Posts Tagged ‘silence’

Poetry Challenge 10

March 15, 2009


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.


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.

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.


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


My response:

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.

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