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cory Sep 2019
The noise of the cars,
The noise of the wind
The noise of the water
The noise of the stars
The noise of people
The noise of a mouse
The noise of fingers clicking a keyboard
The noise of the flip of a page
The noise of crickets
The noise of laughter
The noise of crying
The noise of happiness
The noise of sadness
The noise of fear
The noise of whispers
The noise of an old door opening
The noise of the click clack of heels down a hall
The noise of screams
The noise of yells
The noise of abandonment
The noise of a pin falling to the ground
The noise the noise the noise the noise the noise.
Sometimes the noise may be suffocating.
Sometimes the noise can make you feel as if you were floating.
Sometimes you block out the noise.
Sometimes you try to hear the noise when nothing is there.
The noise of i love you.
The noise of i hate you.
The noise of are you okay?
The noise of you'll be okay.
All three of these noises can stur intense sounds.
Whether that be the suffocating sound of sadness.
Or the float-like sound of happiness.
Everything has a sound.
Everything makes noise.
A lot of people are just too deaf to hear it.
What is noisy to you,
That noise may not be noisy to me.

That noise,
That loud noise.
That noise, may be of comfort and soothing to me,
But to you, it is bothering and disrupting you.

That noise,
That soft noise.

That noise, may help you to feel/stay calm,
However, to me, it is irritating, and disturbing me.

That noise,
That pleasant noise.

That noise,
Oh, that noise.

That once was noise to you,
Is no longer noise t/for me.

That noise,
That noise.

Where is that noise coming from?

That noise,
That noise.

How noisy?
Is noisy for you?
Before it gets/becomes,
Too noisy for me?

Or is it just, right?
Kinda noise,
That suite us both?

To sit there,
And enjoy,
It’s full potential/beauty,
Of that noise

That allows us,
To not take,
That noise,
For granted.

That noise,
That noise.

When that noise is there with us,
For playing to us,
To feel, it’s vibes and message.

For us both, to tolerate/find a
balance, and to feel content,
With that noise,

Being there in the background,
Creating that/the ambience,
That it’s intentionally there for.
Playing for:
-You-Me-us and Them.

THAT NOISE,
THAT NOISE.

© By HF-Whisper
14/2/2021 15:06PM
SamBee Jan 2013
White noise - what noise of noise to come
White noise - noise of sound
                        noise of the hours of feeling storms
                                              hours of feeling that noise
                                                              building that noise
                                                              building storms.

White noise of what noise of the storm before
                      of what noise of all that passed
                                                    all that raged
                                                                  raged and rattled.
                                    noise of more than I can bear to scoop up,
                                                                                          to inhale,
                                                                                          to gather,
                                                                                               heard,
                                                                                               hug,
                                                                                               grasp,
                                                                                               swallow,
                                                                                              announce,
                                                                                              hear.
White noise- what noise of noise to come
                        what noise of noise to disappeared.
Thomas Kay Sep 2012
Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise
That's all I hear
Drowning out the choruses
And the sweet melodies
The verses are distorted
And the poetry ignored
I don't see how people get by
With all of this Noise, Noise, Noise
Gigi Tiji Jul 2015
There’s just… all this noise… There’s all this noise and I feel like a tone floating around in some kinda modal stasis. And I just want to change the key but I can never seem to get the voice leading right.

There’s all these other intervals in here with me and we’re all packed in too tight. I’m just a chromatic scale descending into dissonance as I push past clusters of minor seconds.

I feel like I’ve gotta fight to find consonance, but I’m so **** quiet that nobody can harmonize with me. Nobody can even hear me over all this noise all this noise all this noise. This noise when so many sing without listening. This noise of a thousand unheard melodies.

This noise this noise this noise
This noise this noise this noise
Idiong Divine Mar 2020
In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;



Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads


Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.






















In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;



Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads


Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.


In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;

Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads

Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
noise!
noise!
noise!

so much NOISE!

the music plays, my
hands clap too loudly
for the room, even the
sun seems to have
this blanketing static
creeping into my
brain

even as I make it all go away
my mind screams inside of my skull

my hands move fast
just trying to get the noise out
but the tapping of the keys
is just more noise
making me
even more
insane!

noise!
noise!
noise!

so much NOISE!

where is the quiet when you need it?
where is  depression when your veins
pump with adrenaline?
where is the fairness?
where is the justice?

there’s only one question I can answer,
and that’s where the ****** noise is from!
Classy J Sep 2019
I’m Drowning in the noise.
I’m Drowning in the noise.
Tried to drown out my pain,
With things.
But it couldn’t fill the void.
I’m just Drowning in this noise!
I’m Drowning in this noise!
Feels like I’ve been sinking.
Drowning in the ocean of my mind.
No time for me to start breathing.
For I’m stressing about what I could potentially find.
Find out whats behind all these walls,
That I’ve built up inside.
For so long.
Because I wanted to forget,
But there’s just things that I can’t hide.
So, what’s on my mind?
What’s on my heart?
That has put me in a bind.
From the start?
Let’s take a rewind.
Into what I’ve tried to keep dark.
Uh.
I’ve been struggling with my addictions.
Pop a pill just to feel satisfaction.
Drink my fill, numbing kills the depression.
Catch a feel, ****** thrills kills my imagination.
Brain is filled with nothing but wrong intentions.
One wrong move and imma either be in the grave or in an intervention.
One wrong move and imma either be in prison or get more than just a suspension.
I could be taught a million years,
And still won’t learn my lesson.
Lord knows I’ve been drowning in this deception.
But how am I supposed to heal,
When everyone else see’s me as an infection?
Can’t they see that I’m Drowning?
Drowning in this noise.
Drowning in this noise.
Tried to drown out my pain,
With things.
But it couldn’t fill the void.
I’m just Drowning in this noise!
I’m Drowning in this noise!
Feels like I’ve been sinking.
Drowning in the ocean of my mind.
No time for me to start breathing.
For I’m stressing about what I could potentially find.
Find out whats behind all these walls,
That I’ve built up inside.
For so long.
So, tell me what’s on my mind?
Tell me what’s on my heart?
As I’m drowning in this noise,
With my whole world falling apart!
Big Virge Sep 2020
Ya Know....
I Hear A LOT OF NOISE...
From... IGNORANT BOYS... !!!

About Their Toys...
And ALL Their Ploys...

That Make Them THIS... !!!
And Make Them... THAT... !!!

In Fact Some TALK...
So God ****** MUCH... !!!!!
About IGNORANT Stuff...
That I Wish They'd SHUT...
Their... NOISY Gums... !!!

