed to address the constant

EHHH, EHHH, EHHH, of the
electronic chime, annoying
saying the least, pissing me off

saying the most for morning.
Bird chrip, the song of annoyance
as well, go to hell you birds

and give me nine more on the snooze
you can't lose when you got snooze.
A distant alarm sounds,

my mistake in that I must get
out of bed to address the blasted thing.
As long as I'm up and Mr. Coffee gurgles

I start my day, making
as much noise as I can.
If I'm up, everybody's up!

I said, "GOOD MORNING" people. Everybody up!

LOL! Good morning to you too, Walt!

Scream

She opened her heart
and mind
new to all of this
Stumbled upon something
that hurt

yes, it was a while ago
but during the same time
it began
they'd begun

words she'd heard from him
he said to her
it stung
and made her wonder

all this time
she's crying inside &
although silent
she screams

Day 23: Noise

Screams

Screams surround my
dreams...
the noise,
more than it
seems...

I shut my ears to
the sound...
I hear screams
as I
drown...

Screams surround my
reality...
the horror
a finality...

©2009 Debra Ann Elliott

Well, at least Buffalo and CT are awake. 'Morning Pamela! he screams silently! Good start.

What's all that screaming about Ladies?

I never thought I would miss the noise

of grandchildren playing
Cowboys and Indians,
running through the house.
Their mouths arc in war-hoops
and finger gunshots.
Their parent’s lips move.
I watch their eyes crinkle with laughter.

Outside the sky is blue-black.
Lightening streaks and I know
thunder is close at hand,
for our collie hides behind my chair.
My wife wrings her hands,
her picnic ruined.

Now she calls the family to the table.
I watch them move to seat themselves,
My grandson touches my hand,
motions towards my birthday dinner
where one-by-one we shall join hands
in a blessing.
Over the candles I make a wish.

Good morning Walt
The rooster crows
As coffee boils on the pot
And now it's time to get up
Fingers clacking on the keys
To write the kind of poetry
By which our hearts our please

Walt- Good morning to you too! Are we super-caffeinated this morning?
BTW...boys are stupid, that's why the scream! LOL!

Water carries sound
Eerily across the lake.
Hey! Keep it down, Walt!


Good morning, everyone! Off to a great start this morning. Patricia, I can so relate.

Living mindfully
in the holiday bedlam.
Peace is a challenge.

Starlings

Chattering outside at the feeder
the starlings babble their way
across the lawn
Telling stories
of adventures in dining
and flying

Their melodies
as they line up
like children
single file
on the wires overhead
are a mixture of their own
and other songsters

When the glee club
assembles in the morning sun
the noise is
deafening
but joyful is the noise
chitter-chatter-cheep!

THE NOISE OF WAR

It begins with the silence
Of men against peace
Those who dream spoils
Their bellies a-rumble
With the noises of greed

It moves from the table
Where foolish men bide
The noise of discussion
That cannot resolve
What each side is craving

And in the heads of the scheming
Screams the noise of destruction
That blots out the sounds
Of a weak compromise
That gets killed at the table

It blares out on the fields
Where young men go marching
With hands extended with rifles
Mute sounds of their prayers
Beat like wings on their lips

And the bombs that go bursting
Drown tears they are shedding
The creased photos of loved ones
Quietly staring recall once rang
The noise of sweet laughter

Where flowers shared springtime
With trees proudly standing
Now noises of boots trample away
And the grass green as jade
Now red with spilled blood

The noise of the war
Can you hear yourself thinking
The noise of the war
I can’t hear what you say
It drowns out the world


Like a deluge of water
And all that is heard
In the silence of sorrow
Are soft noises of heartbreak
hearts wounded by war

#

Sunday Morning

Clicking clacking steps on tile
the prelude fills the air
Murmurs of conversation
It's great to see you here.

Whisper, wiggle, squirming legs
here, write with Mommy's pen
We'll get some juice and cookies
after the service ends.

Booming, blaring, trills of sound
the organ leads the choir
Approach this rail to be fed
God's love in bread transpires.

Kneeling, nestled, thoughts slow down
Soft movement all around
Psychic quiet soon prevails
Breathe deep and peace is found.

Shifting, shuffling, time to leave
Forgiven of our sins
Go in peace to serve the Lord
Our ministry begins.

Noise

Her ears catch every nuance,
her mind lands on overload fast.
Birds quarreling in the trees
make her cross her eyes in pain,
the refrigerator’s hum
sends bolts through her brain.
But when she visits and the black cat
hops to her lap, settles in to stay,
she slumps down to the point of sleep
under the throb and rumble
of the loud purr.

Sound of A Tear

Gently
comfort is offered
but it does not stop
the sound of tears

TWIST AND SHOUT

Amateur plumbers of the world
unite, stand up and be counted.
Pipework in a crawl space,
cramped and cobweb covered,
hearing the sounds the underground
provides. That giant sucking sound
flushes with the power of one point six
gallons, the flow of supply on demand
runs smoothly through the galvanized
circulatory system. Belly over a bit
deeper into water hell, under a pipe
and a beam bridge, the battle of
the bulge is a losing proposition.
Wedged and panic stricken you
quiver and toss, at a loss for
anything better than to shout
your lungs out for some relief.
A hand grabs your ankle and gives
a mighty tug. Un-dug and free,
you decide this was not a DIY.
These guys are trained
professionals. Don't try this at home.

Walt! Twist and shout..
I laughed out loud...perfect!

Heard from Horses

The kind familiar poise of horses
their unshod hooves on straw. Gentle
giants requiring endless small cares,
kept me going in the months after.

I did not speak so much as shuffle
from one life task to the next, numb.
I pitched manure, brushed coats,
wove bright ribbons through braids.

Broke one feisty bay Thoroughbred,
Ketiva, to the light wheeled green cart.
Stood on the dappled gray back of
our Percheron, reaching apples. Jumped

Lucky in focused solitude, avoiding
the church, chores in town, even UPS.
The leaves on our trees varied their hues
electric reds, hallowed orange, showy.

My noise came back one fine Spring.
After Ripples, off the lead, hurried
downhill to the nearest neighbor’s farm.
Two miles later I sat astride that dusty

chestnut pony, kicking him into a trot.
Nearing our herd, welcoming
nickers. He triumphantly cantered.
Alone, I laughed out loud. I was 17.

The fatal accident had been so shocking
splitting my life into distinct halves:
“before” and “after”. Long ago I left
West Virginia, but I miss you still.

Bird Language

Birds are always chattering,
chirping, twittering—
What do they say to each other?
“There’s some road spill
On R Street?.” “I found a clean
bird bath over there?” “It’s time
to head south?” “Have you
finished your nest?” “Are you
hungry?” Probably mundane things
like humans, filled with nonsense
but wanting to impress their friends,
needing to sound important.

Day 23 Noise poem


Do you hear the quiet?

The tickle-sound of caterpillar feet
gossamer wings whisper as they beat.

The drip of water droplets on the leaves
the whistle of the wind through naked trees

Woodpeckers keep the beat with drum and drill
scurry-footed mice stop very still

to sniff the fragrant acorns as they drop,
then quickly break them open with a pop.

Ladybugs chew oak leaves over there
Jays break open peanuts over here

Dandelion parachutes float down
There is no noise, there’s silence all around.






Carol A. Stephen
November 23, 2009
PAD Challenge poem

Day 23 Music EDIT


Do you hear the quiet?

The tickle-sound of caterpillar feet
gossamer wings whisper as they beat.

The drip of water droplets on the leaves
the whistle of the wind through naked trees

Woodpeckers keep the beat with drum and drill
scurry-footed mice stop very still

to sniff the fragrant acorns as they drop,
then quickly break them open with a pop.

Ladybugs chew oak leaves over there
Jays break open peanuts over here

Dandelion parachutes float down
There is no noise, there’s music all around.






Carol A. Stephen
November 23, 2009
PAD Challenge poem

She said last night's storm
blew the trailer away.
They were all at a shelter-
not a dime to their names.
She mentioned, in passing,
how guidance was lacking
for all five of the kids
in her poor family.
As an added sidelight
she threw in the dire plight
of mom hospitalized,
and Dad's job downsized.
She made a word drawing
of her homework now floating
near people gone boating
somewhere on the Chesapeake Bay.
As trouble prevention,
it was sheer invention,
but the dear thing pulled down and "A"

oops. Going back to read a bit, I realized I posted this a day late. I'm not used to the prompt being up so early.

okay--two days late--I missed one entirely. Had my wonderful grandkids all weekend

Symphonic Noises

Yesterday the symphony,
a magical afternoon of Mendelssohn,
Elgar, Tomasi, and Burge.
This morning I awake
to a murderous fanfare of crows,
the riotous ruckus of geese
lifting from the security of mid-river,
as in the distance, we hear the early morning
whump, whump of hunters in their blinds.
Over coffee, we read our novels
as wood snaps and roars in the grate,
fuels the kettle’s steady hiss and bubble.
Outside, the percussive lap of rising tide
signals, at nine o’clock, the dueling moan,
and growl of chain saws, the fall of tree,
the snap of breaking branches, the crash
that shakes the earth beneath my feet.
The rise and fall of the songs of saws
continues, until our neighbour’s dying tree
is cut and neatly stacked in piles to burn.
Sandra is talking on the phone to someone
about some visits we will later make.
Then there is water, rinsing dishes in the sink,
the rattle and clink of metal on porcelain,
the glide and slide of drawer, the bang of door.
She stops when all is put away. Then sweet silence
and the kettle’s steady hissssssssssssssssss.

Significance

If a poem falls
On deaf ears, does it then make
Any sound at all?

My beach in Iowa

I have this cassette tape of ocean waves –
percussion of rolling, crashing and receding,
occasional crescendo of seagull calls,
no added music to challenge the raw sea pouring
from my landlocked minivan speakers.
I play it when I am alone. My husband says
it sounds too much like static.

