Silence is soothing.
At the right time and place. There are moments when we just want quiet. When we desire peaceful reflection. Moments of simply wanting to reside in the harbour of ourselves. Silence chosen and embraced is the sweet blissful cocoon of tea for one and a book at midnight. Wrapped in soft blanket on the couch I savour each sip, each word, and wander the paths of imagination.
Silence is bitter.
At 4:30 AM when the world is asleep, and all around is the dead of night. Even the creak of the house long settled into the cold silence of the dark. Silence then is as bitter as black coffee. Espresso doubled down and chugged straight up and hot. I slip out of bed and wander the empty silence of my house. Standing in each cold empty room looking for answers, looking for voices. But it is only the echo of me rambling to myself.
Silence is nothing.
A gap the size of the moon dancing across the skies, slipping over stars and planets. Dancing between streaks of light from comets. Silence is the sputtering of candles defying the dark, defying the rain, defying the wind, defying time. The candles never win, but oh how they burn, oh how they dazzle with bright burning flames. Silence is the gasp in the moment after you and I. As we pull apart and lie side-by-side, side-by-each, alone in the racing of our hearts.
Silence is absence.
Empty spaces in my memory of people who made me laugh. Made me cry. Made me love them. Perhaps they even loved me. At least in silence I can dream and think; believe that once they cared to call my name and longed to hold me near. Silence frees the ghosts of the past to wander through my mind with stories of ‘what if…’ and ‘remember when…’
Silence is sharp.
Razor edged slicing away what needs to be forgotten. Slicing deep and opening wounds we cannot leave alone. Silence is when we are fully ourselves; undistracted, undissolved, undistilled. The raw essence of I fully exposed to the sun and the sky. Bleeding away trickle by tick, droplets of time all bloody and slick. Revealing the truth to a stupid old dick. In silence there is no hiding from regret and sweet guilt.
Silence is golden.
What more is there to say? Silence is needed, and simply embraced. Held close to feel cold reality and warm life still breathing, still beating, still in this frame. Silence speaks loudly – and when we listen closely silence sets us free.
Yesterday’s poem was apparently horrible. Awful. A stink of words gone bad. To those that let me know how truly sucky my sucktatstic poem really was – thank you I appreciate your thoughtful feedback. My apologies for not meeting your expectations. I will keep your critiques of my cadence and pacing in mind as I create other poems for your enjoyment.
Now don’t take that to mean I will actually write poems that you will enjoy – because truthfully you will not enjoy them. Not all poems must rhyme. Not all poems are lyric. Not all poems are about real things said in ways real people might say them. Some poetry is an attempt at using words like colours on a canvas. The words are not meant to have meaning; the words are not meant to mean what you have been taught they mean. Indeed when I use a word it means exactly what I want it to mean.
When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.’
‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master — that’s all.’
In this case the entire point of that last poem was simply a really bad pun that would not leave me alone. It rattled in my brain for a day and a half of silliness and distraction before I finally pinned it to the keyboard and made it squeal. That last poem is funny. Even hilarious in a ribald sort of way. To me.
Apparently I write this stuff for free – and ya know caveat emptor when I carpe diem my quid pro quo.
quod erat demonstrandum via reductio ad absurdum.
Fini et exeunt omnes.
fine disks of
bond by weak attraction
yielding to gravity
into new patterns
new bits and pieces
and every where
layers of star dust
dancing in sunlight
sparkling by moonlight
settling in thin layers
hiding my past in
filthy shades of grey.
there is nothing
which in fact
makes it less
i am aimless and misguided
a tattered map without a star
all crumbled bright and broken
in the gutter by the walkway
slowly tumbling with the wind.