Best Noise Poems
It started with one utterance
that grew into a shout.
That cry grew louder in his ear.
He could not get it out.
The bellowing prolonged itself,
and then one cry was two.
His frightened eyes searched faces on
the teeming avenue.
On the edge of reason then,
he gaped at strangers’ lips,
but mouths stayed shut and mocked the truth
of his apocalypse.
The cries that he was hearing came
a hundredfold or more,
a deafening cacophony,
an oceanic roar.
And nightmare revelations that
had brought this din in dreams
were now his actuality -
enwrapping him in screams.
The throng pressed on around a man
who crouched, with eyes half-dead.
And now inside a room he rocks
to screams inside his head.
tsunami commands
mother earth to tremble --
demons unburied
blue skies of water
pour out devastation --
crashing tears thunder
thunderous booms of
explosions in aftermath --
resilience conquers
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, March 9, 2012
for Nature the Destroyer contest (PD)
first place
From the moment that you shut that door
I knew that things had changed
I am not the man I was
For I'm broken and deranged
Empty thoughts now steal my mind
I do not feel the same
You've taken all I've given you
And offered me the blame
With each breath I take, I pray each day
Will somehow be my last
I taste the words I heard you say
A reflection from the past
The noise that's in the silence
Is screaming out your name
Hope and trust have been replaced
With loneliness and shame
I'm stuck in broken promises
A victim of your lies
My heartbeat now a stranger
My soul doesn't recognize
The noise that's in the silence
Still haunts me everyday
The noise I hear is a heart that breaks
Can somebody take it away
Noise in her Mind
I know her so well she came long ago to visit my being
we share beauty and bedlam boudoir and kindest of spirits
She walks like a cat woman hears like a bat feeds birds
quietly she soothes thunder’s volcano howls with the wolves
Klimt’s Kiss Vermeer’s Girl With Pearl Earring Botticelli’s Venus Degas’s
Dancer In Repose Fedro’s Much Better With Age she
absorbs pastel and paint strokes symphonies on canvas
so many facets big bangs and roaring giggling convulsions
Sometimes Woman Laughing from Goya’s dark paintings
a Broken Column like Kahlo’s when some Munch’s Scream
invades and infests silence deep inside her beautiful scull
Voices shout from profuse directions focus condense and
refract confront tease torment disagree and interfere with
calm serene serenades when a few notes tender chords
and accord vanish into cacophonies misleading the song
I know her so well admire her resilience and how she copes
with the noise the disruption and the ballet of so many
different views pandemonious clangour onslaught of turmoil
as she appears calm on the surface orchestrates quiet composure
How she holds it all together I cannot really fathom with all that
jumbling distance so close and yet so far from my innocent mind
My Venus Of Milo has taught me so much most of it all and over
above that imperfection is a wonderful gift and very complete
kick and swish
crunch and swirl
autumn leaves
playful whirl
T errific and terrible, loud and unrelenting, I am suddenly
H ammered by a head splitting, grating screech, as the
E mergency Broadcast Signal blatantly blares from my TV.
N early every glass rattles and shatters, because the
O N button is stuck on its highest setting possible!
I try in vain to find the clicker to lower the volume
S o the earsplitting nightmare of noise will lower, but it keeps on
E scalating, out of control, while I cover my poor ears in agony.
Written on 3/7/2017
The wind produced a flapping sound.
I looked from treetops to the ground
but wasn’t able to decide
its origin, though hard I tried.
The wind died down. I read my book
there in my comfy front-porch nook.
When once again the cool breeze stirred,
the loud, distracting sound I heard.
Then from the corner of my eye,
I saw the U. S. flag we fly
so proudly only yards away
at city hall on grand display.
The flapping noise then sounded sweet.
Long may that wind-blown flag compete
with all the other sounds and sights;
it is the one that most delights.
entered in the Strand Completely New Poetry Contest, 5
on July 4, 2020
indescribable,
untranscribable ~
imbibable, your exotic, quixotic perfume
spiraled me into a quandary
of dirty laundry, penance,
no superintendents in attendance
I come from ragged boys, no poise,
just noise ~ a quiver of quavers,
no saviors of silence,
but if some sap sullies our sister
we'll flatten him
you come from platinum
a blessed nest of nuance,
a quay of kindness,
finesse, fineness ~
savvy sophistication, subtlety
a quaint saint I ain't
then poise met noise
you became my bible;
undeniable, heavy sighable,
unclassifiable ~
indescribable
Written 12 Feb 2021
There’s a fluttering in my attic;
something’s alive up there.
