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Best Sound Poems

Below are the all-time best Sound poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of sound poems written by PoetrySoup members

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there is a sound that sorrow makes by creech, bruce
A sound in my silence by sediqi, bahram
The Sound of a Wrecked Piano by Gilbert, Aidan
THE SOUND OF YOUR CRY by Ashton, Darryl
A ROBIN'S SOUND by home, myles
The sound of angels music only she could hear contest by Hopper, Anna
The sound of lonesome by Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic, David
Sound of a door by InRustA, Dew
No sound no sight by Braithwaite, Katherine
The Sound of Death by Daudi, Titus

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The Best Sound Poems

Details | Sound Poem | |

Be Quiet

If you could paint a picture of silence
What color would it be?

Would you use the brush of fog to hush all sound 
A shade of gray, with touch of brown,
where eaves are dripping to the ground
and windows weep their quiet tears
Where solitude obscures the view
In a slate of lonely winterlude?

Or would it be a shade of green
A forest deep, of muted breeze
No sound to scatter birds from trees
No broken branches, swaying grasses
Missteps that crackle the fallen leaves
Untouched by clatter, harsh and rude?

Would silence be as black as night
A cave too deep for shards of light
A void within a famished core
A well of dark and empty shores?

Or would silence be of many hues?
A rainbow shade of morning dew
A soft pastel of sun declining?
No bedlam, blast or blare of noise
Could break the spell, a silent voice 
As if the soul could slip away....

A hush, sweet and keen, 
Like ghosts unseen, or angels soft as air...
A silent sea, ....where mountains lend an ear
As clouds pile high, ....and wait to hear...
Only for this:  such peace....such bliss
A sound so small, ... as welcome as a sigh

Copyright © Carrie Richards

More great poems below...

Details | Sound Poem | |


I decorate a grotto for you, Mama where orchids and holy images embellish this special place and day, that saintly icons guard you there as if they beg me to be released from years of guilty devotion… Yet I polish their laced clothes; then close the night waiting for wind chimes to knell,’ Magnificat.’ Scenes from younger days resound, while you, Mama, gift me with love and hate flickering through my confused mind: and sharpened bells ring in my ears; the gong of your voice banging across the hall, yet I still recall, mouth so tender, droning lullabies in the soft of window sills, ‘Magnificat’… How can I reconcile quietude and boom, when the little girl in me longs for your lithe timber within that special place, till holy statues listen to my wind chimes and finally understand this adoration. 8/1/2015 Debbie Guzzi's For Whom The Bells Toll by nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud

Details | Sound Poem | |

Your Sound

Your sound reeks with pain
I hear it, 
I feel it,
It is loud and fierce...
Your sound reeks with fear
fear of being free,
fear of being self 
in a cold cold world....
Your sound reeks of sadness,
Sadness filled with tears
that has cried rivers and oceans
and streams, that only
dope fiends can relate to...
Your sound breaks my heart,
it is contagious
it is outragiously sad
I wish you could quiet it down....

Copyright © lashawn white

Details | Sound Poem | |

Her Stilettos

.    The sound of
   Stilettos         coming   home. 
  The echo                            reverberates
 In the empty hall,
My heart
And my soul
Is at pure    ease
To know             that 
Its soul                   mate 
Has come                    home. 
In the                              morning
 Stilettos                                 make
  Deep                                         sounds
   Of their                                            lone
    Departured                                         echoes.
      My                                                         mind
        Yearns                                                     and
         Waits                                                         for
           The                                                           sound to                    return.
            The                                                            satisfying sound  of   resounding
              Steps                                                         from the one I love                to satisfy
                Step                                                           their way down the             long corridor. 
                  The                                                            countdown  begins  after  the evening news 
                    I                                                                like    to  wait  and  listen  to  the  beauty  of
                     The                                                            last 10  steps reciting     their poems in taps
                      In                                                               a rhythmic sequence      of  poetic bliss.
                      10                                                                      -9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1...I’m home.

Copyright © Raul Moreno

Details | Sound Poem | |

A Forest

The night like clouded charcoal scorched,
A sea of trees with starlight torched.
A night where laws are sound asleep,
Anarchic prayers running deep.

