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Saturday, March 15, 2008

Loss of Sound

Radio is Dead

The radio is dead. Still as it was left,
Tuned to the wavelength of the last show
As if not wanting to go. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it stays silent so,
Having no sound, a programmer's theft

Of its purpose to what it started as,
A hoard of song to how things ought to be,
A box on the go. You can see how it was:
Look at the dusty dial and its frequency.
The music died with the radio. Hissing loss.

____________

Breadth of Mind

Laughter got guilty; lingering
Sounds dwell for a few seconds,
But are clasped abruptly to bring
Silence. The nothing beckons,

Measuring the breadth of your mind,
Looking for points
Where the quietness of a kind
Falsely anoints

Peace. Continuing with living
After the drowning silence wins
Is nearly always losing.
It never varies its sins.

____________

Nobody in the Lane

There was nobody in the lane
Except blueberries and hedges
And a mare moon
As large as your eyes.

We picked off blueberries
From bedding hedgerows,
Blue-red juices painting
Wordless, noisy fingers.

You stole all ground,
No voices protesting,
Secrets desisting, working
Mouths wording the loss of sound.

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