Sleeping Circus

Snoring—loud and steady
Or soft and intermittent
Noses whistling new tunes
Teeth grinding in rhythm
Tossing , turning, and tooting
Mumbling and muttering
Moaning and groaning
Calling out for water
Calling out for Daddy
Me sighing
All to the tune of
metal creaking,
generator humming,
the hamster wheel turning.
We make about as much noise at night
as we do during the day.
Eleven clowns asleep on the bus
And one awake

Day 23 – Noise

He banged a drum
With absolute abandon
Arms flailing about
Eyes closed
No thought to the
Outside world

His foot beat
A tattoo rhythm
On the bass drum
While his hands
Tapped the high hat
And snare

He was lost
In this rapture
In this cacophony
Of sound

There was no point
No beat
No song
He was playing
It was the pure
And utter joy
Of noise

Tinnitus

Only you can hear it;
inconstant constancy;
so high at times as if a
mouse with long fingernails
found the perfect blackboard.

There is no peace for you;
'No rest for the wicked,'
you tell yourself with a smile
that screams out of your eyes
and does not drown it out.

You seek out louder noise;
the roar of an engine
sweeter than sweetest music;
hard metal decibels
to bring you some relief.

In bed you wait and pray for sleep's great joys
the chiefest being the chance to be without the noise.

I think in noise.
great guttural bursts
of hisses and claps,
starts and stops,
horns blaring,
children crying.
music invades
and takes over,
making me spout
lyrics as though
quoting Shelley.
then, somewhere,
in the midst
one clear thought
happens
and quickly
fades

Oh, and good morning Walt :)

The Silent Tea

The noise in my head is deafening
The chatter that just won’t stop
The constant sobbing and moaning
That contains so much loss

Where shall I go?
What shall I do?
Can I ever get over loosing you
Maybe we should just leave together

Forget all our commitments and promises
Give up on loyalty and faithfulness
Run fast and far and stay where we drop
Be together for only a time

I miss you and this is the first morning tea
We are forbidden to share together
The noise of lonliness is so much louder
Than the noise a happy couple sharing tea

Walt's percolator popping into Pamela's silent screaming Deborah "shutting her eyes" - oh Patricia so much in "I never thought I would miss the noise" envigorated by Tim's clacking fingers melting into Marie Elena's lake water eeriness, Daniel living "mindfully" as Patricia's starlings into the heartbreaking truth of Salvatore's "it begins with silence" Maryann's murmurs, Patricia W's purrs, Pamela's sound of tears into Walt's giant sucking sound, as Kumari's life splits assunder, and Barbara's birds chatter among Carol's dandelion parachutes, Penny's wonderful grandchildren-the Chesapeake Bay, J. Hugh's whump,whump, hiss bubble, snap, roar, crash, rattle, clink,and hisssssssss again into Cara's "poem falling" on anything but deaf ears. Thank you to all....and I now know why I never read first!

Silence is Just a Word

My ears insist
There are noises
The whistle of a train
The buzz of a cricket
The deep rumble of
An articulated lorry
In an empty room

My eyes know
That my ears lie

My brain pays heed
To my ears
Unable to distinguish
Between real and
Imagined sounds
It cannot adjust the volume
And the off switch
Is broken

Silence
Is just a word
Tinnitus
Is not
Climbing the walls
Is possible

AND YOUR BIRD CAN SING

Lovely as they come,
sweet, petite, demure,
if love was the disease,
her smile would be the cure.

She move with grace and style,
she moves with style and ease,
you really like the way she moves,
and you're an easy guy to please.

She bats her eyes seductively
you hear them across the floor,
the sweep, sweep, sweep of every flit,
just makes you crave for more.

But then you're interrupted,
by a squeaky, screechy, squeal,
all the dogs for fifty miles
salivate for their meals,

the windows near you shatter,
and mirrors crack at will,
you ears are hurting deaf and numb,
and the sound's persisting still,

Pedestrians all cock their heads,
with excruciating pain,
thoughts are getting fuzzy,
it's liquefied their brains.

She finally releases the hostage note,
it was a song from hell,
She's pretty and your "bird" can sing,
just really not that well.

"Morning Chev, coffee's on.

Banana, we must be twins, separated at birth...tinnitus, bladder infections...eek! let's find a more pleasant connection..."inconstant constancy" - exactly.

Free Range Brain

Quiet moments when
the cat carefully arranges himself in my lap
atop my knitting, which I rearrange
and rearrange, and unhook from curious claws
are the ones in which I mean to arrange my
schedule, belongings, thoughts until
they make sense at least to me.
The purring of the cat is inaudible. The noisy needles
are silent against the sofa cushion. The television fails to blare,
the remote having been accidentally rearranged beneath some furniture. I still cannot hear
myself think for all the shouting
of the combative
thoughts
ranging free inside my brain.

Farewell Tour

The crowd began to surge and swell
as rockers took the big band shell.
They pounded tunes as you might well
expect, as they went all pell-mell.

This was their tour to say farewell
as hawkers waved band shirts to sell.
If you’d inhale, you’d get the smell
some used to cast a magic spell.

Then someone jumped the stage but fell
into the pit. Cops tried to quell
the throng who would not so dispel.
They called for backup personnel.

I got the pictures on my cell
as all of this began to jell.
It’s up on You Tube. Can you tell
what fun we had while raising hell?

Victory or Death

She was walking with her hound
through the dead forest of late autumn,
the crunch of the leaves beneath their feet
the only sound.

Her eyes were constantly searching
the ground, up, over and around -
for any signs or traces of previous passage.
Her hound’s nose was following a similar
pattern searching for the elusive scent
which would lead them to victory or death.

The afternoon was chilly
only about forty degrees,
overcast with a mist and
the forecast was for freezing
temperatures overnight.

She knew if they didn’t pick up
the scent soon, the chances of the
little girl surviving the night were
very slim.

The little girl had wandered away
from her family home on the edge
of the forest. Her father had been splitting
wood by the barn and she had been playing
quietly about twenty feet away.

When the father had decided
to take a break he realized she
wasn’t playing nearby anymore.

That was yesterday afternoon,
a balmy sixty degrees yesterday,
and the temperatures had
been falling steadily ever since.

There were ten of us with our hounds
walking the woods, searching
with our eyes and noses,
occasionally calling her name.

The daylight was fading,
and time was running out,
the girl was only three.

Then my hound stopped.
Her nose working furiously
and then the silence of the
afternoon was shattered,
as she lifted her head
and bayed – she had the scent.

From around the forest
came nine answering calls,
they would converge to help;
following the calls from my hound.

The sounds of those
ten hounds could have been
ten thousand as they all
picked up the scent.

We crested a hill and
there she was, curled up
in the crux of two fallen
trees with leaves pulled
around her legs, her face
covered in tears and dirt.
Victory.

RJ in Buffalo for the Boss?

Prompt code: PUFPS

Walt - I wish! But no. I'm stuck in the swamps of New Jersey, as Bruce would say. lol

=D

HELP!

A damsel with distress,
she saunters near,

her soft sashay of course
attracts your ear,

you hear her breathy exhale,
it nearly brings a tear,

her stilettos make a tapping noise,
she headed over here.

Her hotness hisses with her steam,
a hot and heavy sear,

Your heart is beating rapidly,
it's rhythm fast and queer,

you gulp so loud you scare the crowd,
they're starting to steer clear.

Seductive temptress on the prowl
around the bar she peers,

in her sights she's gotten you,
you are her prey you fear.

She blew a kiss to mark her spot,
it landed over here.

Inside your head, your brain shouts "Help!",
and you're glad no one else can hear.

I think the theme just got changed from noise to Walt's wake up call. Pearl and Marie, I loved your Walt response poems.

Sounds of Christmas Shopping

Traffic beeping.
Cash registers booping.
Bells ringing.
Carolers singing.
Frappucino makers growling.
Mall Santa Ho Ho Hoing.
Children sqealing.
Fragments of conversations.
An ornament crashes to the floor, oops it wasn't me!

The steady hum of the food court.
Excited voices, oh, a big sale!
A different Christmas song playing in every store.
People laughing.
Singing with every song in every store.
A lady at the book store reads stories aloud.
I want to see Santa!
Another ornament crashes to the floor, this time it was me.

This should be centered, but I don't think that'll work on here...

THE 1974 XENIA TORNADO
(Aeolus)

like all the movement on earth was gathered in a bag
and piped out in disconcerting shapes
it descends with the ferocity
and symptoms of the
whirlwind:

spinebreak snap of sycamores split up their hundred-year trunks
disjunction of mammoth boxcars with a scream rusted shut
a hundred thousand birds chattering kamikaze prayers
cloud serpent hiss as it sidewinds the city streets
meteor shower of bricks against the sidewalk
shattering glass powdered breathed away
hot spitfire lightning kissing the roofs
a bullroarer a kilometer in length
howl from an infinite throat
wails of the survivors
as they uncover
the dead

let whatever god is responsible
step forward: let the city of
hospitality, regretfully,
revoke his sorry
invitation

I CALL YOUR NAME

Desire.
Stupid name for a streetcar,
what makes so much racket.
Every rattle and ding,
clatter and ring is
making me nuts,
back on the street,
I know you live here
someplace. Damn,
my undershirt just ripped
with a long and loud tear.
"STELLLLLLLLLLLA,
YOU GOT A NEEDLE AND THREAD?"

Between Silence and Clamor

I love the sound of rain splashing
against windows, gently
or with a strength that feels
like Zeus throwing a temper tantrum.
Songs trilled by cicadas make me think
of lemonade and pie, and I’m sated
without taking a bite. The piercing whine
of strong, wild winds or the rustling
of orange-yellow leaves shiver
me sentimental for a fire and a whistling
teapot. When I open a new book, its creak
of pages breaking excites me as I walk
a new adventure, and when I hear the stretch
of a cat, I lean into notes of wonder.

Gel, ice cold, a moving probe, and gurgling steady beat.
“His heart,” they say, then tell you, “See your baby; watch him play.”
A strange soft noise is this you realize and from your eyes
Flow silent tears of joy and bliss for this, your baby boy.

He screams so loud can’t put him down instead you hold him tight
Don’t know what’s wrong can’t read his mind but every single night
The same sad sound ascends you wait and cry and pray and day
Finds you in desperate need of sleep and he in need of play.