Alone I hear the wretched screams
Of screeching trees... or so it seems.
The cries protract into the air,
Without a sound they disappear.

The shrieks have bartered now anew
With sounds of meat and boney chew
Discharging from the faithless trees
And snarling with my memories.

But creatures' gruesome growlings drown.
I smell the gunpowder and frown.
The waging sounds of war advance
In battle stance with gun and lance.

The sounds of bleeding men enhanced,
The sounds of fate and time and chance,
No sooner do they cross the trees
Than fade as all their voices freeze.

But worse than bombshell sounds occur;
The storms, the winds, the thunder stirs.
The roars that shake the forest's roots,
The flowers, soil, and passion fruits

A rainy resonance restocks
The grass the air the woods the rocks
And washes with its dancing tingle
All the sounds that intermingle:

A dreaming forest in the night,
And trapped within its fanfare fright,
It chokes me in its thunder thrill
And hangs me in the silence still,
And hangs me in the silence still.

Copyright © Gael Attal

Details | Sound Poem | |

The Pain

A true poet knows
What is the pain of another poet!

Poem-writers don't understand the gravity.

They make a noise.


(The poem is dedicated to the honorable administrators of Poetry Soup)

Copyright © Sandip Goswami

Details | Sound Poem | |

Nature Sounds

The wind against the trees make a rustling A sound unlike any other around The rubbing of the limbs craft a bustling It’s a subtle music which brings this sound Even the lake near land has a ripple The wind against the trees make a rustling And the grass nearby swishes and baffles And the wind seems to give a great panting The water has another sound, bubbling Sounds permeate all throughout this calm place The wind against the trees make a rustling Mountain sits mighty with sounds on its face Even the light seems to speak of high marks The scene enlightens higher than heartstrings Sound is the number one part that embarks The wind against the trees make a rustling…
Russell Sivey Contest: 'SOUNDS' Sponsor: FRANK H. 5/11/2013

Copyright © Russell Sivey

Details | Sound Poem | |

A Magic Adventure Of Peter The Pan

A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan

Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's' hard he tried. He even wept.

School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.

When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"

Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.

"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.

"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!

Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"

Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"

Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!

Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...

"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"

"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"

"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"

deborah burch©

*****end part I...conclusion in part II

Copyright © Deborah Burch

Details | Sound Poem | |

Play It

Play It

You were afraid in the beginning.
You were excited and filled with anticipation. 
But, afraid.
Just holding her in your hands was a strange experience.
Awkward, like a first kiss.
Unsure of where and how to touch.
Just how should your lips
Meet her cold and unfamiliar mouth piece?
Remember those first few notes
Screeching through space inside the band hall?
A sacred place where rhythm and note
Have coursed the air and touched 
The smallest bones of the human body
With the softest and most pleasant caress.

Become familiar with the way she feels.
Close your eyes and feel the softness of her curves.
Treat her like a lady of royal blood.
Her father has given you her hand.
There is no leaving her at the altar.
You will decide your life together.
Love her. Caress her. Kiss her softly.
Learn to move your fingers and listen to her reply.
The early sound of surprise becomes the sound of love.
Soon, you breathe as one, and the voice you hear,
The voice we hear.
Is not hers. Is not yours. But, the union of both.
And what we hear is the birth of something
Grand and glorious and beautiful!

Play it!   

Copyright © Ray Dillard

Details | Sound Poem | |

(Multitudinous) Silence

There are many sounds of


   Arrayed with 
                    multi hues

             The Silence of 
you ponder words of brilliance
       that have a multi faceted 

        The sound of Silence 
             can be heard 
echoing the corners of your mind,


             are words
         spoken in anger,
         best taken back, 
    that cannot be retracted. 