Before I Cause....
A War That LORDS...
Are FORCED To Pay For.... !!!!!

But When I ABSORB...
Much DEEPER Thoughts...

I Choose To Show POISE...
Around Boys Who ANNOY... !!!
And... Girlies TOO... !!!!

Who Make A LOT OF NOISE...
When They're FULL of Youth... !!!!

As If Their... LOOKS...
Will KEEP Man Hooked... ?!?

Even When Their Pretty ***...
... Can't Even COOK... ?!?

I... Hear A LOT of NOISE...
From... Artists TOO... !!!!!!!!!

Who NEED To See That HUMILITY...
Is A... BETTER Place To Be....
Than Trying To Compete...
Every Time Man Speaks...
About... ARTISTRY... !!!

Because That's WEAK...
And PROVES That They NEED...
To... Continually FEED...
...... “ insecurities “...... !!!!

That CLEARLY Make NOISE... !!!
... " Inside Their Minds "... !!!

Because There Is A VOID.....
That They... Just CAN'T Find... ?!?

Where Noise Is Made...
That They NEED To Abate... !!!!!!
Until It's Time To Hit The Stage...

And PROVE To The World  ....
How GREAT They ARE... !!!

When It Comes To Words...
And HIGH QUALITY ART... !!!

It May Sound PERVERSE... !?!

But SILENCE Is A NOISE...
That... CLEARLY HURTS... !!!
And... CLEARLY ANNOYS... !!!!

Those Who... FEEL...
That They NEED To PROVE... !?!

How HARD They Are... !!!
How SMART They Are... !!!
How SHARP They Are... !!!

When They KEEP SHOWING Cards...
That They've Long Since MARKED... !!!!!

Because... SMART Card Sharks...
KNOW... When To MAKE NOISE...
And... When To Show POISE... !!!!!!!

Because.....

Winning ISN'T Everything... !!!
Making Noise Sometimes...
Just Proves IGNORANCE...
And A Need To Be RIGHT... !!!!!

When Being... “ WISE “...
Means You RECOGNISE...
That Noise Like PRIDE...
Are Things That We NEED TO...

Let..... Subside............................ .........

Give Others Their Due... !!!
Even When You LOSE... !!!!!

And SILENCE Then....
Becomes Your FRIEND...

And WISDOM Becomes...
A Dominion And Kingdom...
Where Noise Is USED...
To... ELEVATE You...

To A Place Where FOOLS...
... CAN'T Try To ABUSE...

Or... CLAIM To BE...
Your Superior... SEE...
....... " HUMILITY ".......

Helps You To SEE...
Where It Is You Be...
In Our Human Breed... !!!

One Who LACKS Poise...
When Others ANNOY...
Because Their... “ Ploy “...
Is To Be The HARE...
To Your.... TORTOISE... !!!!

Well The Story SHOWS...
How... THAT Race Goes... !!!

It's Cool To Let FOOLS...
..... TRY TO ABUSE.....

When You KNOW YOUR WORTH...
... NO WORDS Can Hurt... !!!

When You Choose To OBSERVE...
LISTEN.... And Learn.... !!!

And Make The SMART Choice...

To Make... Less...

...... " Noise "......
Sometimes people should simply recognise, when to just keep quiet !
© Big Virge
1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.
Enigmuse Jun 2014
sound and noise-
two chapters of the same book.
Sound: the quiet ripening of music notes over wind, or the fluttering of bird and butterfly wings.
Noise: the static between radio stations, gun fire, weeping.

There would be no such thing as the overlooked if there wasn't anything highlighted, and so I would not be writing about our neglect of sadness unless there were such a thing as happiness.

young love and youth and destruction and dreams are all noise, all left in the shadows of their more bright, elder predecessors.

And we mistaken noise for sound more often than not, which makes the ability to hear a blessing and a curse.

For we mistaken a teen's cries as a sign of teen angst, or a mother's book of rules as a restriction of our lives, and the noise we think is being produced is the music of our lives. Sound isn't beautiful, sound is real. Noise is heard, sound, you feel.

So before you go labeling something as noise, remember what is missing: noise implies that everyone can hear, but no one is listening.
The lost girl Mar 2017
The noise oh the noise there's something in my ears
Or maybe it's in my eyes hiding behind these tears
Your words rip through me like a blade to fresh skin
And nothing I do can stop them they just keep setting in.

The noise oh the noise, there it finally stopped
I just had to drink enough. And there's not a pop
I cannot stand now, but who needs to go when you're finally free
There's Nothing left to listen to, nothing left but sleep

This floor will be enough I suppose, not much else around
But I just can't seem to get comfortable upon this hardened ground.
I hear your footsteps still far away but close enough to fear.
My heart skips a few I need to be sober for when you're near

It's too late as you turn the **** and open up the door
To find me whithered and broken, lying on the floor
You should be calm and pick me up, carry me off to bed
But you never have been calm my dear, instead your ears turn red

The noise oh the noise it's all the  ringing in my ears
The blood and pain of course bringing back the tears
I can stop it with a scream but I won't give you that pleasure
I just hold it all in as you pound me to your leisure

I can go about my day and lie about the bruises
Fearing going home to you with your boozes
Your words are fearful enough bringing me to my knees
And your fists finish me off, completing the defeat

I'm not sure how much I can take day after day
There comes a point in life when it's all you can take
So I run now as far as I can 2,000 miles away
And leave you with no words nothing left to say

The noise oh the noise the constant ringing of this phone
Your simple texts and messages. Where the hell have you gone
I'm done, I'm out, another beep on the line
I'm sorry, I love you, but this is good bye.
There's a noise inside.
No one can hear it.
There's a noise inside.
The outside fears it.

Storms pass through,
No wind in my hair.
The noise inside me,
Smiles turn to stares.

There’s a hide in the seek,
The mind is thinking.
Sailing into space,
Mind is thinking.
How far out will you go?

There's a noise inside, inside,
No one can hear it.
There's a noise inside,
The outside feels it.

Not everyone’s on this frequency,
Some stuck on the dancefloor.
This noise inside me.
Chairs against the door.

Sitting to attention,
Fix your ear upon the wall.
It throws toy monsters,
Some touch,
Others, they fall.

There's a noise inside, inside
There's a noise inside.
1st draft
I hate the dreadful sight of the moonlight,
and wish that it could soon fade away into sunlight.
'Tis all but too coherent-far too lovely and too bright;
such a flaw indeed, to my mood and my womanly night.

