Best Hear Poems
Do not build a ladder
when I fall into the abyss—
I did not call for climbing.
The thorn in me
is not a riddle to solve,
nor a window to repair.
I am thunder, not your project-
rain needing witness,
not your umbrella.
When I say I’m drowning,
do not throw ropes of reason.
Let me sink into your silence—
weightless, unrescued, yet unalone.
Be the shore that does not move
as my waves thrash and settle.
My pain is not a puzzle.
Don’t match it to your pieces.
It is a wild bird—
let it wheel, let it scream, let it land
uncaged cage on wild earth.
You see my storm
and lash advice like scaffolding,
but I need someone
to taste the torrent,
to say yes—it bites, and burns,
not someone who murmurs
“you should have stayed inside.”
To love me is to shhh,
to hold space as sacred,
to hear with your cells,
not just your ears.
Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.
She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.
She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.
Scars selfinflicted are better than that
dirty feeling.
As she lays a broken shell gazing at the celling.
She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.
The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.
At times it gets to uncomfortable so in
another direction we steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles hear.
The Festival of Lights, Chanukah has arrived
a hopeful time of praise each year revived.
The Menorah lit, each home becomes a church.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.
Our sister Miriam lights the shamash taper first
a maiden fair and scholarly her prayers rehearsed
to bring together all that's beautiful, diverse.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.
Eight nights we praise the L-rd for gifting us with Light
and pass around small things which bring delight.
We rejoice. In brotherhood we are immersed.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.
May G-d in his greatness light all your days
May family, friends, and foes mend their ways
for all have needs, let kindness tame their thirsts
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.
*Bo-ruch A-toh Ado-noi E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech Ho-olom A-sher Ki-de-sho-nu Be-mitz-vo-sov Ve-tzi-vo-nu Le-had-lik Ner Shel Cha-nu-kah.
* Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by His commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the lights of Chanukah.
Over recent months I’ve had trouble with my hearing…
Misinterpreting what is being said isn’t so endearing
Take a step back and think of all the things you would miss if you couldn’t hear at all
The list is endless but here are a few I came up with
The cry of a newborn baby and your child’s first words
The symphony of the dawn chorus
Music and speech on the radio or TV
Phone conversations or chatting with friends
Going to the theatre or to a concert
The door bell or alarm clock ringing
And of course there are those three little words we love to hear …
‘IS DINNER READY ?’
OOPS I MEAN
I LOVE YOU
I took the plunge and saw a specialist and have been fitted with a hearing aid
Wow what a difference it has made
I can hear perfectly now
From the squeak of a mouse to the moo of a cow
And the best bit of all…
If someone is mouthy and starts to scoff
I can quickly turn my hearing aid off!!!
10~06~16
N B I have to approach what has been and what is going on in my life with humour it is just the way I cope with what life throws my way
Can you hear me, can you hear me Mama
I’d say when I was four
I “played” my toy piano
And she’d say, play some more!
Can you hear me, can you hear me Mama
At sixteen, I did say
She smiled as she applauded
My song for high school play
Can you hear, can you hear me Mama
I called from overseas
It’s not the best connection
She cried, just come home please
Can you hear, can you hear me Mama
Although she can’t, I sigh
I’ll always need for her to know
Her baby boy’s close by
As Mother's Day approaches, my heart is filled of love!
If I were a tree in a garden
In silence I would stand strong
UNIQUE and BEAUTlFUL
My soul would feel blessed
To give life to other living beings
From the breeze of my fresh breath
My soul would feel blissful when
Many find solace in my shade
On scorching sweltering summer days
My soul would soothe each day
In ecstatic overflow of serenity
Elated to listen from dawn to dusk
Those exquisite sweet songs of birds
That nestle in my sprawling branches
My soul would sense colours of hope
When first ray of dawn caresses my skin
Brightening all living cells and beings within me
I am LIFE, I am YOU
I am THE CONNECTION in-between
Destroying ME is destroying YOUR OWN SELF!
Submitted for: NA Poem From A February 2021 Judged Poem - Poetry Contest
Date: 03/16/2021
Sponsor: Constance La France
Previously Submitted for: If I Were A? Poetry Contest
Image Chosen: 1) If I were a tree
Contest Judged Date: 02/04/2021
I never talk to you as much as I should
Just to say thank you for all of your gifts
I take for granted all that you’ve given to me
Sometimes blaming you for all I have missed
And when you come to me I shy away
Feigning I can’t see you or hear you
But no matter where I look you’re around me
In every vivid color and shape of movement
You voice beckoning in all the worldly sounds
I even try to hide myself away from you
Still you find me wherever I go without effort
Cruel and hard or ignorant and fleeting
I’ve been both and you lovingly embrace me
Cursing you at the losses washed upon me
Your hand generously gives without prejudice
Gluttonously taking much more than my fill
When I look back you’ve again filled my cup
All the mistakes I have made and will make
Many of them knowingly and willingly
Still you offer all of your forgiveness
If only I will ask as a son should his father
I’ve broken so many of your rules a multitude of times
Deceiving myself believing you wouldn’t notice
Still you offer me everything you have
When I lay in the dark at night and examine
I hope and fear you and I doubt and pray
I hope you can hear me through all the other voices
Although I fear you don’t listen to me anymore
I force myself to doubt your existence
Knowing the truth unwilling to admit to it
I pray…Dear God…Can you hear me?
She could hear us whisper when she wasn't even in the room
Knew we were up to mischief just by looking at our faces
Oh how I wish I could turn back the clock …
The dawn chorus is no longer music to her ears
With limited hearing and failing eyesight the TV remains silent
Her only pleasure is listening to talking books on a machine for the blind
But the volume is so loud she remains isolated in her own room
Why aren't you wearing your hearing aid I ask?
