Do you see the candle dance
we shiver together in the darkness
the too loud silence
scraping fingernails on
the chalkboard of the night
Crickets and coffee caress
pre-dawn draws
the life from the night
and all that is being done
has been done
all that is left
is the crushing silence
that is so loud
it screams
Listen to the silence
that I can hear
The rain in the downspouts
the tick of the clock
the click of the keyboard
footsteps on the rocks
hear the hum of the street lights
chasing away the fog
the swollow in the coffee cup
as morning soothes the night
Listen to the silence
and hear
all of the sounds
it makes
In the darkness she comes
through the open windows she climbs
or through the screen porch door
to wrap her arms gently around
and sing the song of not quite silence
the song of the night
the quite whisper
of the wind in the leaves
the crickets and cicadas
crying in the summer’s end
the hum of the neighbor’s heat pump
are they really missing
the beauty of the song
deep blue taffeta
drapes itself
for the dance that can only really come
with the night music
hickory wind cool
leaves rustle, green shadows dance;
firetrucks scream shrill
I step out
into the silence
of the snow fall
the sounds of
the too close city
muted
by the hiss
of the snow on snow
I step
gingerly down
white icy stairs
creeping
through the powdered sugar donut world
eight degrees
bites at my nose
tugs at my lungs
brings cold tears
stinging
there is magic
in the not yet dawn
that draws me
from my lonely cave
Do you hear it
The sounds
that creep into the silence?
that make up the silence
that drown out the silence
that mock and joke and lay waste
to the silence
Three clocks
ticking
in point and counter point
NEVER in unison
the coffee pot hum
the light hum
the refrigerator (I hear Mr Boling’s “the Frigidare” even though it isn’t) hum
the hum of the power in the lines
someone two blocks over
trimming their lawn
the cat breathes
the dog chuffs
the bubbles
in the can of pop
the water in the ice maker
the water in the pipes
the water in the sink
the woosh of the blood
in my veins in my ears
the bee
beating himself senseless on the window glass
the grackle on the roof of the shed
screaching the morning refrain
the sounds
that drown
the silence that isn’t
do you hear them
can you feel them
burrowing into your brain
do you hear them?
you don’t…
I know you don’t
you hear the sounds of silence
blissful, peaceful silence
not that which mocks me
The words
drip
silently
onto the page
no one to hear
them cry
Inside
they scream
but in screaming
are never heard
and
in silence
never acknowledged
Clandestine Writing... 