Unlike the whole silence of the morn;
Whenst no'ne shall speak but the comely red thorn.
Whose soul is far too genuine-and one too like thee,
Clumsy but witty as thou strolled startlingly by me.

Ah, thee, whom I once loved, and now still do,
Whose love I cannot resist, neither can subdue;
But to whose charm I know I must desist,
For neither shall I be thy snow; nor ever, thy mist.

Ah, as not even abruptly in thy mind,
I snare thy conscience nor make thee blind.
Forever and ever to her thou choose to be bound,
Even when this world remains loud, but emits no sound.

And to her, her feeble soul thou art committed,
Into whose fingers art thy varied souls submitted.
And thy palms, both palms entwined whilst walking hand in hand,
Making herself proud, of claiming such a heart-of a perfect man.

But not to me, I-who thou detained too perfectly,
and turned to when all proved to thee, too beastly.
I, who shall forever be a distant friend,
I, who hath no right to thee, nor thy sweaty bare hands.

And not to me; I, who love thee all the greater,
I whose love for thee is but much sincerer, and cleverer.
I, whose passion for thee is too genuine, and tenderer;
Ah, but which to thy senses, might never even matter.

I, who love thee like I love the summer;
I, whom to thee a mere sanguine poet and a cold writer.
Ah, thee, but do thou know not-that my poems are alive?
They speak of my feelings, they speak of my noble life.

I, who love thee as deeply as I love my poetry;
I, who secretly wish thou could only be with me.
I, who shall love thee still-in my maidenhood and later wifery,
But whom to thee sadly nobody; and clearly no more-
Than a bewitching fellow, and on Sundays, a thoughtful young lady.

Ah, my soul is but crossed by this uncivil noise,
Noise in the night, noise that possesses even no voice;
Noise that hath no desirous wishes, and gravely no bliss;
Noise that is born not, out of a deep, passionate secret kiss.

Silence, oh thee; all-too-unmighty voice!
For thou only trouble the mind,
with an unconsciousness that make me blind;
within a joy my soul cannot retrieve, much less rejoice.

Angry, angry am I-with all these burdens of jealousy,
Ah, besotted I am, with those galleries of envy,
And their echoing portraits and songs of undefined melody-
Full of sorrow; and bloodied fits-of uneventful tragedy.

Hungry, hungry then is my soul-for love,
Which hath never come, nor ever seemed enough.
I am deterred, unlike those free giggling starlights above;
From joying in affection, from rubbing myself against love.

So gross, gross is how my blood-looks like;
Bereft of its breath, unloved by its might.
And its impure conscience that now only troubles the light;
Provoking my innocence, torturing my fair sight.

I hate the dreadful sight of the moonlight,
and wish that it soon fade away into sunlight.
I better hope that morn come daintily earlier;
whenst spring comes back into view and so turns everything, lovelier.

And t'is hope, hope for thee shall spring again;
As I shall pray before yon vase of sweet lavender
Which stays still-and loyally to the windowsill, unbent;
Even when it shrieks gallantly, and makes all not by any, tender.

For morn shall refine those current tides of summer,
so that the lake shall blow again-and grow stronger;
And as it does, my love for thee shall return, and be better,
For t'is time it shall bloom; like words that I write, and thou decipher.

And all this noise shall fall into poetry;
Which every day grows statelier and comelier.
For as we kiss, only thy eyes that shall speak onto me;
That our love is true, and shall remain so, forever.
Daisy Ashcroft Jun 2019
This noise around me
It's more than I can bear
It's too loud
It's too busy
All I want is to be alone

This noise around me
Is all I ever hear
The chattering of a bird
The screaming of a child
They fill up my brain

This noise around me
Is suffocating. All I know
Is that I can't breathe,
I can't swallow,
I can no longer hear myself

This noise around me
It takes up too much space
There is no room for me to move
No room for me to live
It takes up every empty pocket in me

This noise around me
Is inside me. Loud and incessant
The sounds are my own
The voices are my own
But I simply can't rid of them

This noise inside me
It's more than I can bare
It's too loud
It's too busy
All I want is to be alone.

Truly alone
With the darkness
And silence.
Alone with no noise.
All I want is to be at peace.
There's a noise inside.
No one can hear it.
There's a noise inside.
The outside fears it.

Storms pass through,
No wind in my hair.
The noise inside me,
Smiles turn to stares.

There’s a hide in the seek,
The mind is thinking.
Sailing into space,
Mind is thinking.
How far out will you go?

There's a noise inside, inside,
No one can hear it.
There's a noise inside,
The outside feels it.

Not everyone’s on this frequency,
Some are stuck on the dance floor.
This noise inside me.
Chairs charge against the door.

Sitting to attention,
Fix your ear upon the wall.
It throws toy monsters,
Some touch,
Others, they fall.

There's a noise inside, inside
There's a noise inside.
Iliyas Mar 2019
NOISE does unfair,
disturbs everywhere.
Even at workplace,
at home makes restless.
With only tortures and pains,
this noise makes no sense.

NOISE breaks focus,
annoys, irritates us.
Freezes our mind,
blowing noisy winds.
By giving only pains,
this noise makes no sense.

But,
NOISE of war,
shows end isn't far.
Noise of deads,
shows life's dark shades.
Showing our offense,
this noise makes sense.
Call me Oliver Nov 2018
Let it break
You'll feel better
You're always near
But gone forever

I don't hear you
Anymore
There's too much noise
Noise
No I can't hear you
In this noise

Far away
You don't need it
Day by day
But you don't mean it

I don't want to hear you
Anymore
Just give me noise
Noise
No, I don't wanna hear you
In this noise
No, I don't wanna hear you
Give me noise   -Gemma Hayes
J Petunia Jul 2010
No fireworks
No flags
No noise

No people
No BBQ
No noise

No potato salad
No fire crackers cracking
No noise

No red white and blue
No drums banging
No noise

I have no where
to go on this 4Th
of July so
idealy
there
is
no
noise.
Dani Nov 2017
I crave the comfort of white noise.
When I fall asleep every night, my box fan carries me as I drift off.
Its blades spin up and its humming fills my room
Like a sweet lullaby leading me off to a silent world.
I used to play albums off of an old CD player:
Anything to block out the whispers inside of my head,
Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.
During the day, when there’s no fan to keep me safe
I turn to the comfort of music:
Pop a headphone in and my feelings melt away.
It keeps me focused, but in a way, it’s my distraction too:
The kind that fills my head with lyrics instead of questions.

