Best Soundproof Poems
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Here is my dreamiest, dream job.
I will get to drive a fire truck and use the sirens - all the way to work and back. The gasoline will be paid for by my company.
There will be no committees, and no paperwork. No one will be required to do anything they do not want to do.
Everyone will be the boss of themselves. We will get to design our own luxurious offices. We decide what our work is.
The woman next to me is designing houses for people who do not have them. I am running a creative writing center slash art studio for pre-teens and full teenagers.
The woman who envisioned this company pays us what we decide we are worth. My best friend spends her day in an enormous greenhouse creating hybrids.
We eat a family style lunch and brainstorm our terrific ideas with each other. There is a lot of laughter, the walls exude joy. We want to stay late.
We have a hot tub, a swimming pool, daycare center, school, and arcade on the premises. The school is manned day and night, even weekends, so our children can go to school and learn geometry or psychiatry, or zoology at any age. All they have to do is talk to the teacher. They can go to school on Saturdays and all night! They love school because the curriculum is designed around their interests.
We can play whenever we want to play, swim whenever we want to swim, design whatever we want to design. Supplies are unlimited. Paper, pencils, coffee, fruit snacks, lunches, and suppers, are all free.
We design our day the way we feel it should go. My perfect career makes me feel respected, and is fulfilling in so many ways. My friends are here, and we help each other so often, they are my family; I am part of theirs also. We each have an apartment if we want to live here. It is soundproof so we can sleep at any time. Naps are encouraged. The perfect workplace. The only time we leave is to worship, because it is strongly encouraged to get away for one day and worship the deity and religion or non-religion of our choice.
After about three days
I realized that I felt better
And I was terrified
Because that just means
That I have successfully turned up the volume
In my headphones so loud
That I drowned out every last thought I had
When I realize that it is a good day
I wonder how far "good" goes
Because that same day I wake up in the middle of the night
With an anxiety attack
Blood rushing, heart beating
I remembered that I was still alive
And the only reason it was still a good day
Is because I fought it
I remember that I would rather be under water
Struggling and fighting to get back to the surface
Is better than being at the surface on a canoe
Thinking about how I wouldn't care
If it tipped over and I couldn't get back up
I want to tell you this
I want to tell you that the canoe is tipping
I wrote out the text I wanted to send you
And deleted it before I could send it
Like screaming for help
In a soundproof room
It was snowing, and in the middle of a great big storm… as…
Another storm raged on, inside our dear, sweet little Dragon,
His penguins so care free, were now chasing after, you see…
The great Dragon Country Western Singer and Star, ‘Drago’!
Yep, they wanted autographs from that OTHER musical Guy!
Dressed up in country attire, as they two-stepped, down the hall.
So Dragon put on his cowboy boots and hat, and other fine stuff…
And caterwauled, in competition! Low and behold, surprising us all!
We fell, begged, & prayed for Dragon, to stop, what he was a doing.
He thought he was, grander than grand, for us to be bowing and cooing.
In truth, we were merely, passing out, from traumatic exhaustion!
As he stopped we tackled him, to the ground, which was the only option.
He was so happy; to have such devoted fans, swarm over him, instead!
He was rushed into a sound proof room, to record for YouTube, we said.
In mercy to all, we turned off the sound, so he unknowingly, lip-synced.
Yep, to Drago’s song! Low and behold! He got 50 million hits, I am told.
With so much acclaim, for the video! Royalties roared in, so we decided.
To rent a big bus, to take us, next summer, to see our new friend Drago!
So beware, there’s still time, to get out of town! This truly is, a warning.
I impart, and if he tries to sing again, have a soundproof room a waiting!
And between you two, in a music video, you and Drago will be set for life!
Don’t forget, the penguins, want to dance, in the video with their idols.
Isn’t it amazing, how stories can unfold, to quiet, the WORST of storms?
But Beware, two Dragons, bring bigger storms, than one alone can form!
Written 2-28-2015
Lace of dreams - long time gone -
Embraces waist of maiden
An off- white whisper's subtle tone
Drops shyly pearls from Heaven
Breeze flutters holographic Me
My wounded captain has returned
I feel like floating rainbow glee
His eyes are red and face is stern
He drops his gear and runs through me
A desperate undertow of sorrow
I never felt so loved and free
He screams as there is no tomorrow
The dawn drops soundproof double door
I leave him lonely in the wild
Surrendered heart returns to war
As I find peace along with child...
for Carolyn's Contest "Ghost"
Classes scattered throughout the week,
learning the right way to speak.
