::::::::::
in stillness...in what appears to be quiet
so many things take place...
there's buzzing, hearts are pounding,
faraway drums beating, like thunder, blaring,
in a soundlessness that reverberates,
:::::
       no one can tell when dewdrops fall
      not a sound permeates the air
      they have long been nourishing,
      moistening the grass of the earth, yet,
      no one hears, no one sees, how, or when...

       the leafholder, without a fiber of speed
       in its body....devours a whole leaf,
       there is no chewing, or munching heard
       even when watched, it gives no sounds.
:::::
my purple dendrobium proudly
shows new flower buds with such calm,
from the base of the cattleya orchid, young
green roots take a grasp on the driftwood.
how, or when these took place,
i really didn't hear, or notice.
:::::
      on the street, a humble, lightweight
      house spider, with less than eight legs
       suddenly moved....like tumbleweeds,
       rolling with the blowing of a gusty wind,
       a crawling see-through ball,  entangling
       fallen strands and tiny strips of street dirt,
       i almost stepped on it,
       i didn't notice....i didn't hear...

      the faucet leaks...pail is nearly filled
      there's a gap of many seconds, before
      each drop falls and touches the surface
      of the rising water...too long....most often
      too late....when heard, and noticed...
:::::
so many babies...young children disappear, they
pass away...adults die from many unacceptable
causes......some self-inflicted...some make it normal
an entry into statistics....read, heard, with passing winds...
:::::
we live in this noisiest of planets
every nook, every part, occupied
yet, significant parts of this world....of our life
remain unheard...........unnoticed.

      "i look....but i don't see...
        i listen.....but i don't hear."



Sally

Copyright October 28, 2017
rrab

Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.

Good, and so you ought.

Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.

Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.

You, yes, you:

Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…

A box of lies...

A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.

The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.

we've had an assortment of
weather
four seasons converging
together
whence I awoke there
was a coolish
nip
with associated cloud
like winter's
grip
by noon I dressed
in a light
blouse
for the air felt similar
to a summer
rouse
late eve bought
an autumn
feel
south east winds
blew upon my worn
keel
as night approaches
the true spring
lilt
is dancing around
my trunk's
silt

will be interesting to see
what's on tomorrow's
isotherms
as the climes vary in their
statement of
terms

Pick me, pick me
Said the little poem from the back
It has been in the line so long
Longing to be read

It knows that it is special
You can see it in its rhyme
It just needs someone to read it
Spare a few minutes of their time

It tries its best not to sound desperate
As no one likes a whiny poem
Also knows some poems are more meaningful
And just wants to get along

It wasn't written by a famous poet
Like Dickinson or Walcott
But does it matter whose hand the pen is in
When you're jotting down your thoughts

As it now stands it'll stay in back
Waiting for the opportunity
To attract someone to take a chance
And give this little poem its read

I met a man with a bean moustache
All I could think of saying was Gosh!
You have got a bean moustache
Then he grew a green bean beard
Which everyone thought was very weird
But can you guess, he didn't stop there
Next he grew asparagus hair;
With compost in his cauliflower ears
He grew potatoes for years and years;
Out of his pockets sprouted leaves
And strawberry plants grew in his sleeves
Then much to even his surprise
His brain turned to cabbage,
Which sadly led to his rapid demise

star, sapphire of the water,
sapphire of love,

the moon, throws
off her jacket,
bares her flesh in the
autumn rain,

leaves melt to the
floor,
streams of gold
and amber
start to blur,

surreal landscape,
mooring rope of golden rain,
as you kiss me
i ***** into
your corners,

unwind like the
night’s sapphire
dew,
mesmerized by
the dark waters of
your touch,

mesmerized by your love.