Questions.
Endless questions.
They’re the white noise inside my head the rest of time.
They’re the bullies and I’m their victim
But there’s no one else around to save me from their violence:
They beat me till I’m ****** and bruised
Mind sliced raw from their attacks,
What are you doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do you even bother?
Beating into my weakened defenses
They kick me especially when I’m down.
They gang up inside my head, doubling, tripling
Until they’re a chorus of white noise echoing off the walls.
They keep me locked up
In a cell with nothing but a bed made of broken glass
And a small fan in the corner,
Humming me to sleep every night
Because my room can offer me no other comforts.
I feel the questions just outside of my cell,
And I hide from them because there’s nowhere to run:
I’m a prisoner pressed into the furthest wall
As they taunt me from the other side of the bars I’ve built.
Why can’t you be happy?
Or normal?
Why don’t you just go away for a while?
Maybe forever?
I plead with them to stop their screaming
So they laugh at me instead,
A high pitched squeal that makes my hair stand on end,
My body tenses up, my ears start to ring.
And suddenly they’re something else entirely
The faces of my friends appear cackling
Questions spilling from their mouths:
Are we just pretending?
Do we really hate you?
What makes you think we care about you?
How do you know it isn’t just an act?
Their laughter surges in my mind
Like a sickening joke that makes my stomach turn,
And the white noise grows ever louder.
Even when the fan starts to takes their place,
Masking their white noise,
One finds its way in
To plant its seed of doubt
On the edge of my subconscious
As I begin to drift to sleep:
Are you just pretending?

I feel my breathing seize
Because suddenly I wonder if any of this is true,
Or if I’ve created a false reality for attention.
The thought seeps into my mind like poison
Whispering to me that I can’t even trust myself,
Tearing down every defense I’d built
Brick by brick
Until I’m curled up in a pile of tear stained rubble,
Knees bruised purple and yellow,
Lips chewed ****** and raw,
Eyes swollen red and glistening wet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I hopeless?
Cause it feels like I’m spiraling out of control
Losing my sense of self to the endless tide of worry
And I’m not sure how to stop it.
So I begin to ask myself
What am I doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do I even bother?

Because I can’t tell what the truth is anymore
If my fan keeps the questions out,
Or if I’m so used to them;
I crave the comfort of their
White noise.
matilda shaye Sep 2014
on my good days I am floating, there's background noise and the faint smell of desire, but I move like a needle pushing through skin; deliberate, with purpose. whether I'm the vaccine trying to prevent the disease or the cure hoping to alleviate some of your pain, I don't know. I think I might be a weird mixture of both, but the story is only in its rough draft, so there's no telling on if I work or if I'm just a waste of time.

on my bad days I'm only a silhouette, more background noise, the faint smell of gasoline, the sound of sirens, shady looking men walking down the street in hoodies and smoke in the air from a fire down the street, I am the stray dog, the road ****, the broken down bus and the stars completely covered by smog. if you close your eyes, I'm still there. I think on these days there are people trying to run from me, I know I'm one of them, but we can't get away. red light after red light, 13 miles with a cop on your tail and tags that expired last week, rest assured your shadow always follows you, and so does my silhouette.

on both of these days, I love you. on both of these days I long for you, and on both of these days I am running in an attempt to get ahead of time because it's running out, and I'm not finished yet. I'm not ready to become someone who was, I know that I said I would be okay as long as at some point you remember me as someone who played a part but I am not ready to throw in the cards and become a past tense, not yet, maybe not ever.

I'll be 900 miles away driving away from the smog just so I can look at the moon and know you're standing underneath the same one, I'll be 900 miles away with different background noise then this with my hand in the air wondering how in the hell we're supposed to keep in touch if I can't manage to touch you. you say it's not that far, that I won't fall off the grid, that the months will fly by and I will pick up where I left off.
you say a lot of things.
I whispered that I loved you quiet enough for you not to hear and we hung up.

everything's falling, breaking, the seams are ripping, the hinges are stuck, the car won't ******* start again and I think the locks jammed too with my **** keys inside- and then there's the background noise. it's still all just background noise.
All it took was for you to skate away
And immediately
My tears rolled down as your wheels rolled away
Come back I shouted
“Come back”
It echoed...
But all you heard was noise
The wheels and the road, in contact…
Going further away was all you wanted...
While I wanted you as close as possible
Do you still remember...
when we hugged and kissed last night?
When you told me the stars weren't enough to symbolize your love for me…
Was that a noise of truth?
    or a false metaphor?
They say,
Selfish acts come with selfish measures.
Which makes me wonder
Were you being selfish for the sake of lust?!
I mean you already have me…
What more could you possibly want?!
Am I not enough?!
Who is she?!
What is she to you?!
Don’t you dare tell me I’m making a noise!
Can’t you see I nag and whine simply ‘cause I care…
Don’t act selfish as you claim to love me…
Give me your all
Don’t be selfish with love…
   Rather love me fearlessly
For I too…
will love you and only you…
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…
Forgive my unnecessary noise but…
I love you!!!
Robyn Feb 2015
They say there has not been a single day without construction in New York City for over 100 years
Cranes loom above the stumps of skyscrapers like skeletal fingers
And the noise is the anthem of the city
God drops a box of tools he used to build the Earth - and the noise reverberates around the universe until it bounces between the buildings of Manhattan for all eternity
The trickle of traffic lulls children to sleep
No noise is loud enough to drown out another
Framework and scaffolding decorate the sky in lacy corpses
As the white men build their way toward the dollar signs in the stars
Civilians walk the streets in black
Mourning for city that has not yet died and will never sleep
Rushing to a funeral - rushing up ladders
A man runs up the stairs - craving only the elevation and never the satisfaction
Man in neon uniform affirm themselves by yelling at women they will never know - wanting only to dominate the space
Building, always building - toward the nothing the city has not found yet

One day - there will be no more left to build
The skies will no longer be scraped but injected
The sky will not be seen
Useless legacies will tower over the city
In black for the funeral that has finally arrived
The city dies and there is no noise
No noise
No noise
No noise
No noise
The silence is perverse to the inhabitants of New York
A permanent funeral
The people do not know how to mourn
They do not know silence
And the white men - building their worth floor by floor - discovered there were no dollar signs in the stars
There were only stars
And stars meant nothing to them