Sound of silence, wave goodbye and hear the engine roar
He’s gone away to school no more disturbance at your feet
You tread a path between his toys you tidy make things neat
The carpet sighs, the windows cry, doors squeak and silence shrieks.

Morning whimper, “Let me sleep,” and evening, “Let me stay.”
Weekend laughter, “Let me play,” and after, “Mommy, please.”
Fighting over dinner over bedtime over toys
Over games on the computer, over movies, over noise.

Sound of silence, wave goodbye and hear the engine roar
He’s gone away. You wonder, what’s the sound of evermore?

By Way of Explanation...

One of my favorite words
is cacophony.

But I only love the word.

Not the noise.

(Hopefully something a bit more substantial to come later.)

Theresa, I wanted to use cacophony too! It's a wonderful word.

A Fractional Sound

Seventy six years old...
and the roughly two thirds
of those years
he had spent
as one half of a couple.
Tiny fractions of time
now stretch into eons
defined only by calendar pages
and ticking clocks
because her voice
no longer fills the room
and the silence is deafening.

Annoying Neighbors Prayer

Now I lay me down to snooze.
I wish I knew which aid to choose
to help me get to slumberland.
The din next door is out of hand.

The rows they make could wake the dead
and every night at ten I dread
their racket. It’s so bleepity bleep.
What can I do to get some sleep?

Oh Lord, please keep me sane enough
to manage through their nightly stuff.
If they should die before I wake
I’d be most grateful for the break.

The White Noise of Writing Novels

Among the daily rumble
of the washing machine,
and the clatter of the drier,
the fans inside the computer
whirr and hum and the hard drive
(old and in need of replacement)
buzzes and clatters.

Overriding all
is the clatter of keys
as she types, types, types –
pounding out words with two fingers
(and her thumb on the space bar)
though inside her head the demons are crying,
drowning the gentle
as her synapses snap.

Attuning

Quiet the clamor
of a dozen voices chattering
but saying nothing:
turn off television,
radio, ringtones,
the seductive distraction
from substance.

In the silence
I am anxious to fill,
what might I hear?

With ears out of tune,
the first moments of absence
thunder with import.
A jumble of questions
fills me with static
until the signal catches:
a cadence of calm.

In the shimmering space
between breath,
I listen.

Used to Be

Guns aimed
ready, shoot, fire-
ka-pow
pow, pow, pow-
the boys would play
all day and
never seem to tire;

while the girl
sat inside
reading, with
music in her ear,
and sometimes
lyrics from the songs
were heard
in the atmosphere;

Mom baking cookies or pie-
clang, kerplunk, ting-
in the kitchen,
filling the air
with pleasing scents
of vanilla,
cinnamon,
apples
and pumpkin;

as Dad watched football,
sounds of fans cheering
in the background,
occasionally a
“yes” or “shit”
coming from his
usually void
of sound
mouth;

all of these used to be
normal sounds during
the holidays,
now there is only
silence
and the sound
of my tears
in a foggy haze.

laurie k.

You Speak

you don’t need to speak with words
you already tell me so much
you raise your eyebrows to say hello
you open your eyes wide to say you like it
you reach your arms to be held
you flap them to show excitement
you suck on your fingers when you’re tired
you wiggle your toes when you want to snuggle
you babble “da da” when you want to play
you clap your hands when you hear us sing
you rock back and forth to say you’re ready
you softly grunt when you want some more
you speak the loudest when
you press your forehead to mine
you smile so sweetly to say
you love me.

A Day At The Range

All packed up and ready to go
With AK47 in its case
While Glock 26 resides
In its holster on my hip.

Range bag inventory:
Shooting gloves – check
Ear protection – check
Plenty of ammo – check.

The range is busy today.
Lots of people want to practice
But my wait is not that long
Before I arrange my gear on the lane.

In spite of the ear protection
I flinch as a BOOM issues
From the lane to my right
Followed by KA-POW from the left.

Soon I am adding my own racket
To the chorus of explosions
Emanating from each direction
Until my ammo is completely spent.

Walking out of the range
It is strangely quiet
But the echoes of each caliber
Resound in my memory.

I am ready to use one of them on this blasted code. Why do I have to enter 4 or 5 or more codes to post? The stupid code not only prevents robots, it prevents humans.

Ellen, your poem is lovely. I especially enjoy "Zeus throwing a temper tantrum" and you leaning into notes of wonder.

Now I want rain and a new book...

I'm not much for "noise", per se, but when it comes to sound one thing gets me everytime. Thus I dedicate this Haiku to...

~Music~

Soothing melody
With heartfelt soliloquy
Best loved poetry

---

Thanks to those folks who commented on my poetry too, it means a lot to me to be in your company. This month has been nothing short of amazing with all the excellent poetry! I'm just happy to be allowed to post here ;) lol.

Loneliness is the
Emotion that screams loudest
But is the least heard.


No time to read yet, but I caught yours above mine, LM T.Richardson. Absolutely lovely.

White Noise

Gaussian, Poisson & Cauchy
strike up the band
leading the String Bands,
Fancies and Clowns
down the streets
of Old Philadelphia
on New Year’s Day
and although it’s entertaining
I cannot discern
one Golden Slipper from another.

I wait and watch
from a safe and warm distance
as Mummers strut.

Twenty six trombones
may have led the big parade
but when 20,000 tones
all played at the same time
I heard it all
and yet I heard nothing.

Walt . . . please quiet down!
Oh, the noise,
Of boys!
And the joys . . .
of coffee,
Yup!
In the cup!
Silent,
Gentle morning,
Then we are UP!
And the only sound . . .
Is a hick up!
Time to move,
Soon to groove,
And that's
Wazup!


Theresa and Chev . . .
I love that word "Cacophony" too! Makes instant joy, doesn't it? :)

Marie Elena . . .
Your poem went right to the heart of things. How succinct and beautiful!

Robert . . .
Great title on the poem today! Enjoyed it.

Walt, thanks for being our cheerleader today. Don't worry, I was up, catching up on yesterday's poem, stuff I had to do, then today's.

Joseph, best metaphors of the day in your tornado poem. Ellen, your images were quite emotive.

Everyone's poems make me laugh, cry, and feel the strength of words expressing life.

Noise of Life 11-23-09

Wheels turning make a crinkled muffled plastic sound.
Brakes screech like annoyed owls.
Cardinal simpers, “Purty, purty.”
A child’s laugh, high and bright, echoes in the courtyard.
Dry leaves crackle under soft footfalls.
Water at the river’s edge gurgles.
Riverboat’s horn lets out three deep toots.
Sounds tell us we’re here,
part of things
participating
showing up for the party of life.

Techno-yoga

Ok. Some people make fun of me when I talk about working out with wii fit. They probably look at me and think it proves their assumption that the work out doesn’t work. But, think of this, at least I’m the same size as the last time you saw me. At least my work out is helping me maintain. And besides, not even a video game and control what you eat. I have free will of the mouth. I’ve met people whose first exposure to yoga and meditation is through wii fit. I wonder if they get distracted by the “game” aspects, the added voice of the trainer tell you – you have good balance – while you are struggle to try out the Dance pose, for which your knees will hurt later or the sound of a bee trying to make you move, even just a bit, while you sit in the meditation game. Yes, there is one with a flickering candle, which you “win” after 90 seconds of staying as still as possible. But, do we ever really meditate or practice a yoga move in silence? Isn’t there always someone in class driving you crazy with how loud they breathe? Or what about your own brain making grocery lists or thinking about anything about how hard you want to be able to put your palms on the floor during a forward bend except you also want to be thinking about whether or not your butt looks like a cartoon blackened light bulb to anyone that is behind you.

Dan - while I admit to the bladder infections I must be honest and say I have very rarely suffered from short bouts of tinnitus and then only when I had ear infections and found it almost interesting as I knew it would pass.

I am however the wife and mother of two chronic sufferers and have had to witness their struggle with the condition for many years.

I know that although I can empathise I cannot lift it from my loved ones - as usual all I have are words.

I am sure you and I will find a happier mutuality - it's bound to crop up sooner or later :)

MISERY

Thanksgiving dinner looms,
all wait to gobble the turkey,
mash the potatoes,
candy the yams,
sauce the cranberries,
stuff themselves with stuffing.

And pie, pie, pie ,pie, pie!
Pumpkin and apple, banana creme,
Chocolate Pudding and pumpkin?
Whipped cream smothering confections.

All around at about six-thirty,
the collective familial sigh, the top button
being released manually before being
inadvertently shot across the room,
the ping and twang or each ricochet,
resounding in every room.

But in the Inner City Mission
and veteran shelters,
the sounds are more subdued.
Hunger pangs and stomach growls
accentuate the thankful prayer
of a warm meal and a place to
retreat, temporary comfort
in their uncomfortable station.
This day, in their way, they celebrate,
if one can call it that, but
they are not immune to it.

Young disjointed families,
battered women finding a harbor
from their stormy world yearn
for the welcomed acceptance
and sense of safety.

While we sit in our
stuffed over indulgence,
take a moment to raise
a voice and a prayer
that all find sanctuary
in the cold November night.
Sisters and brothers all,
fallen, but not kept down.
Raise them up.

For even the most miserable
of prayers, finds its end at
Amen.

WHITE NOISE

Insidious
Persistent
Invasive
Mind-numbing
Humming
Always there--even in a movie!

Except for the August days
When a tree fell
On wire or transformer
Disrupting the grid
Leaving the eastern seaboard
In a cacaphony (Thanks, Theresa) of electronic silence
With only a symphony of human voices
Some contented creatures
Sans the beeps and buzzes and hums of
White noise
I think it was called a blackout.


Marie Elena--So astute!

Time for some coffee--have to make some noise, although the percolator is packed with the camping gear--have to use that Cuisinart contraption, just a bit of noise.

