When her silence speaks
the rush of
breath
soul
leaf chimes
mulch growth
bark banter
her, mellifluousness
When her silence speaks
lissom creatures begin
their rites
for early morning
awakens the spirit
her spirit
When her silence speaks
nature’s monks
renew the air
spatial awareness
When her silence speaks …
trust begins
The rain burst through
a behemoth of sound
bringing with it a chill to soak
the bones and wither the souls
of mortal beings
with their rushes and sighs
doorslams and cries
shivers, angst, tears and fears …
The green ones drink
in silence
for this is their time, their silent hour
for nature’s silence is the beautiful sound
of life, her heartbeat, her gift.
They know how to calm the behemoth
While we run and hide
they embrace the storm.
After the heavy fall of thundery rain
the canal is deathly silent… bloated
with not a sight of bird
or ripple of fish
only the scent of earth
and the fading static of nature’s wrath
Night sky blue
twilight inspiration
I see there are no birds
no breeze
only a stillness
waiting
for humanity to sing
but instead they
create a haiku which reads
Lockdown is over
the masses have decided
to unmask the world
Silence happens
because the Earth needs to breathe.
A poem I published in 2017 seems rather apt at this moment.
of continuance
of course there is always time
always time to breathe
even if that breathing is tight
tingly and cold
and that’s when it hits me
I’m watching the rain
listening to the patterings
seeing the grey morning clouds stir
hearing the moans of a thousand souls in the wind
feeling the silence of her tears
of her tears
longing to evaporate into joy
but on this cold cold day
she can do nothing but cry
and I can do nothing
but think of continuance
and climbing that hill
hoping I can still breathe when I reach the top
of course there is always time
to breathe
and if not her tears will fall
to evporate into joy
and I shall join the wind chorus
although you won’t like my song.
We are born seeing the world as a solid place
with different surfaces: earth, air, water, fire and so forth.
All solid in their own way.
We go about our lives interacting with each surface
creating things using a mixture of these solids which includes ourselves.
Sometimes when there is a silence there comes a clarity
and the dust motes begin their slow dance of finality.
If you sit long enough with the air around you becoming still
you’ll come to see things in their natural states.
You’ll receive a heightened appreciation of your surroundings
and with your senses reborn you can watch as the dust settles
to reveal a blank canvas where everything permanent, solid,
has an ambient essence of life with a different atmosphere.
You’ll see.