New York is silent.
And the people begin to scream.
I can’t think
Because I hear the noise
And the noise interrupts my thoughts
So I play music
To cover up the noise
And the music creates more noise
In my head
I’m not safe
From my thoughts
With all this noise
I will never hear them coming
MMXII
Hank Roberts Aug 2010
I heard the noise
from down the stairs
I tried to keep my poise
But it kept giving me a dare
I rose slowly from my slumber
Stairs creaking, under my weight
My fear i tried to cumber
it was early but so late
I heard the noises louder
The chills put me in a new state
But it passed, making me prouder
The noise slowly ceased
Turning up the stairs, I climbed
My head hit the pillow, the noise increased
The noise seemed perfectly timed
Once again I tried to muster
Something deep inside me
To make my courage cluster
This noise wanted me to see
Unlike the first time
I ran down, not being as quiet
In my house, what is making this crime?
Everything seemed calm, without a riot
I turned unknowingly to the right
And just like in my life
Everything I had, clean and tight
Gone. As my heart was struck by a knife
May
Come queen of months in company
Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
And twittering swallows chimney song
And hedge row crickets notes that run
From every bank that fronts the sun
And swathy bees about the grass
That stops wi every bloom they pass
And every minute every hour
Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower
And toil and childhoods humming joys
For there is music in the noise
The village childern mad for sport
In school times leisure ever short
That crick and catch the bouncing ball
And run along the church yard wall
Capt wi rude figured slabs whose claims
In times bad memory hath no names
Oft racing round the nookey church
Or calling ecchos in the porch
And jilting oer the weather ****
Viewing wi jealous eyes the clock
Oft leaping grave stones leaning hights
Uncheckt wi mellancholy sights
The green grass swelld in many a heap
Where kin and friends and parents sleep
Unthinking in their jovial cry
That time shall come when they shall lye
As lowly and as still as they
While other boys above them play
Heedless as they do now to know
The unconcious dust that lies below
The shepherd goes wi happy stride
Wi moms long shadow by his side
Down the dryd lanes neath blooming may
That once was over shoes in clay
While martins twitter neath his eves
Which he at early morning leaves
The driving boy beside his team
Will oer the may month beauty dream
And **** his hat and turn his eye
On flower and tree and deepning skye
And oft bursts loud in fits of song
And whistles as he reels along
Cracking his whip in starts of joy
A happy ***** driving boy
The youth who leaves his corner stool
Betimes for neighbouring village school
While as a mark to urge him right
The church spires all the way in sight
Wi cheerings from his parents given
Starts neath the joyous smiles of heaven
And sawns wi many an idle stand
Wi bookbag swinging in his hand
And gazes as he passes bye
On every thing that meets his eye
Young lambs seem tempting him to play
Dancing and bleating in his way
Wi trembling tails and pointed ears
They follow him and loose their fears
He smiles upon their sunny faces
And feign woud join their happy races
The birds that sing on bush and tree
Seem chirping for his company
And all in fancys idle whim
Seem keeping holiday but him
He lolls upon each resting stile
To see the fields so sweetly smile
To see the wheat grow green and long
And list the weeders toiling song
Or short note of the changing thrush
Above him in the white thorn bush
That oer the leaning stile bends low
Loaded wi mockery of snow
Mozzld wi many a lushing thread
Of crab tree blossoms delicate red
He often bends wi many a wish
Oer the brig rail to view the fish
Go sturting by in sunny gleams
And chucks in the eye dazzld streams
Crumbs from his pocket oft to watch
The swarming struttle come to catch
Them where they to the bottom sile
Sighing in fancys joy the while
Hes cautiond not to stand so nigh
By rosey milkmaid tripping bye
Where he admires wi fond delight
And longs to be there mute till night
He often ventures thro the day
At truant now and then to play
Rambling about the field and plain
Seeking larks nests in the grain
And picking flowers and boughs of may
To hurd awhile and throw away
Lurking neath bushes from the sight
Of tell tale eyes till schools noon night
Listing each hour for church clocks hum
To know the hour to wander home
That parents may not think him long
Nor dream of his rude doing wrong
Dreading thro the night wi dreaming pain
To meet his masters wand again
Each hedge is loaded thick wi green
And where the hedger late hath been
Tender shoots begin to grow
From the mossy stumps below
While sheep and cow that teaze the grain
will nip them to the root again
They lay their bill and mittens bye
And on to other labours hie
While wood men still on spring intrudes
And thins the shadow solitudes
Wi sharpend axes felling down
The oak trees budding into brown
Where as they crash upon the ground
A crowd of labourers gather round
And mix among the shadows dark
To rip the crackling staining bark
From off the tree and lay when done
The rolls in lares to meet the sun
Depriving yearly where they come
The green wood pecker of its home
That early in the spring began
Far from the sight of troubling man
And bord their round holes in each tree
In fancys sweet security
Till startld wi the woodmans noise
It wakes from all its dreaming joys
The blue bells too that thickly bloom
Where man was never feared to come
And smell smocks that from view retires
**** rustling leaves and bowing briars
And stooping lilys of the valley
That comes wi shades and dews to dally
White beady drops on slender threads
Wi broad hood leaves above their heads
Like white robd maids in summer hours
Neath umberellas shunning showers
These neath the barkmens crushing treads
Oft perish in their blooming beds
Thus stript of boughs and bark in white
Their trunks shine in the mellow light
Beneath the green surviving trees
That wave above them in the breeze
And waking whispers slowly bends
As if they mournd their fallen friends
Each morning now the weeders meet
To cut the thistle from the wheat
And ruin in the sunny hours
Full many wild weeds of their flowers
Corn poppys that in crimson dwell
Calld ‘head achs’ from their sickly smell
And carlock yellow as the sun
That oer the may fields thickly run
And ‘iron ****’ content to share
The meanest spot that spring can spare
Een roads where danger hourly comes
Is not wi out its purple blooms
And leaves wi points like thistles round
Thickset that have no strength to wound
That shrink to childhoods eager hold
Like hair—and with its eye of gold
And scarlet starry points of flowers
Pimpernel dreading nights and showers
Oft calld ‘the shepherds weather glass’
That sleep till suns have dyd the grass
Then wakes and spreads its creeping bloom
Till clouds or threatning shadows come
Then close it shuts to sleep again
Which weeders see and talk of rain
And boys that mark them shut so soon
will call them ‘John go bed at noon
And fumitory too a name
That superstition holds to fame
Whose red and purple mottled flowers
Are cropt by maids in weeding hours
To boil in water milk and way1
For washes on an holiday
To make their beauty fair and sleak
And scour the tan from summers cheek
And simple small forget me not
Eyd wi a pinshead yellow spot
I’th’ middle of its tender blue
That gains from poets notice due
These flowers the toil by crowds destroys
And robs them of their lowly joys
That met the may wi hopes as sweet
As those her suns in gardens meet
And oft the dame will feel inclind
As childhoods memory comes to mind
To turn her hook away and spare
The blooms it lovd to gather there
My wild field catalogue of flowers
Grows in my ryhmes as thick as showers
Tedious and long as they may be
To some, they never weary me
The wood and mead and field of grain
I coud hunt oer and oer again
And talk to every blossom wild
Fond as a parent to a child
And cull them in my childish joy
By swarms and swarms and never cloy
When their lank shades oer morning pearls
Shrink from their lengths to little girls
And like the clock hand pointing one
Is turnd and tells the morning gone
They leave their toils for dinners hour
Beneath some hedges bramble bower
And season sweet their savory meals
Wi joke and tale and merry peals
Of ancient tunes from happy tongues
While linnets join their fitful songs
Perchd oer their heads in frolic play
Among the tufts of motling may
The young girls whisper things of love
And from the old dames hearing move
Oft making ‘love knotts’ in the shade
Of blue green oat or wheaten blade
And trying simple charms and spells
That rural superstition tells
They pull the little blossom threads