Patricia

Changing Sound of the Heart

Icicles melting on the roof,
Drip, drip, drop!
Walking in the fresh snow,
Crunch, crunch, clop!
Trees blowing in the breeze,
Whish, whish, whoosh!
Forming snowball,
Mash, mash, moosh!
Fire is hot,
Crackle, crackle, bam!
The log shifts around,
Swirl of embers,
Flies higher,
Without a sound,
Anywhere.

Curling up into the loving,
Warm scent of each other,
Goes hand in hand,
With the emerging love,
Of two people,
Able to quietly love,
In the stillness of,
A harmonious home,
In nature,
Surrounded by tall sturdy pines,
Easy view of the serene lake,
Snow drifts near enough,
To touch.

Words not needed,
Knowing contented grins,
Say it all.
Love just permeates the air,
A scent only one can feel.
Reflecting a deep renewed sense,
Of “ok-ness” that brings the balance,
The depth of connection,
Agreed joy,
Of this moment’s peace.

BAM, BAM and SLAM!
STOMP, STOMP, STAMP!

“YES, YOU DID!”
“NO, WAY!”
“I SAW YOU DO IT”.
“NO, YOU DIDN’T”.
“I GET THE BETTER BEDROOM”.
“NO, I AM THE FIRST UP THE STAIRS.”

BANG on the door,
DING DONG on the bell.
CREEK the door opens.
BAM it hits the wall.
CRACKLE of the paper bags of groceries,
BANG of the bags on the floor.

In that moment,
The heart changes . . .

To instant acknowledgement,
Of more giving . . .

Children have come home . . .
In time for Thanksgiving!

WALKING IN THE NOISE
TOWARD SILENCE

I hear a cowbell in India,
a lowing in the dust and the heat and the sun—

six languages rolling out of the mouths
of the people on the road, one Gujarati—

a baby crying, a woman shushing him,
one man shouting, another praying, a third weeping—

a plane flies overhead, a hawk screams, a dazed mouse
squeaks and runs and dies, caught in that hawk’s talons—

the drop of blood that falls from the sky
makes no sound.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

[Robert: your prompts are powerful. They often stir up in me what I would prefer left undisturbed, but I am grateful, nonetheless. Am catching up now on the last three days, when I mostly avoided the prompts, but finally did SOMEthing]

Choices: Day 23: Noise

Hush


Quiet now. Listen:

Beneath the clamor of everyday
below the hurry of worry
under, far under, the weight of what if
beats the heart of hope.

Quiet now.
Listen.

RJ Clarken ..... Fractional Sound..... As the tweeters and teensters might exclaim OMG! What can one say except sheer ....well... poetry.. read and re-read through a blur of tears and a warmth that lingers. Wow! (And I don't care if it takes 2 dozen attempts to post this comment I'm determined to reach you!)

Noise


The difference
between
noise
and sound

Noise
hurts

White Noise

“The rest is silence.”
--Hamlet, Act V

I fill up space
with sound,
unwilling to let a moment,
even one spent alone,
sit vacant. Music,
in a steady stream,
lies beneath
our conversation.
Television talk
droning on
in the other room,
helps me pretend
you aren’t gone.
I’ve become
accustomed
to the hum
of the box fan
in summer;
the vaporizer
I found in
what was once
the nursery
hisses each
winter night.
Nothing I have
found, save sound,
can lull me
into disbelief.
The future played
like music,
today’s an empty
hum. The rest
is silence.

SHE SAID SHE SAID

Mystified when darkness lingers,
hunting through suspicion,
an apparition, a disconnected soul,
with no control over their spirit,
sometime I can hear it on my
digital voice recorder. Not
disembodied, but a voice all the same,
a communication of a sort; an EVP.
This Electronic Voice Phenomenon
buried in the white noise, this
verbal manifestation, out of
frustration reaches out
electronically. The phenomenon
of voice, with no other choice but to listen.
And she calls in the night.
No longer of fright, but of love.
Between the cracks, she teases.
Repeatedly calling, "munlat, munlat".
Always hearing "moonlight, moonlight"
She said, she said. In a manner of speaking.

Pearl - thank you so much for your comments! You have truly made my day!!! (((Hugs)))

And also - for the rest of you guys, I'll try to finish reading (and then comment) on all the terrific poetry work you've written later tonight.

RJ Clarken - A Fractional Sound - beautiful, absolutley beautiful.

New Creation

Drumming, strumming,
Humming strong.
Pushing hard to belong!
Now coming, coming . . .

. . . Birth of a song,
Has quietly been waiting,
Within,
All along!

It begins its warning long before the bridge
long and slow and rising like the moon
after while you hear the engine too
a low, low hum this far away
a little nearer you make out the wheels
and it rattles on across the wooden trestle
over bottom land and river bank
where tall cane rustles without wind
the freight makes echos on the bluffs
across the river until it meets them coming
in the middle, and incrementally begins
to wane until the night is left to insects
cane and cars and television.

“Noise”

Melodious, tuneful, time spent with awards
Wasteful vibration, fortissimo, buzz cords

Hopeful tribute to genius of pop
Robotic backup, monotone nonstop

Rap, hard rock, whammy bar, head banging
Pounding decibel frequency, nerves hanging

Three hours of nonsense, six minutes of norm
Swift falsely selected, sensational perform

Ninacarole
11/23/09

These are the
sounds of my
heart's longing,
The whirring blurr
of the cicadas,
snap-bang of
screen door,
whispered rustle
of tall prairie
grass brushing
against my skirt.


Yesterday,
it was spring,
You did not come
When the mourning
doves called
to their gray
lovers in the
green cottonwood,
and the creek rain-full
rattled against
stone, and frogs
sang and sunned on
its limestone shoulders.

Will I wait through
winter too? The crunch
and snap of frost on
the prairie clover
under my boot heels,
the shivering of
ice falling hard
from the live oak,
the click and scrape
of mesquite branches
weighted down heavy,
oh so very heavy.

MORNING SOUNDS

First there is breath.
A whisper in. Out.
the rustle of sheets,
of pajamas against skin.
Then, public radio news
and weather
in a serene male voice.
Then there are toenails.
Dog’s toenails,
click click click on hardwood floors,
jingle jangle of dog tags,
whoosh of dog breath at the edge
of the bed. Pant pant pant.
A mumbled, “all right.”
Clip of a leash. Footsteps,
click of a door.
Sharp intake of cold
morning air beneath
cacophonic avian symphony.
Crows dot the trees.
Later, splash of water into glass
coffee pot, gurgle splutter brew.
Hurried good byes, smack of a kiss
on lips, cheek.
Slurp of coffee as reward. Aah.
Transition into dissonant highlights
of work day traffic. Honk screech blink
brake *#%$~
Shut the windows. Solace.
Again there is breath.

Beyond Diversity

The silence in the room
was the loudest noise,
each so afraid
to say the wrong thing.

They said nothing.

That said everything.

Noise

Bogged down by demands and stresses,
honking horns, and swerving cars,
I have become one of those adults--
the ones who used to make us roll our eyes
or suck our teeth
when they hissed or nagged or screamed
to turn that music down.

But there is also
the young me that,
when cars with vibrating windows
cruise down the street
blasting hip hop,
bachata, merengue, or dancehall,
will shimmy my shoulders
when I think no one is looking.

Embedded Disturbance

Walking along at dusk I listen to the
employees screaming over the machines
and the air cleaner sucking up mists of oil.
I can feel the rumbles of the engine over the
cement floor before I detect the grinding of gears.
Truck brakes whine backing into the dock and the whoosh
of the overhead opening drowns me in ear drum rage.
I look up and realize it was a long day and I drink in the cool
night mist to dissolve the hours.

(Definition) Noise: loud disagreeable sound

What’s That Noise I Hear?
© Rich Atwater Nov. 23, 2009

Crash, boom, bang, thump, snare drum rattle, kaboom!
Crash, boom, bang, thump, snare drum rattle, kaboom!
Over and over again, what’s that noise I hear?
Coming from the garage my dear, have no fear!

It’s only “Valya” practicing on the Christmas drums!
Picking up the pieces, gathering all the crumbs—
From “Ringo’s” book of drummer rhymes, former times—
Of Liverpool before the Beatles were ‘a band’, those “limes”,

Who set the world on fire with music in the ear of everyone,
There was dancing in the streets, and Oh, don’t you remember what fun—
We had in younger days when all our ways were set on stardom,
As I banged on my guitar, and kept picking on those strings, the things--

That made a sweet melody of love, “hand in glove” to be a “super star”,
Over and over again, what’s that noise I hear?
Coming from the garage my dear, have no fear! (Said Dad to Mom),
It’s only “Dickie” playing on his guitar, someday he will go far!

Same thing was heard in former times when “Elvis” was but twelve,
Michael Jackson, two or three, and Buddy Holly I’m sure did delve—
Into little ditties on the guitar in teenage beat, out in the street, with friends,
As “Crickets” made a sound, in the background, that led to what harmony lends:

“It’s So Easy to Fall in Love” because of “True Love Ways” and “Rubberball”,
Do the memories come “bouncing back to you” as we ask it once again—
Over and over again, what’s that noise I hear?
Coming from the garage my dear, have no fear!

It’s the next top “American Idol” budding in the wings,
Singing wonderful things before they were ever sung—
To the masses and the crowd, plucking on the strings,
Playing on the keys, banging on the drums, all across America!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Poet’s Note:
I never made it as a “super star” but lived the childhood, and adult memories of a budding “Elvis”, or Buddy Holly as I played their songs (just like the Beatles before me) on my guitar; and composed over a hundred originals of my own, some recorded in studios with my band: “Rich Atwater & the Astronauts”. Thousand upon thousands have done it all across the land. And a few make it to “super stardom”. But the fun of doing it, as Mom’s and Dad’s can be heard calling out: “What’s that Noise I hear?” And for the first few months it is ONLY noise (loud, disagreeable sound), that eventually blossoms into melody and becomes the next big “Super Hit” on the radio of rock ‘n roll, pop, country, and easy listening, to become our musical Heritage and memories! If there is a rock ‘n roll heaven, I’ll bet they have “a hell of a band”! And it all began with NOISE---today’s “prompt word” on Poet ASIDES! Keep banging away!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rumor has it
the cinema
may leave us
alone at home
with our computers

I’ll miss the clipping
spin of the reel,
the first clarion note
as the feature arises,
even the sonic
boom of the
action movie
next door

I’ll miss the audio
of late-arriving,
soft steps on the carpet,
hands fumbling
and closing
around popcorn,
parents hushing
bouncy tots,
whispers
and giggles
from the row
revved up
on Raisinettes

I’ll miss
the village
of watchers
and listeners,
faces turned up
toward the light
and sound
coming at them
full speed

Leaking Thoughts

It starts like dripping water
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Why did that bastard cut me off
Tick
Tick
Why are they stopping now?