People swarm in hoards,
living in brick-walled wards.
Allegedly adults,
without the results.
More space to learn who to be,
strong hands guiding us how to see.
Plenty of peers,
all trying to find their own careers,
Each group has their flaws,
some bending the laws.
But it will be fun they say
I just shrug and walk away.
to try the next group.
Classes are one to three hours,
but the homework towers.
No car, no cash
lots of stress, and still in class.
Join our political movement,
without us, there can be no improvement
opinions cover the walls,
you can try to argue if you've got the balls.
How do people not know how to use a hammer,
Its 2 am and they are making a clamor.
deadlines creep and crawl
like centipedes on the wall
Roommate needs the room for a while,
I come back and the smell is vile.
get soundproof headphones
they block the sound of needy hormones.
Computer broke,
why is it pouring out smoke?
Assignment due in the morning
overheating warning?
me and the computer both
"It's a life lesson"
Oh thanks, what a blessing.
No cats to cuddle the stress away
it's hard to not dismay.
One more day
one more week
I can say
the pattern gets bleak.
But time will pass
I just need to survive this class.
Audio hallucinations, voices not angelic, they're atrocious and scathing.
No one else hears whispering every now and then: Did you hear that?
Going mad a big fear; her visceral crazy dreams are becoming unclear.
Entertains, never complains of painful futile pursuit. Panic stricken, blames other.
Less what’s prescribed—dizzy, a soundproof booth she describes and it, a bother.
Outerspace, underground, heavens above, always hate! Where is love?
Reality vanishes, she comes undone—swears she hears something, someone.
Denials rest her mind; amassing piles of illusions and lies combined.
Experiments; government, bad karma! Conscience, angel or demon? Too much.
Mental illness? She is functioning and keeps it together. She’s in touch.
O God, a curse, be strong, in this damned world others suffering's much worse.
Nevertheless tries her best, she sleeps with one eye open, frightened.
—a healthy mind, a soul quest.
WELCOME TO MY WINDOW, STRANGER
IT SEEMS "LA VIE EN ROSE" FROM THE OUTSIDE
FRESHNESS OF THE BLOOM OF PLASTIC
WITH DOUBLE BARS INPRISONED IS MY HEART
A GATE TO FREEDOM OR A MIRAGE OF DESERT ?
DILUSSION OR ILLUSION ?..I BURN FROM INSIDE OUT
I SENSE MY MOUTH SCREAM ROARING ECHOES
YOU WALK BY ME ...I? ...ENCAGED IN SOUNDPROOF FATE...
poem accompanied by inspiring photo on my Facebook page
3 January 2012
For a friend in need who felt no one could understand him...
I dreamt I was falling
Through black clouds and lightning
The wind tunnels swirling
I don’t know what to do.
Awake now, I look around
I’m lying helpless on the ground
No one around for me to be found
This is must be the sad zoo.
Do you know the sad zoo?
This is the sad zoo…
…This zoo moves.
My life appears normal,
The daily hum-drum routine draws on and on.
Yet, still I feel as if it’s not me doing it.
I am here, in the sad zoo.
I can see me eating, working, sleeping, living,
But from behind the glass of my enclosure.
This is my cage. It is a mirror, but I can see through it.
I watch me like others watch me – nothing unusual or special here.
Yet I’m trapped in the sad zoo.
The sad zoo, which moves so I can follow me around,
Trapped behind this invisible barrier,
So thin you tell me it’s easy to break through…
…but I can’t.
But who cares? Why do I matter?
Too many questions…
Why is this zoo empty?
How did I get here? Is it my zoo?
How did I become so normal? I’m NOT normal! I’M DIFFERENT!
Hmm…. My cage is soundproof.
Even I didn’t hear me.
But I yelled, I know I did. Is my voice really so small?
This zoo has been dug deep into my core.
I can feel it, like a black hole inside of me that keeps getting bigger.
Bottomless, empty, blackness, a pit.
I’m alone in my head.
I’m hungry, but food has no taste.
I’m thirsty, but the water feels dry.
I have sight, but the colours are faded.
I am able, but I can’t make myself move.
This is the sad zoo.
I am in the sad zoo…
…Come visit me?