From out the knapweeds button heads
And put the husk wi many a smile
In their white bosoms for awhile
Who if they guess aright the swain
That loves sweet fancys trys to gain
Tis said that ere its lain an hour
Twill blossom wi a second flower
And from her white ******* hankerchief
Bloom as they ne’er had lost a leaf
When signs appear that token wet
As they are neath the bushes met
The girls are glad wi hopes of play
And harping of the holiday
A hugh blue bird will often swim
Along the wheat when skys grow dim
Wi clouds—slow as the gales of spring
In motion wi dark shadowd wing
Beneath the coming storm it sails
And lonly chirps the wheat hid quails
That came to live wi spring again
And start when summer browns the grain
They start the young girls joys afloat
Wi ‘wet my foot’ its yearly note
So fancy doth the sound explain
And proves it oft a sign of rain
About the moor ‘**** sheep and cow
The boy or old man wanders now
Hunting all day wi hopful pace
Each thick sown rushy thistly place
For plover eggs while oer them flye
The fearful birds wi teazing cry
Trying to lead their steps astray
And coying him another way
And be the weather chill or warm
Wi brown hats truckd beneath his arm
Holding each prize their search has won
They plod bare headed to the sun
Now dames oft bustle from their wheels
Wi childern scampering at their heels
To watch the bees that hang and swive
In clumps about each thronging hive
And flit and thicken in the light
While the old dame enjoys the sight
And raps the while their warming pans
A spell that superstition plans
To coax them in the garden bounds
As if they lovd the tinkling sounds
And oft one hears the dinning noise
Which dames believe each swarm decoys
Around each village day by day
Mingling in the warmth of may
Sweet scented herbs her skill contrives
To rub the bramble platted hives
Fennels thread leaves and crimpld balm
To scent the new house of the swarm
The thresher dull as winter days
And lost to all that spring displays
Still mid his barn dust forcd to stand
Swings his frail round wi weary hand
While oer his head shades thickly creep
And hides the blinking owl asleep
And bats in cobweb corners bred
Sharing till night their murky bed
The sunshine trickles on the floor
Thro every crevice of the door
And makes his barn where shadows dwell
As irksome as a prisoners cell
And as he seeks his daily meal
As schoolboys from their tasks will steal
ile often stands in fond delay
To see the daisy in his way
And wild weeds flowering on the wall
That will his childish sports recall
Of all the joys that came wi spring
The twirling top the marble ring
The gingling halfpence hussld up
At pitch and toss the eager stoop
To pick up heads, the smuggeld plays
Neath hovels upon sabbath days
When parson he is safe from view
And clerk sings amen in his pew
The sitting down when school was oer
Upon the threshold by his door
Picking from mallows sport to please
Each crumpld seed he calld a cheese
And hunting from the stackyard sod
The stinking hen banes belted pod
By youths vain fancys sweetly fed
Christning them his loaves of bread
He sees while rocking down the street
Wi weary hands and crimpling feet
Young childern at the self same games
And hears the self same simple names
Still floating on each happy tongue
Touchd wi the simple scene so strong
Tears almost start and many a sigh
Regrets the happiness gone bye
And in sweet natures holiday
His heart is sad while all is gay
How lovly now are lanes and balks
For toils and lovers sunday walks
The daisey and the buttercup
For which the laughing childern stoop
A hundred times throughout the day
In their rude ramping summer play
So thickly now the pasture crowds
In gold and silver sheeted clouds
As if the drops in april showers
Had woo’d the sun and swoond to flowers
The brook resumes its summer dresses
Purling neath grass and water cresses
And mint and flag leaf swording high
Their blooms to the unheeding eye
And taper bowbent hanging rushes
And horse tail childerns bottle brushes
And summer tracks about its brink
Is fresh again where cattle drink
And on its sunny bank the swain
Stretches his idle length again
Soon as the sun forgets the day
The moon looks down on the lovly may
And the little star his friend and guide
Travelling together side by side
And the seven stars and charleses wain
Hangs smiling oer green woods agen
The heaven rekindles all alive
Wi light the may bees round the hive
Swarm not so thick in mornings eye
As stars do in the evening skye
All all are nestling in their joys
The flowers and birds and pasture boys
The firetail, long a stranger, comes
To his last summer haunts and homes
To hollow tree and crevisd wall
And in the grass the rails odd call
That featherd spirit stops the swain
To listen to his note again
And school boy still in vain retraces
The secrets of his hiding places
In the black thorns crowded copse
Thro its varied turns and stops
The nightingale its ditty weaves
Hid in a multitude of leaves
The boy stops short to hear the strain
And ’sweet jug jug’ he mocks again
The yellow hammer builds its nest
By banks where sun beams earliest rest
That drys the dews from off the grass
Shading it from all that pass
Save the rude boy wi ferret gaze
That hunts thro evry secret maze
He finds its pencild eggs agen
All streakd wi lines as if a pen
By natures freakish hand was took
To scrawl them over like a book
And from these many mozzling marks
The school boy names them ‘writing larks’
*** barrels twit on bush and tree
Scarse bigger then a bumble bee
And in a white thorns leafy rest
It builds its curious pudding-nest
Wi hole beside as if a mouse
Had built the little barrel house
Toiling full many a lining feather
And bits of grey tree moss together
Amid the noisey rooky park
Beneath the firdales branches dark
The little golden crested wren
Hangs up his glowing nest agen
And sticks it to the furry leaves
As martins theirs beneath the eaves
The old hens leave the roost betimes
And oer the garden pailing climbs
To scrat the gardens fresh turnd soil
And if unwatchd his crops to spoil
Oft cackling from the prison yard
To peck about the houseclose sward
Catching at butterflys and things
Ere they have time to try their wings
The cattle feels the breath of may
And kick and toss their heads in play
The *** beneath his bags of sand
Oft jerks the string from leaders hand
And on the road will eager stoop
To pick the sprouting thistle up
Oft answering on his weary way
Some distant neighbours sobbing bray
Dining the ears of driving boy
As if he felt a fit of joy
Wi in its pinfold circle left
Of all its company bereft
Starvd stock no longer noising round
Lone in the nooks of foddering ground
Each skeleton of lingering stack
By winters tempests beaten black
Nodds upon props or bolt upright
Stands swarthy in the summer light
And oer the green grass seems to lower
Like stump of old time wasted tower
All that in winter lookd for hay
Spread from their batterd haunts away
To pick the grass or lye at lare
Beneath the mild hedge shadows there
Sweet month that gives a welcome call
To toil and nature and to all
Yet one day mid thy many joys
Is dead to all its sport and noise
Old may day where’s thy glorys gone
All fled and left thee every one
Thou comst to thy old haunts and homes
Unnoticd as a stranger comes
No flowers are pluckt to hail the now
Nor cotter seeks a single bough
The maids no more on thy sweet morn
Awake their thresholds to adorn
Wi dewey flowers—May locks new come
And princifeathers cluttering bloom
And blue bells from the woodland moss
And cowslip cucking ***** to toss
Above the garlands swinging hight
Hang in the soft eves sober light
These maid and child did yearly pull
By many a folded apron full
But all is past the merry song
Of maidens hurrying along
To crown at eve the earliest cow
Is gone and dead and silent now
The laugh raisd at the mocking thorn
Tyd to the cows tail last that morn
The kerchief at arms length displayd
Held up by pairs of swain and maid
While others bolted underneath
Bawling loud wi panting breath
‘Duck under water’ as they ran
Alls ended as they ne’er began
While the new thing that took thy place
Wears faded smiles upon its face
And where enclosure has its birth
It spreads a mildew oer her mirth
The herd no longer one by one
Goes plodding on her morning way
And garlands lost and sports nigh gone
Leaves her like thee a common day
Yet summer smiles upon thee still
Wi natures sweet unalterd will
And at thy births unworshipd hours
Fills her green lap wi swarms of flowers
To crown thee still as thou hast been
Of spring and summer months the queen
Em MacKenzie May 2017
They found the shattered remains of my head and brain,
scattered around my bed in crystals and in grains,
shining red and white like broken candy canes,
Marked it down as evidence, A to Zed and back again.