I’m sure I will not make it.
Tick
Tick
The boss will have a cow.

And oh did I forget my phone?
Did my wife send off that bill?

Will I complete this projet?
Oh what am I to do?
And on and on and on it goes.
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick

And so it is were doomed to live
Through each and every day
Until we fix that leaky faucet
That drips inside our brain

PARIS PEACE CONGRESS, 1849

[for Elihu Burritt]

In the streets, can you hear an echo of last year’s battle
cries and groans behind the barricades? That Revolution’s
over. Now the Salle Ste. Cecile fills up with delegates
from France and Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Spain
and Greece, from England and America, to make talk
instead of war. Talk and more talk, speeches on behalf
of Peace and Truth, as the hall resounds with applause
and hurrahs. What does the delegate from Athens make
of Mr. Vincent’s English? Will a New Yorker catch
the French subtleties of M. De Girarden? “I can’t
understand a word,” says someone, “but is it not
very good?” And what do you think, Elihu, organizer
of this great event? All the grand phrases repeated
in this tongue and another. "Irini," "Friede," "paix" and
"paz" – don’t they all sound like Peace? Victor Hugo
himself gives the farewell message. He speaks of the one
common feeling assembled in the hall. So many languages
hoping to be understood beyond the words. What sound
do eyes and smiles and handshakes make?

Marie, Janet and Tim, thank you for your comments on Saturday.



EMERGING

Pushing forth
knurled fists
of growth, the
emerging of
spring announces
itself through
fresh fiddle-heads;
poking their way
through stony soil.
All of life screams
in unison, the
emergency of
starting anew.
Waking sleeping
cells to the
vibrancy and
blood of Winter's
exit. Only so much
time is allotted to
this precious Spring,
so the plants, bugs,
creatures and humans
all scramble to make time.

~Hannah Gosselin



AUDIBLE SILENCE

Sometimes quietude is a
measurable sound. Solitude,
echo upon echo in the depths
of one's mind. Thousands of
thoughts sing, ricocheting
off one another and gray matter.
Silent whispers of peace fill
the spaces once void; satiable
Spirit voices an audible wish.
If one is still enough, quiet
enough, one can hear; experience
the pleasure of audible silence.

WAIT

Dad whistled for us when we were late for dinner.
We knew when the blast went out, dinner was done,
and so were we. We all had our signals. But wait...

Dad whistled when the brandy and beer
became more than his ulcerated stomach
could bear. Colonel Bogey March was his "theme". But wait...

Dad whistled when his tumorous stomach was
partially removed. The scar ran from his sternum
to below his navel. A constant reminder. But wait...

Dad whistled for the dogs when they ran amok
around the neighborhood. Somehow we knew
the difference between our whistle, and the dog's. But wait...

Dad whistled when we all came together
to care for him in his last dying days.
Relief in a single drawn out note. But wait...

on the day Dad died, there was no whistle, no wait,
only his eyes locked in a vacant stare,
and the sound of a drawn out exhale.

Noise

I'd choose noise any day over silent.
Give me the noise of people talking
television blaring, radio squawking,
dogs barking, children playing,
baby crying, anything rather than
total stillness, which makes me feel
crazy inside, except sometimes
in the early morning hours when I sit
with my cup of coffee and attend to
my computer savoring my time of
reflection, contemplation before
the busy day begins.

Tim, very true. :)

Okay, I am astounded, you guys ALL rock! Such distinct images, such portrayals with individuality. Excellence one and All, thanks for the great reading material tonight.

See you all tomorrow, smiles!

Talent abounds! A few that stood out to me, all for different reasons…

Salvatore: If only the powers that be “got it.”
Jane Eamon: Coming from a family of drummers, I absolutely relate.
Banana, Daniel, and Melanie: Tinnitus sounds like a horrible ailment (pardon the pun). I had no idea.
Shelly: We were both thinking along the same lines today. I wrote of the sound of loneliness as well. I’m thankful to have never experienced true loneliness. It seems an intolerable existence.
Michelle H.: A true story?
Sheila Deeth: Oh my. Extremely well constructed poem that pulled my heart strings.
RJ: Your humor is right up my alley, as usual, but Fractional Sound is just incredible.
Laurie k.: That breaks my heart. I hope it is fictional.
Megan: You Speak is absolutely priceless.
Joseph Harker: Such talent.
Janet: Love “Changing Sound.”
Nancy Posey: Extraordinary piece. Wow.
Mary R.: Beautifully written.
Patricia Hawkenson: Outstanding.
Sammy: I love your final line.
Taylor Graham: Excellent, as always.
Hannah: Audible Silence is absolutely excellent.
Walt: You caused quite a stir around here this morning! How fun! Just like RJ, your humor is always right up my alley. Or across my lake. Misery is absolutely outstanding, and a great reminder, with an exceptional final line. Thank you.

I just caught "Wait" while I was trying to post. Walt, I can only imagine. Sometimes I think about what it will be like, and I have to stop myself before I become too emotional. Bless you, Walt.


Thanks to Pearl, Tim, Janet, and Patricia PM27. Your kind thoughts mean a lot to me, as always.

When I am alone,
And certain no one can hear,
I like to sing jazz.


Huh. I wonder why a "noise" prompt made me think of this.

Smiles right back at ya, Sweet Hannah!

This Party

A cacophony of feeling in this room,
cascading waves of what no one says
smashes us all against square wall,
invisible elephants not far behind,
trumpet in everyone's mind, oh yes,
screaming, shouting disappointments
and needs under the rippling surface
of cocktail conversation with canapes
served on brittle-bright, blank white plates.

Janet, Chev, Patricia PM 27, Lorraine -- sounds like we've started a Cacophony Admiration Society!

Maria Elena,

Sorry to say "the powers that be" won't ever get the message war is a no-win situation until they begin using their powers for the good of humankind.

“Hey, man, is that ‘Freedom Rock’?”
“Yeah, man!” “Well, turn it up, man!”
“You never heard the sky talk
like this before, bro!” “I can
hear the world singing, dude!” “Fuck,

listen to the groovy ground
jam, man! And the colors, yo!”
“It’s too much, bro! I’m freakin’!”
“Be cool, man! This sweet flowing
sound is all here for you, Jack.”

“Can I tell you something, bro?”
“Shoot, man.” “Dude, I tell you true,
I never knew where to go
for this music that flows through
everything.” “I understand.

Freedom Rock has it all. You
should get Freedom Rock, too, man.”


DA

Again, I am astounded by your fine writing, and moved beyond words. Hugh

THE SOUND OF ALONE

Twitter of invisible birds in the brush
and the tops of trees. More laughter
than twitter. “What are you doing here,
human? Where did you go wrong?”

Drone of a plane passing overhead
way up high, out of sight, full of people
talking, you can imagine what they’re
saying, “Silly flatlander, to be lost.”

Can you hear the nearest highway
when you don’t know what direction
to walk? It’s calling, singing those
taunting on-the-road-again songs.

Here are no human voices, no radio,
no tires on gravel. Only insect whine.
It sounds like “Live this short day
in the sun. Tonight you will freeze.”

The loudest thing you hear has no
voice at all. It’s the blood that’s
running rabbit trails in your own
ears. Such a deafening silence.

"BOOM" DOES IT FOR ME

Was it Poe's tintinnabulation
or another fabrication
that has held me in the throes
of highest devotion

to a certain bold type of sweet rhyme
that makes me want to spend more time
lost amongst the hot pages
of profoundest sublime?

Or was it the Munchkins' ding-dong knell
singing and trying to be a bell
as if pealing out the death
of Hated West Witch hell?

Maybe it's just what you do to me.
When you hold me tight, I can't see,
but I sure can hear the sound
of love that's been set free.


W

I gotta say - this month being one of not-enough time, taking FIFTEEN tries to get my submission just about did the effort in for me!!! And NOW I SEE I have NOT rc'd a CODE to even enter THIS little diatribe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

W

* Try #4
* #5

Sounds of 9/11

Beep! Beep!
drivers lean on horns
traffic at a stop
bus at mouth of dark
entrance to tunnel.

Zoom! Zoom!
airplanes heading
straight for towers
tall and pale in
brilliant sunlight.

Boom! Boom!
crash, fire, coal black
and orange jets
flaming, flowing,
as we stare, helpless.

Nooo! Nooo!
shrieks of disbelief,
sight of buildings
crumbling like toy
blocks, bodies falling
from a September sky.

Within Temptation
blares
Nine Inch Nails
will follow
Lincoln Park
pounds
as I bounce around my room
between writing.

My characters grow
And expand with the
Loud explosions of music
Without it nothing happens
I feel alone and the words
Just won’t appear.
Pirates of the Caribbean finishes my night.
I smile and type, The End.

EVENING AT HOME

Cacadas call for their mates
in a deafening chorus
in summer heat.

Refrigerator hums.
Icemaker dumps another load.
Dishwasher swishes.

Husband sings a quiet tune
as he carefully measures,
hammers nails to hang pictures.

I flip pages of a magazine
as I eyeball husband’s progress.
All’s right with the world.

The Noise

Ah, the noise, noise noise.
I know I said I was cool with it.
I know I said I had changed.
But my God, the noise.
How can they stand the thumping?
How can they stand the bumping?
What about the toot tooting?
What about root rooting?
And then there’s that damn song.
Seriously, who came up with that?
It makes the Osmonds sound like Ozzie.
That’s all I can stand.
I’m taking my dog and going home.
Whoville can kiss my hairy, green ass.