        The sound of Silence 
       when tension floats 
         with heavy hands
      to choke and claw you 
             from within.
How to break that glaciers ice?
         Silence reverberates 
             inside a room,
       when romance dwindles,
        and their spoken word
          interests no longer.
  Broken hearts, wounded souls
          A sadness in this one

  The sounds of a fabulous Silence, 
                that follows
          the end of a song, 
      that reminds you of a time
    when you heart was not bruised. 
              The sound of 

           The sound of Silence
     that occupies space inside a mind
   with no thought, 
                 no feelings, 
                              no curiosity.
       the best sound of Silence,
         is that poetic refrain, 
                inside of us
As we stand, bathing within words
           written by friends.
Together, united, a poetry world.
               That Silence 
                speaks so

Copyright © Christie Moses

Details | Sound Poem | |

You Flew The Kite

The kite is soaring through the air
I see your laughter, but I can't hear
There's only quiet whirring in the dark
That sparks a light from yesteryear

The movie runs, with flickering
No sound of wind, no sound of you 
But just the view upon the screen
My throat is tight.   You fly the kite...

I see the two of you, upon the sand
Your innocence, your eyes of wonder…
To watch you now, I feel the sun
A timeless piece of yesterday...
My throat is tight.  You fly the kite

Not a whisper, not a word, 
Just the silent movie, chattering
Those bluebird sounds that tag along
in harmony with this treasure,  found..

Upon the beach, one August day
A childhood quickly swept away
into the world,  just like that kite
You soared so high, that I've lost sight
My throat is tight.... You flew the kite

The ocean breeze, has caught your hair
Your smile is wide in summer air
Your brother laughs, then runs ahead 
barefoot in the morning tide 

The beach as smooth as rosy skin
Your kite so high in summer's sky
A soaring eagle in the blue

I smile but wonder....who were you?
My darling children, who I once knew
how fast you grew, now, who are you?...
My throat is tight.... You flew the kite


Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Sound Poem | |

Spring's Commotion

that crackle,

the ripple

that stir

the rustling

the patter

O Jehovah
that wonderful sound;

Your beautiful noise
Your fantastic gift

Spring !

Copyright © James Peranteau

Details | Sound Poem | |

My Dark Prison

To hear the woodpecker
To see the sun set 
To smell the lavender as it blooms
To feel another’s touch
No more

To be locked in this pitch black prison
To never hear a child’s sweet laugh
For no sound comes through these atrocious walls
In this prison I sit

Locked away for sins I have never committed
The walls closing in on my every detestable moment
Left only to my thoughts
The memories, they haunt me

To feel the wind flowing through my hair
To hear the distant bells: a church
To see, just once more, a bright starry sky
My memories, they haunt me

I open my eyes, so heavy are they
I breathe in deeply, this putrid smell
No one have I seen, though the ages pass
Left to my thoughts, these unbearable memories
In this dark room I sit
As yet another tear hit’s the floor
The sound is swallowed by the silence
Once again it is no more

Copyright © Alison Rogers

Details | Sound Poem | |

Cry the Beloved Country

There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm.
Men United in the hunt,
Women united in the spiritual sounds of songs of the Shaman,
And ships from the east,
Came with the Glory of God,
And between gunsmoke and gangrene,
Destroyed scenes of queens and kings,
And reaped heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Busting at seems of disaster,
Cry the Beloved Country,
My master, is it truly that my father Ham,
Saw Noah Naked,
Cause my great, great, great, grandfather fought off dreams of death to endure.
And ensure that I would spend my life in this struggle.
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the beloved country,
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But there was rhythm,
Among mothers’, mothers’ , sisters and brothers,
There was rhythm I tell you, 
And they prayed for my daughter to know a better day,
Every day in this struggle, I pray for my daughter to know a better day,
Where her soul is free, and she can be a light unto the nations,
Perspiration surrounds me, on this gethsemene mountain,
Where day after day, I watch my manhood muffled by the sound of bitterness,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But I tell you, there is Rhythm,
And so I say cry, my beloved country,
For the day of judgment is upon us,
And renaissance awaits,
I don’t care what mountain tries to destroy my sight,
My daughter will know a better day,
White supremacy, mental illness, multiple sclerosis,
Myopic minions of monstrous greed driven savages,
Ravaging urban centers and fatherless widows,
Like Caleb, spoke to the sun, I will not run,
God gave me this mountain,
And my daughter will know a better day,
Cry my beloved country,
Cry not tears of sorrow,
Cry not tears of lament, 
But cry the sound of triumph,
For we will not stop,
Until every thought has become captive to the sound of liberation,
 And all nations, bow to righteous sensations,
Celebrations’ elations, and dancing to the rhythm of the Savanna,
And I will not stop,
We will not stop, 
We must not stop,
There are braves,
Sages of this age,
And there is rhythm.