The cat is getting frantic
and I dread going up the stairs.
I hope that it’s a bird,
rather than a bat;
unless I have misheard,
oh, I’d better get a hat.
I recall my sister’s hair,
when a bat flew into it;
it truly was a horrid affair,
she threw an awful fit.
I hope it’s not a vulture,
no, the louvers aren’t that big.
I hope it’s just a sparrow,
if it is, I’ll dance a jig.
There’s a fluttering in my attic,
some creature has moved in.
I hope it’s an easy rescue;
a challenge I can win.
Voices no longer talk but yell.
Angry legions, carrying banners
along burning streets,
have infiltrated the Temple quiet
with the unholy noise of hell.
Rage has been elevated
to the status of virtue,
division into a hymn.
Soon, fiery eyed militia,
banging their drums,
will be knocking on your door
to present a warrant
to enter your head.
Find a hatch somewhere
into the still
of an inner space
and escape, safe
from the marauding mob
tearing silence apart,
laying waste the State
in the name
of their rowdy god.
Where the grass is green
The air clear and fresh
We find ourselves
Back where we belong
In nature's embrace
With birdsong, wildflowers
And trees of various hues
Choked with fumes
Amid faceless buildings
Where the growl of traffic rules
On crowded streets
We scurry in anonymity
To our daily drudgery
Our solace, the journey home
Repair
There is a fragment of psychosis left behind,
by the illusion of leverage.
My personal resolution to stop the sinkhole
From becoming a derelict tourist trap,
has fallen short of success.
I drop to my knees to request more time.
The raised and beveled edge of my heart is guarded,
It is reluctantly given another chance.
You yelled and screamed but all I heard was noise, because you didn't take the time to speak.
9-19-17
Alexis Y.
In a space that should hum with focus,
Where thoughts flow like ink on paper,
I walk the halls, and what do I hear?
The clatter of egos—loud, brash,
A symphony of insecurity,
Each voice a drum pounding louder,
Drowning out the quiet rhythm of real productivity.
Oh, the harshness of noise!
Your chatter like chainsaws,
Hacking away the sweet silence,
The sanctuary where ideas bloom.
Conversations compete like wild animals,
Roaring for attention,
But who’s listening?
Who's doing it?
I can’t hear my thoughts,
Lost beneath the weight of your bravado,
Your anecdotes, your grand proclamations,
About deadlines, met and spreadsheets conquered,
But all I see is the façade,
The show of work,
Not the act of working.
It’s an orchestra of distraction,
A cacophony of competition,
Where silence is a crime,
And whispers are for the weak.
But listen!
True strength speaks softly,
In the space between breaths,
In the echo of contemplation.
But here you are,
Standing tall, voice raised,
As if volume equates to value
As if the loudest in the room
It is the most productive.
It’s a mask you wear,
But I see behind it—
Just shadows, just noise,
Just the harshness of insecurities masked as power.
We chase the clock,
Tapping away, thinking,
We’re winning some races,
But it's not a marathon,
It’s a serenade,
A melody of purpose,
And you’re just playing the wrong tune.
So, let’s pause.
Lower the volume,
Tune down the tumult,
And Let the silence reign
In this kingdom of commerce.
Let whispers be the wings of ideas,
Let the quiet be our battle cry,
For in the stillness, we create,
In the calm, we conquer—
Let’s reclaim the space
From the harshness of noise.
Let’s work with purpose,
Let’s make a change—
Because the loudest voice
It doesn't always win,
Sometimes it’s the softest,
The most profound,
That ignites the fire
Of true creation.
Sometimes I bellow in despair
at the noise
the noise
the noise, noise, noise
voices nattering
people chattering
my mind is shattering
from the infernal noise
So I reach up to my head
and pull my little brain
into my arms
soothing it
cuddle it like a puppy
and keep us both
from the light
and the noise noise, noise