Noise

Walk noisy sidewalks
Ears covered by your hands
No conversation

Noisy Therapy

In my solitude
I imagine perfection
coming from this
cracking and straining
voice

as I pound the
keys into chunky chords
and try to remember lyrics,
I give a performance
worthy of the greatest
concert halls or piano bars.

I’ve one fan
enjoying this moment:
Laurie
the white cat who is
deaf in one ear
who sits in my lap
looking up at me
purring with adoration.

Losing myself in this
noisy therapy
I become all the composers
I ever envied,
and I add my name to
those in the
Great American Songbook:

Richard Rodgers
George Gershwin
Harold Arlen
Johnny Mercer
Jimmy Webb
Burt Bacharach
Buddah Moskowitz

and to my tin ear
it doesn’t sound
out of place.

<span style="font-style:italic;">For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem filled with noise. Or, at least, it should involve noise. There's all manner of noise you could write about: traffic, celebration, panic, nature, etc. You could even write about the space between noises.
</span>


In the steam room when the steam stops
its histrionic exhaling

there is no sound
the door has vanished
peace
hot
a water drop
my inbreath

someone enters
she is not even a shape
just a vague darkness
she can't see me

it is polite to make a small noise
when you too are not even a shape
but a vague lightness
breathing up there in the corner
without making a sound

breathe out.
shapeless
peace.

oopsie. sorry. strike that.

this one...


In the steam room when the steam stops
its histrionic exhaling
there is no sound
the door has vanished
peace
hot
a water drop
my inbreath
no sound
sweet minutes of nothing
as no one
nowhere.

the door sucks open
someone enters
not even a shape
just a vague darkness
that can't see me

it is polite to make a small noise
when you too are not even a shape
but a vague lightness
breathing up there in the corner
without making a sound

breathe out your drama.
make it heard.
aaaaaaaaaah.
shapeless
present.
peace.

There is no noise underneath
waves of chlorinated blue lapping
against my capsized turn of skin
skimming the surface in sheer
silence of contemplation where
the sound of my thoughts reverb
off black lined concrete walls
teasing my overfilled senses
praying for an echo of sound
to chase away internal screams
that rise from the depths of quietude
a curse of days within the temple
of my mind without consult from
a power vocal enough to chase those
teasing voices back to the cave where
doubt's cacophony builds slowly until
it empties its energy into a storming
sky raining petal music upon my damp
head fresh from the pool of contemplation
where a mile of crawling gets me
no wherebut here, quietly musing to you.

(chlorine blues)

Acrostic Noises


Noise is a clump, clunk, crash, clout.
Or a clatter, clang, clamour, clobber,
I’d rather hear whoosh, whistle, and whisper.
Sound is a hiss, thud, crash, smash, pound, beat.
Echoes of a smack whack, strike, thwack, crack.

Maddening Silence

The silence
is maddening
with clock's ticking
only sound

its arms
like mine
outstretch
to nothingness
stagger
one second to next
join hands with minutes
frolic into hours

tick tock tick tock

hands fall
'n rise again
as does
my chest
waiting,
wanting
any hint
of daylight
to 'mind me
there is life
after death

tick tock tick tock

eerie darkness
strangles in its grip
plays games
with mind
as glowing face
watches, haunts
inner being
with feelings
of doom

tick tock tick tock

lonely cry
echoes into
stillness
of night
insomnia's stare
fixed on
veil of
grimacing stars

November moon
hovers
with blanket
of empty thoughts
snuffing out
all hope
for peaceful
sleep tonight

tick tock tick tock

such maddening silence


November 23rd, 2009
(prompt-noise)
(c) Rose Marie Streeter

Lol Theresa...SUCH a great word...almost like hacking up a hairball!!!

a poem filled with noise

Bang, whoosh, Kapooow!
Crack, wheeeee!, Kerrang!
Tak-a-tak-a-tak, bing bong
Beep beep, boing, Ouch
Oh-oh, bop, waaaaaaah!

PARTY INVITATION
Happy birthday to Sally Jadlow (11/24) and Patricia Hawkenson (11/25)!

Hand out the noise makers,
Pass out the cake,
Put on your party hats,
All, come partake!
Happy Birthday, ladies!
Now, let’s party on!
Patricia’s is tomorrow …
So, whoop it up ‘til dawn!

LOL, J.A. Jensen!

Muted

Sitting here, louvers open
I can hear our neighbour cough
frogs croak, bats scrabbling in the trees.
Over there shut the door
and the world is shut out
shut the kitchen door
and the kids are muted,
classical music on the radio
while you cook
the chance for conversation.

Thank you, Marie!
I appreciate your poem and birthday wishes! It is a nice start to the day.

The Mouse in the House

Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Was sleeping late, ignoring his easel
In the Lakes he’d painted enough
And now he had to sell the stuff
Now from his slumber he was stirred
Not by the gentle twitter of birds
But by a crash and bang so loud
It caused him to leap from under his shroud
He fell on the floor and bumped his bonce
And then ran down the stairs at once
He wanted to find the nasty noise-maker
Who had just set off the cocktail maker
The whirring was setting his teeth on edge
When suddenly he was hit by a wedge
Of low-flying cheddar propelled through the air
Which caught him on the jaw fully square
He turned and roared at the little cheese flinger
Who was impersonating an opera singer
Screeching and wailing to shake the house
The culprit was Enrique, Bart’s pet mouse
Quiet down you pesky little squeaker
Who now sounded like a broken loudspeaker
Groaning and grinding and rolling around
All over the floor making such a sound
The like of which had never been heard
At least not by Bart, I’ll give you my word
Hush now, Enrique, what’s this to do
Is there something the matter with you?
Ayee! Screamed the mouse I’ll tell the truth
A terrible pain plagues my back tooth
I’ve got just the thing for toothache my lad
Now come over here and don’t look so sad
And whatever you do please scream no more
But the mouse just moaned and rolled on the floor
Bartholomew crushed a little white pill
That served him well when he felt ill
It treated headaches and pain and moreover
Was the perfect repair for a bad hangover
He added the grains to a thimble of rum
And told Enrique to have at least some
The mouse best did his best to down the draught
And at the sight Bart could have laughed
But he cared dearly for his small friend
And had to bring his pain to an end
He told the mouse to stand half bent
And when the creature over had lent
Bart took a swing with his left hind leg
And out flew the troublesome toothy-peg
The mouse screamed and rolled on the floor
But had to admit that pain was no more
Old Bart was a weasel brilliant indeed
For with him no dentist you’ll ever need
Enrique felt grateful but at the same time sore
As he clutched a paw to his aching jaw
That weasel certainly has a fine boot
He’d knocked out the tooth down to the root
The mouse was recovering and felt now aggrieved
And thought it was revenge of which he had need
So he jumped in the air and bit Bart’s chin
Which caused the weasel to twist and spin
The mouse hung on and when he let go
He crashed against the open window
One inch lower and he’d have fallen
Into the street and they’d have been callin’
For an ambulance or undertaker
To cart him off in an old bone shaker
But lucky for him he lived still
And surprisingly Bart bore him no ill
But next time said Enrique instead of a kick
Get me the doctor when I’m feeling sick!


Iain

Can I whoop it up past dawn, given my sleep issues and all that? Happy Birthday Sally and Patricia (The Word Hawk!)

A HARD DAY’S NIGHT

Curse you, damn insomnia,
I couldn’t feel much crappier
if my life were any sappier.
But at night when day has beaten me
and my body’s got the best of me,
I’ll sit before my wide-screen TV
and nod and doze before I know it,
stuck in a deep snooze, catnap,
perpetual sleep trap, stop gap
slumber, sawing lumber
in twenty minute packets,
don’t think I could hack it,
for it goes to my core,
like I’ve noted before,
I’ve become quite the bore
and I can’t take any more,
because when it rains, it pours.
But there is consistency at my door.
No matter where, bed or floor,
I will always loudly snore.
With indiscriminate forsaking,
I will always be waking
up the wife and the girls,
and the neighbor three doors down.
Air-traffic control picks me up in the tower.
I can sleep in the shower, but my snoring
rebounds the sound off the tile.
I’m losing my smile and the bags
under my eyes, no surprise, are so heavy,
I need a porter to lug them, or a bevy
of Ukrainian “beauties” to wrestle them
into submission. Permission to catch
forty winks, Sir? Great.
I’ll be back in eight.
Or nine. Don’t mind if I sleep in late,
I have a lot in store,
but then I start to snore
and I Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
<snort> <cough> Hmmm? …I’m up, I’m up.

"Surfacing"

Sawing, creaking, crash
screaming birds fill the
sky with beating, beating
wings. A black sky of birds.
Jagged roars of chainsaws divide
what was proud
what was old
what was alive.
A tiny shoot
appears
on the dark surface of
the world to be
kissed by the sun.

Heartbeat

Beginning with the throbbing of a drum -
so quiet a pulse that no one knows it’s there -
beat by beat the pounding pulses thrum;
the body builds until she is aware.

So quiet a pulse that no one knows it’s there
except the one who carries near her heart
the body, built until she is aware
that other people too must play their part.

Except the one who carries near her heart
the growing child, nobody can repeat
(though other people too must play their part)
the language of the heart, its welcome beat.

The growing child nobody can repeat
hears just the mighty throbbing of a drum,
the language of the heart, its welcome beat;
beat by beat the pounding pulses thrum.

Jenny Doughty

A TYPICAL GEOMETRY CLASS

The bell rings.
"Miss! I need a pencil!"
"Take the earbuds out!"
"It ain't on. I'm
just saying."

"Ssshhh." "Me? I ain't talkin'!"
"Lips moved, sound came out."
"I ain't talkin' to
YOU. Chivon!
You go to Homecoming?"

"What kind of angles
are these?" "Acute?"
"What he say
to you? Go fight him!" "Ssshhh."
"Supplementary

angles add to
one-eighty."
"Hey Brittany, nice shoes!"
"Sssshhh." "MISS!!! Stop! That is
SO annoying."

"Angel, sit
down! Congruent angles
have the same measure."
"He threw something!"
The bell rings.

