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Here's a poem I wrote, after 3 months of not really writing poems;… - Always something to see, something to hear... [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Always something to see, something to hear...

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[Sep. 26th, 2006|09:07 pm]
Always something to see, something to hear...



Here's a poem I wrote, after 3 months of not really writing poems; a type of silence, one might say. I am posting this in honor of Jake, my deepest friend on this journey.



I didn’t know it was possible to breathe deeper but then

I fell off my bike breaking my toe and I had to walk slow

and the world slowed down with me down slowed world the and I

started to hear differently hear to started I and

leaves fell like pages and I didn’t care if I ever wrote another word again.


I threw “silence parties” with my friend Jake we would wander

for hours never speaking never making a sound

we would just be humans together just be

like ducks are just ducks

just are breathing we would watch them for hours and

sometimes they would watch us and nothing never happened

because everything was happening all around us all at once

we were so still that when the wind came blowing through it was

a crescendo a momentous event

a breeze felt like breaking news

so a bird rising out of the water to fly

was nothing short of a miracle the pattern its lifting feet made

in the water was an art was everywhere and everywhere was art.


One night Jake and I got lost in my own neighborhood

we remained silent pointing and guessing he gave me a piggy-back ride

when my foot started to hurt the roads I noticed were zig-zagged with tar

curvaceous black lines thick curves winding indecipherable script

in the language of tar a pattern a construction worker

must have incidentally made did he know it was art

did he know that lost one summer evening

it would make my journey more beautiful

more journey more road less destination more art

did he know he was an artist?


One afternoon on a silent walk we wandered into a laundromat symphony

rattling metal drums spinning sound it was orchestral

I stood a silent animal in a room of trembling metallic bodies

was I trembling too am I trembling now?

does a bird tremble as it surrounds itself with sky? what sound

lives in its hollow bones? I stood wordless with Jake

feeling like we were on another planet but we were just breathing

inside a laundromat on an afternoon in July and what could be more

miraculous? What could be more beautiful more journey

more road less destination more art than



I felt I could never speak again and be happy

never even think again just be empty

hollow-boned body of sky trembling

never butterfly-pin the wings of words to a page again

never write again for a poet this was huge I wanted only to resonate

to vibrate to be sound to be to breathe to live a life more beautiful

more journey more art

to listen.


After hours of silence

each word I said was a century of speaking

touching the piano keys was a momentous event like touching the sky

note by note the patterns emerged without my knowing

step by step we found our way home in the dark

and each sound entered my body and shook me deeper than bone

it was as if I was empty

and everything was here to fill me

to be my water

to zig-zag wildly before me only once

to speak to me in its own language

the language of trees, of ducks, and washing machines.


I am learning that there is time

there is time for it all time for birds time for me

time for you time for healing time for breath

there is time to write this poem

there is time for every poem of my life

I don’t have to chase the words down blind alleys screaming


there is time to stop.

Silence will teach us what words cannot.