Bring me back to breathing, today or tomorrow,
twenty hours of dreaming, nightmares of only sorrow.
Inevitable fall from grace, blood splattered on my face,
but a smile still shining when I turn down second place.

Rip out my changing eyes, I choose to go blind.
So many restless sighs, in this white noise mind.
Rip out my babbling tongue, the messages you will not find,
too many songs unsung, in this white noise mind.

You make the signs and I'll take direction,
keep feeding lines, it only increases infection.
I find my teeth to grind, biting down on affection,
that you tangle and bind, leave it in an unmarked section.

Take my burning ears, they listen far too kind.
So many haunting fears, in this white noise mind.
Take my shaking hands, they're locked and intertwined.
Nothing to understand, in this white noise mind.

I only see bright red stop lights,
they line my way, they trace my nights,
they always stay, don't leave my sight.

So take my silent heart, rib cage is too confined.
Rip all organs apart, leave behind a white noise mind.
Denise Uy Aug 2018
On a day like this, when voices are louder than the sound of trains on the train tracks
and peace is harder to find than attending to the imaginary impending doom of a Roman attack,
I look for a silent sanctuary,
and I hope to never get back.
It is silent when I come but I sit down and make my own noise.
It is noise that's always sounded better than my own voice
and noise that I've always welcomed during days of distress and comfort alike.
It is noise that blocks out reminders of a ticking clock
and a running time.
The sanctuary is not silent; it is noisy,
but it is noise that I will always welcome.
I love my noise.
jeffrey conyers Oct 2013
That maximum point that you both reach.
Leaving both of you at that moment of intimate screams.
What begin , as total pleasure of joy?
Now , have both of you asking for a little bit more?

Noise of joy.
Noise of excitement.
Noise of love.
Sounding like a scream of prey caught by an eagle.

You drowning out all the things surrounding you two.
You into him(her).
He(she) into you.
Reaching that ******  of Ecstacy.
One joy better than agony.

Hoping for better.
Hoping for more intimate love.
matcha Apr 2018
i first felt confused.
everything seemed to slip between my fingers
were they even my fingers?
now i was completely terrified.
this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime.
i didn't
couldn't feel myself.
my
it
those fingers.
i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms.
it felt surreal.
even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes.
it gave me this churn in my stomach.
a churn that screamed "danger".
but why?
don't i know these people?
i should know how they act
how they talk
how they walk
how they move.
but when i saw them talk
when i studied how their lips formed around words
i heard nothing.
there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues.
it sounded
like static.
like white noise.
the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence.
i felt like white noise.
that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours.
i could've brushed it off.
maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that
"yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb."
but i couldn't.
all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic.
it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because
i couldn't recognize my own voice.
i couldn't recognize their faces.
i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place.
what was my purpose?
why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep.
why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life?
this regular schedule
of constance.
that's what caused this white noise.
the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest
making it heavier
making it harder to breath
making it worse.
i hated it.
but i couldn't do anything about it.
this white noise.
oh, how much i despised the thing.
but
all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.
The Noise, it drills through me as if I have become the subject of the vicious hammer.
Its piercing din never fades.

As silence looms, and the stillness of nothing hums
It soon begins again.
The sharpness suffocates me, smothers me, chokes me.

And then it’s too late. You chose her and your words destroy me.
Jackie Mead Sep 2017
The Frog and The Bee lived merrily on a log, in a bog in the middle of two Rivers, the River Louse and the River Wry.

They were best friends with the Mouse who had a house on the River Louse and the Elf with one ear and the Fly with one eye who lived on the River Wry.