But she simply won’t wear it …
Won’t admit to the fact old age is creeping up on her
So now she lives in her own little world
A world of increasing darkness and silence
I dread the day she can no longer see or hear me
Oh how I wish I could turn back the clock …
05~05~15
Contest: A Mother’s Ears – Craig Cornish
~awarded 3rd place~
I hear guitars a’ calling in the gloaming’s final fling
when sinking suns subdue their flames and fairies take to wing
as day departs, a yawning ash, beneath a dusky haze
igniting one by one the jewels of midnight’s diamond blaze.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the clouds within the skies,
with tunes which trill like welling tears from somber misting eyes
of misplaced muted homeless souls who drift alone in grief
beneath the silence of the stars that offers no relief.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the beat beneath her breast;
their murmur throbs with passion’s pulse and sensuous unrest
that rumbles deep in worried woods before impending storms
and splits the air in morning meadows, ere the sunrise warms.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the pitter-patter rain
which summons with a soothing sound upon my window pane
evoking bygone childhood dreams within a vagrant breeze
engulfing me in gusty swirls down misty vortices.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the waves on distant shores;
they’re crashing out a monody upon the mystic oars
of phantom ships within the dawn, like speckled caravels
a’ sail on seas of raven wings to moonlit citadels.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the morning’s reveilles;
they’re pouring fires in the skies and burning up the seas,
while waking flowers in the fields and setting trees ablaze,
and closing one by one the eyes of midnight’s starry gaze.
I hear guitars a’ calling in the deserts of my mind;
they’re nullifying hollow realms that time has left behind,
where pathless sands are blazing hot, the sun is set to die
and weary hounds are panting faint’, their tongues hung long and dry.
HEAR THOSE BELLS (Etheree and Tanka combined)
hear?
those bells
wedding bells
one plus one two
it is a magic time
when promises are made
a lifetime commitment two
at the time so easy to do
but there will surely be many trials
two souls in a give-and-take arrangement
many couples fail
fail to give each other space
space to know themselves
and those who weather the storms
owe thanks to god’s bright angel’s
The old rusty gate CREAKS open,
I hear the blowing wind WHOOSH and HOWL,
blazing autumn leaves waltz MURMURING
stories from a forgotten past,
The lonely owl HOOTS, SHRIEKS TU-WHIT TU-WHOO,
rain falls DRIP-drop…PITTER-PATTER
A door shuts BANG somewhere
making me SHUDDER!
The desolate staircase is dusty and empty -
lamenting for footsteps of CHATTERING, GIGGLING
children playing hide-and-seek,
dry leaves CRUMBLE under my feet in the orchard
which once smelt ambrosial!
The place WHISPERS an exuberant childhood…
my heart FLUTTERS to recollect
the HUMMING music of the quaint hamlet…
bees BUZZING around the colourful flowers,
butterflies flirting with roses and dahlias,
birds CHIRPING melodious tunes which
serenade to far-away RIPPLING streams.
The swing has stopped, birdsongs are gone!
The rusty gate SQUEAKS open..
July 3, 2021
"Onomatopoeia" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
23 Onomatopoeia words (In Bold) have been used.
22 Lines
THIRD PLACE
Dear Lord hear my plea!
Since the dawn of time...
has reigned cruelty...
Man has chosen war,
know not what it's for,
when will there be peace?
Why can't humans learn?
Lessons from the past...
Must we live in fear...
When, your Word is clear,
Forgotten so fast
Refrain repeat
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
We all pray for change...
know not what will be...
Written in your Word...
now, not often heard,
Dear Lord hear my plea
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
Since the dawn of time...
has reigned cruelty...
Man has chosen war,
know not what it's for,
When will there be peace?
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
Hope in the new world! ...
wicked will be gone...
They have had their day,
but from You have strayed
Oh Lord for how long?
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
Still I live in hope...
trust implicitly...
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
I bow down in prayer,
knowing that you're there
Dear Lord hear my plea
March 07, 2021
John Derek Hamilton
When your fledgling heart is breaking
and tears silently start to fall,
mothers hear.
When you whisper of secret loves
suppressing muffled cries of joy,
mothers hear.
When lies are rehearsed in your mind
and before you utter a word,
mothers hear.
When you struggle to stifle screams
entombed in a cone of silence,
mothers hear.
When you learn to laugh at yourself
and take life less seriously,
mothers hear.
When you mumble, I love you, Mom,
and the words come straight from your heart,
mothers hear.
I hear voices
high in the trees,
trilling from the shrubs
and on the breeze.
I hear voices
high in the sky,
that grow and fade
and finally die.
A non-conducted chorus,
yet oh so sweet,
from a raucous warbling,
to a static tweet.
There’s a whistling pitch,
or a cackling cry -
I hear these voices
as I stroll on by.
I hear voices
that defeat my stress,
help me understand,
what matters less.
I hear voices,
that are sweet to hear,
with natures melodies,
pleasing to my ear.
Not a truck or a car;
not a bustling bar.
There’s no smog hidden star,
and no concrete or tar.
This here is their paradise;
no one hustles; no one lies,
for one to live, one often dies,
and all around me flies.
Where I hear voices
high in the trees,
trilling from the shrubs
and on the breeze.
I’m their audience,
with a host of choices,
when I amble by,
and I hear their voices.
I hear the winter call my name
in syllables bereft of breeze,
ethereal through silent trees
hypnotic in their leafless maim.
In sheerest blue of morning freeze
the shadows drape from rimy limbs
while through my head a matin swims
that beckons past the boundaries
of culture's polished monotone.
I'd ramble the denuded scape
past hoary waters' icebound gape,
to arcane winds my caution thrown.
Across the dawning's lambent sill
the winter calls. I hear it still.