Silence.
Stop what you are doing and listen. How silent is it, really? What is the most silent place you’ve ever been? How did it sound? Or write about the silence that occurs at odd moments in the day–between tasks, between places, between people. Sit in silence as you write and find the words that rise up there.
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Here’s a response from Glow at Beyond Ester:
the persimmon cat purred in his sleep
purred as he groomed himself
purred as his brother bit his neck
purred watching birds flit
purred while being brushed
purred while being stalked
purred while laying with dogs
purred at the vet’s office.
he purred on the couch
he purred on the bed
he purred on the table
he purred on the desk
he purred on the rug
he purred in the litter box.
the persimmon cat purred always.
October
when the persimmons for which he was named
thudded to the ground,
he replaced his purr with a yowl
a catawauling wail
a screeching hollar
a piercing scream.
on the way to the vet
in the car
for several minutes
the purr overtook the yowls
then the purr stopped.
now, silence in our house.
and a maple box inscribed
Persimmon: Purring Forever.
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And another from Glow (hmmm…must be a good prompt)
late Saturday night
frantic knock
the neighbor shirtless shoeless in January
my house is on fire, he said.
we hurried
but there was nothing to be done
firemen bustled to no avail
water cast again and again
I expected brightness cast against trees
giant whooshing sounds
a cacophony of cracks and crashes
but flames are surprisingly dark
fire surprisingly silent
the heat gobbled up sound
sucked noise like air
seized and smothered talk
only soundless smoke
wordless ash
molten bits of house
dribbled among us
nothing for us to do
but watch in our newfound deafness
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My response:
Potatoes
chopped in cubes
pale yellow, dropped
into broth. It bubbles,
the wood stove ticks,
small motors that smooth
our passage through the day
hum, though it’s now night.
In this noisy silence,
the dog’s faint snore,
a tulip petal falls
from its thin yellowing
stem, from the blue vase,
I hear words said
yesterday or before
and you, in bitter
cold dark, driving,
driving up the hill
with milk.
Tags: poetry, silence, writing, writing prompt
Mattie's Pillow 
March 17, 2009 at 7:17 am
the persimmon cat purred in his sleep
purred as he groomed himself
purred as his brother bit his neck
purred watching birds flit
purred while being brushed
purred while being stalked
purred while laying with dogs
purred at the vet’s office.
he purred on the couch
he purred on the bed
he purred on the table
he purred on the desk
he purred on the rug
he purred in the litter box.
the persimmon cat purred always.
October
when the persimmons for which he was named
thudded to the ground,
he replaced his purr with a yowl
a catawauling wail
a screeching hollar
a piercing scream.
on the way to the vet
in the car
for several minutes
the purr overtook the yowls
then the purr stopped.
now, silence in our house.
and a maple box inscribed
Persimmon: Purring Forever.
March 17, 2009 at 8:14 am
Thanks, Glow. I still miss my kitty, too. I’ll post this.
Hope you’re staying warm. We seem to be missing most of the wind here in our little bend in the Ridge.
March 17, 2009 at 8:44 am
We just had an earthquake that cracked some of the logs in the house. Twas a scary moment! And I’m here alone tonight, so I wasn’t even sure what was happening was really happening! Did you feel anything?
March 17, 2009 at 9:41 pm
Heard on the news this morning that it was 4.5, centered to the east of here. Hope your logs are not badly cracked. I usually feel earthquakes, but missed this one.
March 18, 2009 at 7:47 am
Love your potato boiling poem! Mind if I post another poem?
March 18, 2009 at 8:02 am
late Saturday night
frantic knock
the neighbor shirtless shoeless in January
my house is on fire, he said.
we hurried
but there was nothing to be done
firemen bustled to no avail
water cast again and again
I expected brightness cast against trees
giant whooshing sounds
a cacophony of cracks and crashes
but flames are surprisingly dark
fire surprisingly silent
the heat gobbled up sound
sucked noise like air
seized and smothered talk
only soundless smoke
wordless ash
molten bits of house
dribbled among us
nothing for us to do
but watch in our newfound deafness
March 18, 2009 at 8:10 am
Thanks, Glow. I remember watching a cabin burn and remember the subdued quality of it all. You say it well.
March 23, 2009 at 5:59 am
Your potato boiling poem is my very favorite of all the stuff I have read by you. I would love to have it written out in handwriting. Would that be possible?
March 23, 2009 at 5:56 pm
Possible–but I’ll have to find someone with good handwriting!
March 24, 2009 at 7:54 am
MP, did you read about this? http://newsminer.com/news/2009/mar/23/poet-sylvia-plaths-son-prominent-fairbanks-biologi/
Seems that suicide is a profound kind of silence.