Do you hear the whispers?
They are all around for those who listen.
I prefer to ignore the noise,
For out of darkness the voices are risen.
He did this, and she did that;
If it needs to be spoken about,
Then speak it plain and proud.
For it is rude to whisper in a crowd.
I do not choose to hear the whispers,
But they are all around for those who can see.
On a plane landing in D.C.
When wheels touched down the fuselage grew quiet,
Weapons were drawn, the bell went dong, and the game was on.
The modern-day Brooks Brother’s warriors were off and whispering.
Like Pavlovian creatures it seems to me,
Whispering in unity to some unknown identity;
I shared this observation with a friend.
A dinosaur she labeled me;
Of this I may be guilty,
But even Triceratops is with me;
It is rude to whisper in a crowd
My story may not yet convince you.
But let me share this if I’m able;
What I observed at a table.
Four arrived to dine one evening;
Male and female, two of each;
Three laid their weapons on the table;
One just smiled and chortled,
“It’s nice in here they have no cable,
Just great food and conversation”.
They chatted a bit and then it happened,
Then tapping, another buzz, more tapping, buzz, tap, buzz, tap,
Buzz, tap, buzz, tap, buzz, tap, conversation while no words were spoken;
I sense the anguish of the one;
His face screamed out in silence, who are these intruders at my table?
No introductions have been made, yet guests have arrived at dinner;
While my prehistoric notions may be endangered,
Of this I am still certain;
It is rude to whisper at the table.
A final whisper I will share,
And this one speaks to hearts that tear.
A husband and a wife living a very happy life;
Minds at peace, children at play;
Hard working and industrious their dreams they pursued;
Perhaps with some overdue;
Engrossed in life with daily challenges,
Apart they drifted not seeing the peril they were inviting;
He to his career and she to hers;
Life raced by, much of it a blur,
But the family grew, and fine sons and daughters were raised.
When all at once the whispers arrived to impart,
Their daggers on her heart.
He swears they are just friends,
Friends that whisper in the dark;
Volumes of whispers at all hours;
He shows her some to quell her questions.
How can he not know she wonders?
It is not his language as is written, but what is says when it is whispered.
Whispers by their very nature speak of things to be hidden and unseen;
Thus, their mere presence is obscene.
Affairs of the heart are such a quandary,
While I may wander in a Jurassic Park,
Of this I am quite certain;
It is wrong to whisper in the dark.
So, WTF my friends,
Won’t you please heed this poet’s pen.
Stop this whispering in a crowd; do not whisper at the table;
Stop it now while you are still able,
Make this a rule for your life;
When it is dark only whisper with your wife.
Copyright © Kenneth Cheney | Year Posted 2020