They sit like crows on the telephone wire,
balancing their hunger on a single rumor.
The air between them is fat filled with death,
words slick as rain on a nasty windshield.
They don’t mean harm—at first—
just the small thrill of opening a secret’s door.
But soon, the room fills with your name,
the syllables tasting like fire and smoke on their tongues.
When they talk about others, they stitch you in—
your face rising from the fabric of their chatter,
your laugh mistaken, your sorrow guessed.
They feed on the echo, never the truth.
And you—listening—feel their beaks graze your skin harshly.
DINNER’S A CHORE
Dinner, my turn, nothing in the fridge
Off to market, be gone a smidge
Car won’t start, battery’s dead
Jump it, full steam ahead
Old gossips in the aisle, won’t move aside
‘Scuse me’ I croon, but they get snide
Right back I get crass
Suggest they kiss my ass
I am confused by the rumors,
but give them no meaty merit
For I have not yet spoken to the source
I always go to the person and ask them if it is true
Please do not try to bother me
For I have learned the secrets of an instigator
When you say “I don’t know whether to tell you this”
it means I probably do not want to hear it.
Sometimes I say “please do not tell me”
But your goal is to rile me, and you tell me anyway
I do not react or overreact, because I do not want you to have power
Thus, you go away to bother others.
Rarely coming back to me.
It is my secret way of discouraging the gossips
and the rumormongers, and it works for me.
My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.
She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.
They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.
She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.
Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee
Gossips mar the world
The great becomes insecure
Brat and war-monger.
Life is not that easy
As though an invisible lock
Has locked you up in an overcrowded jail
You have to live
Against the eyes of the public
To the expectations of the public
Against the wrong concepts of the public
To the judgement of the public
Against the gossips of the public
To the rumours of the public
There is little choice
Either
Retreat to a corner
Observe and isolate yourself
Hold strongly to your stand
Or
Join and become one of the member
Busy gossiping one another
There is no key to this rusty lock
Except ignorance or tolerance
As much as you can
Once upon a time my heart murmured
I wouldn't listen to gossips
I wouldn't listen to fallacies
I wouldn't listen to rumours
And you please don't let me down
However
I'll lend a listening ear to
Only the truth and justice
Amongst the honest people
At any corner of the world
I'll cock my ears to listen to
Only the truth and justice
That's embedded in the bible
The voices of God
Oh,true and justice
Your world will be my home
Confined shoes
Toes struggle
Toes gossip
Barefooted
Cross - legged
Toes tangled
Gossip too
Closed door
Round table
Voted compromise
No gossips
Open air
Mouth gulps food
Mouth giggles
Teeth gossip too
We live to be the best and everyone really cares
Some are jealous but some feel it’s fair
No matter how good you are in your work
Some will feel bitter and stab you with their fork
We can’t please anyone because that’s what life is
But don’t lose opportunity so you won’t be missed.
Don’t even dare to stoop down into petty fights
You’ll find yourself nowhere till you lose your own light
Gossips make you famous but will not make you worst
Learn how to control in expressing your bursts
Not even a word will stop you from dreaming
Just do what you can and keep on believing
.
If you're some kind
of a celebrity
or one endowed with
notoriety,
not a few newshounds
want very badly
to crash and barge
into your privacy.
They can launch anytime
their invasion;
no, they don't need
your kind invitation.
They'll publish secrets
from your diary
and show soggy details
of your laundry.
Then their public reports,
spoken or sung,
melt as hard candy
on the gossip's tongue!
.
As if to spy upon
some rapt adjourn
more devellish
than their own ~
existing for the slug of virtue
from some forgotten dream
Their aim ~
outdated with resent
yet stealthy earned.
Their ears, like prodding volts
reversed to bring return.
Life's focus ~ now forgotten
with its yearn,
seeking noticed space
that all but clutters . . .
nothings
scorn!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.