... I was determined to write a new poem for each day. No recycling. This was hard because I wrote what I consider my definitive poem about noise called "Silence for a 10-Count", but as I taught all day yesterday, another one came to me. <-;

Hmmm . . . this is less about noise, and more about the absence of it, I guess, but here goes:

Astronomer


It comes to you
in a moment of quiet
contemplation, in the solid
silent complete
absence of
sound

Focused
on mystical
blue-green orb,
hung like an ornament
in infinite black tapestry
you come to understand
we are, all of us,
guests in the
Garden of
Eden

Metaphysics 101


Noise of dust
falling through the air.
Noise of air
falling through centuries.
Noise of time itself
creaking along, eons
of past, mere moments
of present. The future?
Time may not even exist.
If it does, it may be
a dream’s whisper
or a nightmare’s scream.

The Journey: Day Twenty-Three: a poem filled with noise, or involving noise


Sometimes, at night, she has to ask
the voices to please let her sleep,
that they mustn’t keep her awake
as they have the last two nights.

Sometimes, at night, she has visions,
sees a vague shadow linger
near a dresser, hover by the curtain
that hangs between dreams and insanity.

Sometimes, at night, she listens,
tries to decipher the strange language
of ghosts, to unravel the native tongue
of spirit and stories beyond, or past.

Sometimes, at night, she considers
the invitation of apparitions,
wonders what brilliance she might know
if she released the curtain, a transmuted woman
conversing in tongues, sometimes, at night.

Card room, deck twelve.
Chinese people
playing Mah-Jong.
Pleasant background
twitter of bird-
like harmony,
'til the game ends.
Clatter of tiles-
sudden thunder,
trays of glasses
hitting concrete,
ear killing
commotion jars
the peaceful ocean.
Feet find the door.

The Cough

So noisy inside.
Lungs once filled with
Clean air now
Overwhelmed with
Gurgling, sore
From coughing
But still trying to
Breathe.
Unable to waste
Energy on speaking,
The voice falls silent.
Priority no longer
Words or stories.
No, must focus on
Being still and quiet
Because it’s just
So noisy inside.

When the Shit Hits the Fan

do you know scared I get
when sirens go
down the street?
the words you said
rattle in my head
like a snake
sneaky
slithery
ready to strike and
‘pow’
you lash out
empty threats
manipulation
you bite
OUCH
it hurts
you fire
please don’t
do
this
to
me

laurie k.

The Loud Town

All sirens lack an off switch.
Arguments tumble out of bars
after last call. They shout and stumble
home to their cages, lulled by the lullaby
of dog-song. The few that read lips work
at the general store, the post office,
and the bank. They get the best jobs,
but no one complains. No tulips
or daffodils survive in window boxes,
their ears too delicate. Only succulents
can take the din, low to the ground as foxes.
At Cacophony Hospital, nurses pass out
baskets of mini-earplugs for newborns.
Not one new mother takes them, lovers
of the soul-expanding red sound of home.

Day 23 the noise

Endless night noises age me
The dogs bark all night
The train barrows through into my dreams
Honking its horn
I imagine the conductor gets a sick thrill
Of sounding his horn at two a.m. passing through
A densely populated neighborhood
With sleeping children
and napping parents,
no good parent really sleeps at night
without having one ear open for any tragedy
which might occur,
a child awakes screaming
from the terror of midnight monsters.
Yet it is only the conductor grabbing hold of the chain
which sounds the alarm of his arrival
And pulls until he is sure everyone
In our small town is awake
Each night I curse his perverse sense of humor
And threaten to write a letter to the Mayor.
In the wee hours of the morning
I lie awake watching
the bedside clock tick, tick, ticks the second of my life away

Night noises

After summer has packed and left with all
Its constant chatter, we in the country relax.
By the time the Harvest Moon has risen
Everything has quieted down. That’s the
Time to step away from your TV and all
Electronics. Close the door and walk into
The yard. The crickets and their kin have
All fallen victim to the frost. But you are
Not alone. Somewhere, someone has a
Question. Not loud, not quarrelsome. Just
A faint repeating of who, who, who. Will
There be an answer - no, just some other
Bird wondering the same thing. Who? Who?

NOISE

What's that cacophony?
Ah yes,
it's Walt Wojtanik
leaning out the window
cursecursing
those chirpchirping birds
chirpity SPLAT
then
blessed silence
as Walt grins
and puts away
his trusty slingshot
before turning back to his computer
taptapping
poetry that inspires.

Resonance


She hears
something go
bumpbump
bump in the night.

Gasps.
Realizes it’s
her own heartbeat.
BUMbumBUMbumBUMbum

Listens
finally really truly
for once
listens

to its sound
advice.

Tongue Tied
Words tumbled from my tongue
Why the hell did I say what I did
I wanted to take it all back
and in an instant i heard the fear
of my own heartbeat grow louder
a drum
deep and steady, pounding against my chest, i was sure you could see it move
maybe it would rip through my skin
I felt my pulse begin to race and I wanted to say i didn't mean it
but i was tongue tied
my lips made not a noise
No words could come out
All i had was that look in your eyes, and the unbearable sound of your silence.
there was only silence

Everybody Says I’M Crazy

I lean on crutches outside the great library,
slouching in the rain, shoulders hunched,
my hair unkempt, holding my notebook
in my hand, and waving it in the faces of all who pass.

“Do you wonder why I stand here in the rain?”
I howl at people walking in and out the massive doors.
They look away, afraid of my harsh gaze.

“Look at me,” I cry. “I am a poet,
and I write of wars in which my comrades died.
Our entire world has grown insane.”

I heave my manuscript into the air
and hundreds of my leaves escape,
the words all smeared to ink tears by the rain.

Noise

vibrated air
a breeze shaped by lips and tongue
once heard - I love you

Noise
(In Three Parts)

Part One

I sat down with my guitar
I tried to write a song.
All that came out was noise.

I thought I'd do some tunning
Tuned the box real good.
All that came out was noise.

I sat down and I changed
The words I sang with the tune.
All that came out was noise.

I thought I'd change the key
I went stealthily from D to G.
All that came out was noise.

Part Two

All that came out was noise.
All that came out was noise.
I worked real hard and sung real loud,
But all that came out was noise.

Part Three

John Cage prepared his piano.
He replaced tones with pops and fizz.
When someone asked him about noise,
He said, "That's all there is!".

November 24, 2009

Supper

Supper is full of noise. The
sharp staccato of celery being
chopped. Forks and knives
rattle against each other like
bells with broken clappers.
Grandpa grunts as he tries to
get out of his chair.

In the middle of
everything slouches
a whistling boy. Sneaker
toes tap linoleum. Sigh. A
pencil clucks and whispers across
the paper. Sigh. Pencil
becomes drum stick until
the song ends. Sigh.

Platters stomp and
tromp on the table. Glasses
fill with water. Chairs
pull out. A rushed
prayer. The rip of
crusty bread. Everyone
speaks at once.

23 NOISE

There’s nothing like the sound
Of a baby’s quiet breathing
Trusting you’ll protect her
While she sleeps

There’s nothing prettier in the morning
Than a songbird’s cheerful trill
Calling through the sunshine
In his leafy wood

There’s nothing sweeter in the night
Than the mating cricket tweets
Telling you it’s summertime
From the newly grown grass

There’s nothing heavier than the peace
Enfolding you in silence
From the depths of the little church
While you pray

Noise

Feeling the warm breeze,
Hearing the evening cricket,
Smelling the fragrant primrose,
Seeing the gathering dusk,
Breathing easily with careful attention,
I relax into meditation.
It is then that the noises begin to be heard;
Thoughts rise in my mind and distract my spirit
Carrying it into imaginary conflicts.
Feeling the cold emotions,
Hearing the scolding admonitions,
Reliving repugnant experience,
breathing in shallow pants,
I sink back from reality.
I catch myself and refocus on my breath,
catching a moment of Nirvana
In between involuntary flights into attachment.

One Good Thing About Winter

Axes thwacking
Oxen bawling
Horses neighing
Skeeters buzzing

Harness creaking
Wagons squeaking
Children squealing
Skeeters buzzing

Boots squishing
Boys hollering
Saws scraping
Skeeters buzzing

Timber crashing
Runners scraping
Cutters crisping
Skeeters silent

One good thing
about winter
for the settlers
in northern Sask

What is the sound of love?
You could make some pretty graphic
comparisons to drains, to hammering,
to a liposuction proceedure
noise is not romantic.
But love is the sound of sobs
and a rhythmic pat
the sound of silence and
soft breathing not always
heavy and panting
love sounds angry sometimes
because it wants so much
love begs because so often
it can't have it
love whimpers because
it thinks this is the end
and then after a long
noiseless
wait
it starts up again
like the wildest Rube Goldberg
machine ever invented
and who could ever
come up with such a thing?

Noise Without End

They hear the sounds all around
Sleeping in a doorway leaves little choice
Feeling lucky, when an empty one is found
They’d complain, but they have no voice

It’s not that they cannot speak
it’s just that no one cares enough to listen
they’re not just homeless, but weak
from the lack of comforts, passers by, aren’t’ missin’

They pass by, go to a warm home
Eat a nice meal
Watch TV, with someone or alone
never realizing, how others might feel

Sometimes, we pass the same person
Lying on the same bench
Never realizing, how much their lives can worsen
while trying to avoid the stench

It’s really a crime
against humanity
happening all of the time
while we go with our lives’ blindly

but, stop to think
we too are not so far from being just as down on our luck
Sure they stink
it’s hard to find a shower, when you don’t even have a buck. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 25, 2009, Noise poem.

Noise prompt

Clank and sputter,
towards the finish line I
travel. Creak of wheels.
Rasp of air. Clink of gears. Break
me down mechanically.

The White Noise of Home

Get off my bed. (… the fire continues…)
Get it yourself. Say when. (… a man sues…)

Mom, she won’t stop. Aren’t you going to track?
Beef stew. Will you move your backpack!

They’re clean. (… 60% contained…) No.
What did you do! I’m reading. It’s just a cold.