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas

Details | Sound Poem | |

Journey to Eternity

Even the gulls have ceased their squawking
     V-formations over eerie, calm seas
Is it you?  The ferryboat man?
     Making your way across waters without breeze

No lapping waves, sand fine as silt
     Makes no sound as I leave footprints
A misty morning, no shells crack ‘neath my feet
     The red orb rises, causes me to squint

Alone with my thoughts by the River Styx
     I sense the passage from this world to the next
My mind on heaven seems transfixed
     I stand and stare by quietude perplexed

The ferryboat man reaches shore
     A wave of his hand beckons me
Without a word I board his craft
     Before me lays the journey to eternity

Serenity comes as we cross the river
     A world without sound surrounds me
A world that I willingly choose to leave
     All senses drained now, as death I foresee

*For Paula’s “Breathe in the Silence” Contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Sound Poem | |

Lilac Blooms

I saw you again yesterday
Our eyes met, you looked away

I remember the songs you used to sing
As I sit here and wonder if my phone will ring

Now I'm picking a glass of lilac blooms
You planted for me, back when we shared bedrooms

It's been oh so long ago...
But time stands still, as you say hello

The sound of your voice makes me quiver
 May the lilacs stay in bloom forever....

©Donna Jones

Copyright © Donna Jones

Details | Sound Poem | |

A blessing or a curse

Facebook I wonder if you are a blessing or a curse?
People Sharing their pictures and videos of their best and worst.

Clever sayings, obscenities, prays and vulgarity.
Show up on your pages with some form of regularity.

You will find people you have seen or haven’t seen for years.
 Laughing one minute and then shedding a river of tears.

Selfies of woman showing what God has given them to cherish
Proudly displaying themselves when they should be embarrassed.

Religion and Politics is a good way to stir the emotional pot.
Both thinking their right when you know for sure they’re not.

You can share your likes, dislikes and give a comment or two
 But be careful not to be too honest or you might just be removed.

Games of every kind you will find here for your pleasures delight
Sending requests to people even when they don’t want your invite.

Facebook is a place people display their everyday life with others
Making statements that could hurt or showing love for your mother.

 Facebook is not the one I should blame for what it shows on its feed
It’s just an empty space to fill with life’s true nature for others to read.

So before you post your thoughts and feelings in this open space
Ask yourself would this be something I would be willing to share face to face?

Copyright © Erin Soares-Anselmi

Details | Sound Poem | |


Tapped percussion dribbles a wham,rushing on quivers of sensation through my blood, when duskfall changes its beat to jazz a dizzy ride in gush of night, I roll. Notes throbbing a cadence along blues' mood as velvet of skin begins to open, unmentionable thrills of breath unwind claimed by music so raw, wild hips sashay. Hands unfurl in a lift of tempo's rise; while my body gyrates in free motion like rippling fire, I can't stop toes ablaze and the circle of groove jives on to reel. Oh, just one more grasp of this revelry while conga drums beg for another dance inhaling euphoric whim, life's vein where pulses burst as dawn's moments arrive! ...................... Mood Music with Original Details Contest Sponsor: Sheri F. Harper by nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud

Details | Sound Poem | |

Sounds in Silence

Enjoy the silence, the deep of night.
Not true silence for the word itself is illusion.
Still yourself enough to hear.
Listen for the sounds invoked in the darkness.
Quiet yourself from the inside-out
to perceive more.
The insights revealed during such muted moments
slow us, granting peace and serenity.