I wake up in a bath of sweat
I am late starting my journey
Weightless clothes hide my being
Protect the skin from reality, my reality
The garage door shuts up in a rearview mirror
There is nothing else but emptiness
The rose bushes prune themselves
For an artificial Californian winter
Dislocated trees pretend to whither genetically
Along the street I slide encapsulated in soundproof
I ride in a bath of distorted forms
Cannot figure out why the street ends up in stairs
I merge in an one-way freeway with ends of marine layers
Curious eyes greet somber, slow and mute police lights
I am finally free to fly and collapse in the Pacific
Slapped by wreaths with my name in purple
*
A three year old with ash blonde hair jumps up her beach towel
She runs towards the ocean in an excited déjà vu
I grab me with my two little hands and smile at my regenerated youth
An obsessive dream re-occurring - our street ending up in stairs…
Again and again…
I wake up in a bath of sweat
I am late starting my journey
Weightless clothes hide my being
Protect the skin from reality, my reality
The garage door shuts up in a rearview mirror
There is nothing else but emptiness
The rose bushes prune themselves
For an artificial Californian winter
Dislocated trees pretend to whither genetically
Along the street I slide encapsulated in soundproof
I ride in a bath of distorted forms
Cannot figure out why the street ends up in stairs
I merge in an one-way freeway with ends of marine layers
Curious eyes greet somber, slow and mute police lights
I am finally free to fly and collapse in the Pacific
Slapped by wreaths with my name in purple
*
A three year old with ash blonde hair jumps up her beach towel
She runs towards the ocean in an excited déjà vu
I grab me with my two little hands and smile at my regenerated youth
An obsessive dream re-occurring - our street ending up in stairs…
Again and again…
WELCOME TO MY WINDOW, STRANGER
IT SEEMS "LA VIE EN ROSE" FROM THE OUTSIDE
FRESHNESS OF THE BLOOM OF PLASTIC
WITH DOUBLE BARS INPRISONED IS MY HEART
A GATE TO FREEDOM OR A MIRAGE OF DESERT ?
DILUSSION OR ILLUSION ?..I BURN FROM INSIDE OUT
I SENSE MY MOUTH SCREAM ROARING ECHOES
YOU WALK BY ME ...I? ...ENCAGED IN SOUNDPROOF FATE...
*****
A Martian from planet Mars,
He thought the earth was a star.
Then sets down on the moon.
explored until noon.
These earthlings are bazaar.
The Martian's name is Sir Peter.
Earthling, take me to your leader.
Earth? He points up, "See that light."
This green man is not too bright.
Helms a ship with an ohmmeter.
The top leaders of the moon.
Gathered in a soundproof room.
Silly man an ohmmeter!
We will install a GPS meter.
"Mars" launch time is at mid-noon.
Peter launched from "Moons" air base.
left the moon for outer space.
Captain's log entry reads:
Electric tops warp speed.
He's now head of "Aerospace."
Written 2/26/2021
*Ohmmeter- an instrument measuring electric.
verse 1- 7,7,6,6,7,
verse 2- 8,8,7,7,8,
verse 3- 7,7,7,7,7,
verse 4- 7.7.6,6,7
Syllable Counter.net
I’m just a working stiff
droning along in life
Everyday
me be doing
what the boss queen bee say
Following orders,
never once do I ask why
I’m just a wooden bottom-rung peg
soldiering along dutifully
The folded antennas in my head
informs me
not to speak on things I see
Pass the time away busily,
doing grunt errand tasks
that help makes
the golden honey currency flow
Don’t ask about the moral price
Following the chain-of-command
memo declarations,
nary a single time asking twice
There’s no need for me to ask why,
seeking answers
will get you cast out the corporate hive
Don’t ever ask why
things are done the way they are
Keep flying blind
with my buzz soundproof
headphones on,
Boss company lady says me gonna go far
Just keep my curious eyes down ...
raise the profit flag high,
and sing the company song
Every wage-earning private citizen knows
that the CEO
general’s non-verbal instructions
are never wrong
Unhappy, unappreciated, underestimated.
Born to be weak.
Breed to be inferior.
Cursed to be abused.
Governed by emotions.
Enslaved to the kitchen.
"This is your life,"
she was told.
The injustice hid behind
that grotesque phantom-
CULTURE.
Centuries of rotten tradition
smothered her development.
The woman with no voice.
She screams within.
The sound jailed
behind the bars of her lips
An inaudible plea.
Earsplitting silence.
Shrieking tranquility.
But- one day.
Her song will jail break.
The beautiful butterfly entombed
in a soundproof cocoon,
will emerge.
The woman with the muffled voice
will transform
into the woman with a deafening roar!