Her mom’s driving. It’s for you. Maybe.
Give it back. (… the settlement…) Wait and see.

Footlocker’s cheaper. Use the footstool.
Whose books are these? Carter’s a fool.

(… industrial’s are up…) Where’s the CD?
You need your sleep. Can’t now, I’m busy.

I didn’t tell her. It just broke. Sorry.
No more TV. Come and see this. I agree.

MacGyver’s on. I’m sitting there. It’s over there.
Careful, it’s hot. What’s going on in here!

I’m fat. Do I look fat? Listen to me. Yeah, right.
Tomorrow? Okay, I’ll help you with it. Goodnight!

:Yearning for the muted earth:

For a moment I am tone deaf—
to the ring, the strike of time, the cry of babes,
the distant ding. Then the world erupts, a chorus roar.
It is the bang that echoes through my ears, cracks
my walls. The resonate bellow of all of sound clashing
with the melody of my own pulse. I miss the rhythmic
hush of the night, lost with the dong, the clamor of a day
without cadence. Maybe I can beat myself back to the quiet,
disembogue my mind from the chimes, distance
my senses from the din of morning’s call.

A small fire and soft
classical music is how
we can fall asleep.

Life of Bat

It's a shame
we bats are mostly misunderstood
we just twitter at a frequency you do not
understand, well above your heads.
We have to get about,
even go out at night
so as not to give you a fright
with our tiny bright razor white sharpies
and little flickering blood-red tongue;
bleh-billeh-billeliddle-labalabaliddle, shriek ha ha ha

It's bad enough relying on echo-back,
once I got stuck in a peroxide trap.
And she positively freaked,
shrieked, way above my radar -
maybe trying to find her way too!
But such a fright, I guanoed myself;
And that didn't help with human relations,
I can tell you.
With our tiny bright razor white sharpies
little flickering blood-red tongue;
bleh-billeh-billeliddle-labalabaliddle, shriek ha ha ha

Down in west Somerset
they've put up a great net
to stop us going low over the motorway.
It's caused a large fracas
with someone called Ratepayas
and is an indulgence I must say.
But we are not ones to complain
though to deviate can bring pain
and if not careful to bring up the undercarriage, that batnet can wet our ayeeeease...
but saves on the tiring chase for moths, grasshoppers and butterflyeeeease...
With our tiny bright razor white sharpies
little flickering blood-red tongue;
bleh-billeh-billeliddle-labalabaliddle, shriek ha ha ha

Inuwan’s Song
By: Meena rose

She stood
At the edge
Of the encampment.

She raised her voice
And shrieked.

He turned around
Mesmerized by
The sight and
The sound
Of the Savage Woman.

Other’s around him
Rushed about looking
For weapons; sure that
An attack was imminent.

He listened some more
Beyond the shouts of his
Men.

He could hear anger;
He could hear confusion;
He could hear her rage.

He yelled and
Ordered his men
To stand down,
To back away.

He gently calmed
His mare who was
Alarmed by
The behavior of
His men.

She watched him,
The disrespectful one,
As he soothed those
Around him.

She sensed the respect
For this man from the other men.
She sensed the respect
For this man from the mare.
That told her much.

She altered her voice;
Softened it as best she could;
The dry desert can rob anyone
Of their gift of voice.

She had to explain;
She needed water;
She had to explain;
She had gone foraging
For food while they came.

She did not mind sharing
The Hearth with these
Colorless men.

The desert had
Other plans for her.
Between one verse
And the next, she
Lost her voice.

Ashamed of what had befallen her;
She collapsed;
She, the tribe’s Singer, had
Just lost her voice.

He rushed to her
As her body crumbled
To the ground.

He cradled her
And held her tight;
Willing the knowledge that
He will take care of her
Permeate the woman’s
Consciousness.

He had never seen such
Beauty covered in sand;
Bodily strength tempered with fragility;
Passion and fight.

He offered her a sip
From his water canteen.

When that drop of water
Touched her parched lips,
She understood that her
Journey had just begun.

A Cacophony of Children

My hearing is going, just a bit so I’m told
I guess it should be no big surprise
I dig heavy metal and play it dead loud
The sound makes me happy and bold

How can you work, ask my friends, or hold a thought
Well it's the quietness I find distracting
But give me a school-bus filled up with kids
I’ll give you books written, a thesis, the lot.

Family Cacophony

My mother’s voice as she welcomes me
Home the day after thanksgiving, the feel of
Her in my arms as I hug her and tell her Happy
Thanksgiving and she says it right back. The
Sound of crisp brown leaves crunching under
My shoes as I walk next door to my brother’
And sister in law’s home.

The feel of each one that I embrace and the words
Spoken as I see each one of this family I adore.
My nieces all grown up with families of their own
And grown up conversations happening when I still
Sometimes expect their child voices to come from them.
I love you spoken and taken in to my core.

The smells waft throughout the house and outdoors
Amidst the chatter of human and birds, kids and dogs
All at play, all proclaiming the significance of this day.
The click of the camera as I try to capture bits and pieces
Of this scene and I grab my niece for a close up as we
Laugh at photos I click of our shoes or just one face.

My sister in law is in the kitchen and our eyes meet
In the knowing of this happy scene and what it means
She of like mind and dreams as I. She is surrounded
By her three daughters engaged in a flurry of motion
And easy talk. All with their tasks are there at hand
Mixing, whipping, pouring, and stirring the Thanksgiving
Feast. They make light work of the huge work of art they
Present in bowls and casseroles and steamy pots.

The men are gathered round a huge cooker filled with
Turkey, the golden brown skins glistening in the sun.
They joke and talk about things I don’t take in, I’m too
Enamored in the camaraderie and jovial sound among
The men of this family as beer bottles clink and stories flow.

A cacophony of voices buzzes in the background
As we eat the grand meal and catch up, all talking
At once sometimes in a rhythm you can feel
Closer conversations come in more clearly
Seven year old Hudson tells me a joke
About turkeys and little brother Harrison’s
Laughter chimes in with full gusto.
My niece shows me her engagement ring
And the light in her eyes out sparkles any diamond.
My brother is at the table, the one who we almost
Lost to cancer this year. He looks good, though weak
And I keep sneaking peaks to make sure of him.

Groans and moans and full bellies moved from the table
As we move around enough to make room for the desserts.
My brother throws the football to my nephews. I hear
Them yell, “Watch Aunt Judy” as the ball falls into their
Hands and they beat their grandpa to the tree for
a “touch down!” and the laughter rings out with the
Back slaps and congratulatory shouts.
Within distance of these sounds, this place in
Prosperity, South Carolina where family noises
Are free and clear and I am in a state of Thanksgiving.

I know the meter needs some tweaking, but here it is, finally:


God of Noise

Mornings, you wake us up like a trumpet;
you’re steak and eggs to our tea and crumpet.
You enter a room as if walking onstage,
the decibel level goes right off the gauge.
You sing and you whistle, you joke and you shout,
sling your pack on your shoulder, slam the door going out
to face the school day and its many distractions,
where you don’t always get the most helpful reactions
to a style some people think is over the top;
with your momentum, it’s sometimes hard to stop.
But you’re always upbeat, on the lookout for fun,
and your energy level could power the sun.
So if I seem impatient and annoyed with your din,
Please know it’s not for any lack of love within.
You’re so much different from all our other boys,
So bless you and keep you, our young god of noise.

The lowing of cows
And cawing of crows
The roar of lions
Or meow of a calico

Songs of whales
Growing bears of black
Chirps of crickets and birds
A howling wolf pack

All part of nature’s symphony

Bulldozers rumbling
Bellows and toots from fishing boats
Rifles and shotguns popping
Noise that destroys the symphony and hope

Interference

Here's a confession:
this morning when you were talking
in that annoying tone
which makes me feel
like one of your less-gifted students,
when you were saying
(probably)

I don't really understand why
Could you possibly just for once manage to

all I heard was noise
from yesterday afternoon when you were in class
and I was in the bedroom
listening to pillow talk,
the rustle of sheets
in sweet unquiet conversation.

Trombone practice

Windows rattle
Floorboards warp
Paint peels

Mom, Dad, Sis,
Even my dog
Leave the room

The sad truth --
I should have
Played the drums

NOISE

The Coast of Maine

I know this place—
the coast of Maine
on an idle morning.
A small quiet cove
where the ocean is blue
but very still
only the tide changes
rumbling its way in or out.
Around sealwet rocks a dark stony
hiss and the murmur as swells surge
in and out on the sandy shore.
At noon, the glare and cry of
seabirds—Clear sky blue
and no shadows, only the sound
of my own breath--in and out

Uhmlanga

Tens of thousands of young girls gather
each year to pay homage to the Queen Mother.
Collecting reeds, they parade into the Royal compound
like migrating geese, the sound of their chanting
seems far off, but gradually it crescendos
as they stomp, stamp and swirl, voices singing
ancient songs from the four corners of the kingdom.

NOISE IS BEAUTIFUL

In my younger days and years,
I used to volunteer a lot;
I acted as an aide in a classroom,
wiping the hands of little tots.

I also used to volunteer my time
showing Girl Scouts how to camp;
walking two by two in a line;
hiking, cooking, making fire.

Another volunteer job of mine
was Sunday School and Bible stories;
singing songs and playing games,
and teaching how to have no worries.

I never knew how much I would miss
the noise that little girls make;
the giggling and the chattering,
until my sanity they take.

Now, looking back at those glorious days
makes me walk down memory lane;
all the fun, hugs and kisses;
bring back all that noise again.

Noise

The absence of it
in my wood rocker outside
in the night is best.

SAFE HARBOR

If ever your sweet lilting thrum
is threatened by cacophony
whose daggers tempt you to succumb,
a victim to its roiling sea,
suppress your fear, cast off your pride
and share your pain with me.
For you my arms are open wide,
my purpose plain to see:
safe harbor for your wounded soul,
suspension of your disbelief.
When life exacts a hefty toll,
I offer solace and relief.
Let comfort guide you to release
the roadblocks to your harmony
and be a beacon to your peace;
together we're a symphony.