One day the Frog, on the log in the middle of the bog, said to his dear friend the Bee, it's about time that you and I, the Mouse with the house on the River Louse, Elf and Fly had another adventure.
The Bee buzzed excitedly and said 'what did you have in mind?'
"Well" said the Frog, who lived on the log in the middle of the bog on the River Louse, where the Mouse had his house “I was thinking that you and I and the Fly with one eye could get together with the Mouse, who has a house on the River Louse,and the Elf with one ear and set out for the town of Cry which is on the River Wry”.
” I've heard” said the Frog, who lived on the log in the middle of the bog on the River Louse, where the Mouse had his house “that there is a horse living by the course of the River who because he is getting older needs some help getting his master and friend round the very long bend.”
“I thought you and I and the Fly with one eye and Elf with one ear and the Mouse with a house on the River Louse could come up with a plan to get the barge, the horse, his master and friend around the River bend at the town of Cry on the River Wry”.
“What a great idea” said the Bee to the Frog, who lived on a log in the middle
of a bog, let's go summons our friends, the Mouse with a house on the River Louse and the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear and help the master and his horse round the River course”.

So the Frog and Bee set out to find the Mouse with the house on the River Louse and the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear and explain to them that there was a horse who needed their help to get a barge and his master and friend around the River bend.
The Mouse with the house on the River Louse and the Fly with one eye and The Elf with one hear were easy to persuade, they all agreed to let Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, to take the lead.
Frog said to the Elf with one ear “we need to you to be the eyes for the Fly with one eye and help him find his way to the town of Cry on the River Wry”.  
To the Fly with one Eye, Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog said “we need you to help the Elf with one ear and be his ears, working together to find your way to the town of Cry on the River Wry”

The friends set out on their way to the town of Cry on the River Wry, Frog, who, lived on a log in the middle of the bog, croaked very nosily as he hopped from lily pad to lily pad from River Louse, where the Mouse with the house lived, to River Wry and their destination the town of Cry.

The Bee buzzed happily on the shoulder of the Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, and accepted the ride with his friend to the River bend at the town of Cry on the River Wry.

The Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear set out together, the Elf with his perfect eye sight led the way to the town of Cry on the River Wry.  The Fly with his perfect hearing kept the Elf safe from harm and alerted him to any creature that may be nearing.

It was a beautiful afternoon and the friends would get to the town of Cry on the River Wry soon, the Frog and the Bee, the Fly and the Elf and the Mouse with the house on the River Louse, would help their friend the horse and his master get around the very long course of the River at the town of Cry on the River Wry.

After several hours, the friends all agreed it wouldn’t be long now until their friend the horse would be in sight and they would use all of their skills and all of their might to help their friend navigate around the bend of the river at the town of Cry on the River Wry.

The Frog croaked to the Bee, look our friend is in front of you and me, the horse is close to the River bend and he will soon need all his friends to help him round the bend close to the town of Cry on the River Wry.

The horse was pleased to see his friends, the Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, the Bee and the Mouse who had a house on the River Louse, the Fly with one eye and Elf with one ear, he began to neigh and cheer, at last he would have some help from his friends to get him, the barge and his master and friend around the river bend.

The Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, asked the horse “how can we assist you and your master?”.  The horse replied ” of course I need good eyes and ears and lots of noise to guide the master, the barge and me, the horse, of course, around the river bend.”
The Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of a bog, replied “I have an idea, the Elf with one ear has perfect eyes and the Fly with one eye has perfect ears, myself the Bee and the Mouse with a house on the river louse can all make lots of noise, together we will all work to assist your master and you, the horse, around the river course".
The horse did neigh as if to obey and went to find his master.  With a collar around his neck attached to the barge he lowered his head and began to walk.
The Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of a bog and the Mouse who had a house on the River Louse and the Bee made as much noise as a trio of three could possibly.
The Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, did croak, the Mouse with a house on the River Louse, did squeak and the Bee did buzz and together they made an awful lot of fuss, and the horse did neigh as if to say, he heard them all just fine.

The horse continued to walk and the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear did appear, and encouraged the horse to walk on, the Fly with its perfect ears did listen to his friends, The Frog who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, the Mouse who had a house on the River Louse and The Bee, and talked the horse around the river bend.  
The Elf with one ear and its perfects eyes did talk to the horse and describe the course of the river at the town of Cry on the River Wry.

In no time at all the horse, the barge and the master, his friend had gotten all the way around the large bend of the river at the town of Cry on the River Wry.
The horse did neigh as if to say "Thank You" to his friends, the Frog who lived on a log in the middle of the bog, the Bee, the Mouse with a house on the River Louse, The Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear and invited them to stay for tea.  
The Master was so pleased that he fell to his knees and said to the creatures big and small "thank you for your help today it is fair to say that without your noise, your perfect sight and perfect talk the horse would not have made the walk around the river bend".
"Now" said the master to the new set of friends "lets set up camp past the river bend and have a cup of tea", "thank you" said the Frog, who lived on a log in the middle of the bog and the Bee, "we’d love a cup of tea".

So this very odd group of friends sat around and made mend with a cup of tea and a fire to keep them warm as they swapped stories for the night and tomorrow the friends would make their way home.

The Frog, who lived on the log in the middle of the bog, turned to his special friend the Bee and said “thank you for believing in me”
Another story based poem, it's a bit epic, thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it.
Robert May 2016
I tried to play a simple song,
a song until it breaks -
Imagining the melodies,
a broken piano makes.

I strike a note, it makes a noise,
a noise of deep despair -
I notice now the noise it makes,
a noise beyond repair.

But do not fear or cower here,
although the noise is strong -
it's just a simple melody,
a broken piano's song.
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song bird's chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Chalsey Wilder Sep 2014
Ladies and gentleman skinny and scout
I'll tell you a tale I know nothing about
The admission is free so pay at the door
Now pull out a chair and sit on the floor

On one bright day in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other

The blind man came to see fair play
The mute man came to shout hooray
The deaf policeman heard the noise
And came to stop those two dead boys

He lived on the corner in the middle of the block
In a two story house on a vacant lot
A man with no legs came walking by
And kicked the lawman in his thigh

He crashed through a wall without making a sound
Into a dry creek bed and suddenly drowned
A long black hearse came to cart him away
But he ran for his life and is still gone today

I watched from the corner of the table
The only eyewitness to facts of my fable
If you doubt my lies are true
Just ask the blind man, he saw it too
This is my favorite poem. It's by Tyler Rager and I honestly don't know why I love this poem. But ever since I heard it from the movie I just couldn't wait to find it online and read it. When I read it I fell in love with it. <3 Love this poem a lot.

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