Night is a living entity with
sound and industry.
Work, machine, wheel and gear.
A train's low grumbling engine. Its doleful
horn carried mournfully on humid summer air.
The machinery of life resonates. Those working
graveyard hours commute, clock-in, labor.
The stark trumpeting of a siren carries
over the numbed ears of a slumbering city.
A harsh, grating street sweeper toils
joined by the ghosts of twilight
on hushed, shadow-laden avenues.

Voices, song, and music in the night.
Crickets saw a faux-string melody.
Leaves rustle, sweep, and dance
a quiescent refrain on puffs of easy air.
There are drums on the silence as 
approaching clouds roll with thunder.
Rains follow.
The timbre of water bubbling upon earth,
rooftop, and walkway.
A great horned owl takes flight.
Its wings "whip, whip, whip," as it directs
the late night aria. 
Savor this appealing chorus of sound
as an all familiar nocturne.

The sounds of silence enrich and help 
make tranquil the human heart.
Being part of its lyric, we are calmed
by nature's chorus. 
Even the weighty rumble and earsplitting
rasp of thunder can soothe the spirit at night.
We are a part of the sound and silence always,
and in all ways.

                                     Sounds in Silence
                                     Free Verse

Copyright © Brian Baumgarn

Details | Sound Poem | |

Do Dew Drops Do

is it true that dew drops that drop are drops of dew that do drop? do dew drops become drops of dew? when dew drops unite do they say i do? do all dew drops do what dew drops do? i wonder about drops that do drop especially dew drops. do dew drops pay their dues before they drop? your due an ending to this "dew drop do" story, they form into drops of dew  they do when they're due.

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Sound Poem | |

Touching the Stars

The blue mood of silence, is there on the screen Not a whisper, no dialogue, just a hum that is found A celluloid reel, spinning backwards in time while flickering shadows, has hushed all the stars that watch through a curtain, while marking the years The soft ocean breezes are catching your hair. It frolics, embracing the blue dress you wear You are running barefoot along the incoming tide The beach is as smooth as the silk of your skin You are flying a kite in the swift summer sky You raise up your arm, and are waving at me A smile on your mouth, and a star in your eyes I can almost hear whispers, that come from afar shattering silence, without any sound The joy of it falls through the long winter years.... In voiceless, vague memory, to rest on my ears I follow I'm watching you play Your lips ever moving....what is it you say? I find myself reaching... still, wanting to catch to set a small trap...and reach into the past I can't hear the chords,....nor the score to your song Or music I long for.....that is kept by the stars But, here in the heart of this moment, I grasp Like the kite reaching higher....while piercing the sky Weaving a magic...where joy never dies I watch how you hold on....that kite in the sky... Before me in questions to ask... Then you throw me a kiss.....that I'm reaching to catch And for a moment together, .... we are touching the stars....

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Sound Poem | |

The Unfortunate Singer

My friend Quigley likes to sing
And really almost any thing.
Though once her high note
Caused a blackbird to float,
Back to earth less one wing.

Copyright © Richard Breese

Details | Sound Poem | |

Spring Returned

With sound of laughter in the breeze     
I knew it was spring's voice I heard            
Though years have folded crease by crease
My heart remembers every word            

The springtime blooms with fragrance sweet
As if all yesterdays are stirred
The song of robins in the trees
I knew it was spring's voice I heard

As rainwashed skies look down on earth
Now waking from her winter's sleep
And joy, the greatest gift, assured
As if all yesterdays were stirred
With sound of laughter in the breeze

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Sound Poem | |


Pound pound pound, My head spins, Round You hound hound hound, With your god awful mouth you, Taunt The sound sound sound, From your ghastly guff is 3D, Surround I may smack smack smack, Your god awful trap, Whack! Round round round You'll spin round with your face Frowned
No sound sound sound? What? Now no sound from your Mouth?

Copyright © Marugu Mo

Details | Sound Poem | |

In the Shallows

           I bent over to touch my toes
               and the ground tore open like a backbone.

I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe 
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars, 
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.

Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees, 
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]

The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.  
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.

   I dared to taste oblivion,
       and the sky swallowed me. 

My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming, 
but inside out.

            I bent over to touch my toes,
              and my spine tore open;
            the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
          like the tines of forks.
            I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
              but I only found where I end.

Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel