throats parched as the desert sand
eyes blistered by the heat
dunes rise higher, wind’s illusions
oases shimmer in minds’ delusions
camels perfume the air, left and right
50 degrees centigrade, even at night
welcome to the Kalahari or the Sahara
deep discounts available on gypsy mascara
If nobody listened—
would the poem still breathe?
If nobody listened,?would the words still matter??
Or would they curl up like burnt paper?
that never asked to understood?
What if the poet speaks?and the walls do not echo back?
Is a lighthouse still a lighthouse?if no ships are lost?
If nobody listened,?I would still write.
Because the poem
is not a performance?it is a pulse.?It is the stubborn proof?that I was here.
Because poetry is not begging?to be heard.
It is surviving being ignored.
Because somewhere between
in the deep unseen,
something always listens.
Maybe the poem was never meant
for the crowd.
Maybe it was meant for the one person
standing at the edge of themselves
On the tight rope of life
teetering…
Maybe it was meant for the future,?for the bones not yet formed,?
for children who will inherit unfinished sentences.
If nobody listened today,?tomorrow might.
And if tomorrow doesn’t,?the earth will.
Like the petals of a rose receive the dew
My ears tingle with the voice
That calls my name.
As the sun with the dawn
I arise beckoned by the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
I return to my ease.
Simply mistaken.
Like the willow shimmers with the breeze
My ears dance to the voice
That calls my name.
As the leaf turns toward the light
I seek out the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
I return to my ease.
Again mistaken.
Like a colt greets the spring
My ears leap to the voice
That calls my name.
As the lamb to the ewe
I respond to the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
Tis the Lord you seek.
Should He call again
Say oh Lord speak
For I am your servant.
So oft mistaken,
How could it be
That the Lord would seek
Or deign to speak?
To one such as me?
And then…
He called my name.
Not once or twice
He called until I could hear.
He called from afar
And He called from so near
He called my name
And joy of joys
I listened.
I cried out to God on bended knee
I listened as He prayed over me
That prayer made all the difference
Yes indeed it set me free
Now set free I am so joyful
All the day long I sing His praises
Lifted high above the heavens
He's with me all of my days
"No one dare
Disturb the sound of silence"
Quote taken from the Sounds of Silence by Paul Simon.
Echoes of a lingering quiet time,
When no one hears the bells that chime.
Through the abyss I feel myself falling.
My voice cant be heard, although I am calling.
Silence has deserted me so it would seem.
There are no pins dropping in my dream.
Is this the day they freed the noise?
Dulcet sounds that bring everlasting joys,
Words uttered loud and clear,
Though I implore, she will not hear.
My song is old, bordering on archaic.
Like shattered glass that forms a mosaic,
I need to suppress it and turn it all around,
Stifle the silence and bottle the sound.
The silence is definitive, no volume switch to turn.
The sound infinitive and audibly I yearn.
Into my muted dreams she often sneaks.
Its louder than words when silence speaks.
Its like gold that glistens,
When silence listens.
To motivation I listened.
Daylight greeted, and bid farewell
but I still listened.
Night came
Peeked though the window,
watched as I roamed around
comprehending what I had listened to.
Days turned to weeks,
and weeks to months,
then years, almost in unison
Yet nothing came about
I listened still
to motivation like a
motive motioned to
evocate.
I believed and crazy I was labelled
I fell and laughter
erupted from their throats
hoarse yet mockingly infectious.
"You can't do it", "you're only a dreamer"
they mocked and concluded.
But I still listened
Diligent, helpless
yet submissive to conquest,
and now
I listened,
conceived, and attainment is tied
around my soul's
successor, for thee who listens
in abundance gift's he shall obtain.
yours eyes were there
tell things i already knew
you lied
but eyes i listened to
not the voice saying no
your wyes were warm
but they brought so much harm
relatives said Mitch’s ideas were preposterously silly
Nonsensical I heard, about my cousin Mitch Willy
He was always entertaining though, a clever sounding cuss.
Ended up writing computer systems; now richer than most of us.
We can’t believe others believed in him, the relatives said.
He seemed crazy to us, farfetched, foolish, fantasy-fed.
But corporations ran with his ideas, and it made them all rich.
Now my naysaying relatives wish they had listened to Mitch.
If I listened would I hear the trill of peace
Sense the presence of its calm
Become the hum of gently tuned violin strings
Quavering in erotic fulfillment
Would the song of dancing thistles hold me captive
Allow its swaying tremolo to consume me
And clouds, oh distant clouds,
What mysteries would you share
Shaped within your wind-blown pantomime
Perhaps the eyes forever questions
Must be shielded
To allow the music of a raven’s wings
To share their black-silk feathered tune
Or ripples strum their fingers
Gently on a distant shore
Or is it in this listening
That I become
What I have heard
I kept you at arm's length don"t know why I thought that you might know me
Just another branch broken in a thunder storm of my life's tree
No one thinks to actually talk, so lost is what it will be
I am used to hitting restart more times than justifiably
At any point, you could have communicated decidedly
I would have listened just as I waited many a time for thee
I forgave more times that most would have given you quite honestly
But running is easier than seeing truth confidingly
I made mistakes to which I would have atone for them completely
May you spend the rest of your life seeking a replacement for me
All that she had was just her life
And the abundance of time
She gave him her time
And he appreciated it
She looked at him, he listened, he listened
Everything was fine yet still speaking
She breathed around him, he listened
The same air they shared
H e listened to her every word
He listened the approached the ending of day
They shared each other's way
She was committed to the thought heard, he listened
These the things that he said he displayed
She trusted him she shared her way
Time passes she still there, he listened
Still have the way that he looked at her rare
His eyes showed he cared
She trusted him in her space
She reveled in the place
They abode together he still yet listens there
She was astounded by the way he shared her time
He so listened she was in love with him
Because he was so giving but the most important thing
that was he cared so she remained there WHY? Because
HE LISTENED
2/22/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
She was a woman who listened.
She had those Bambi-interested eyes.
People gravitated to her as if she was chocolate.
Many strangers confided in her
Telling her secrets they would not have told their mothers
She kept their confidence, becoming a one time friend
A woman on an airplane
A woman on a bar stool
A woman who listened
All springs had gone
From a loser's life
Who was sitting on
The cursed bachelor rock.
As empty plate
Nothing to taste
With new fork.
What the hell
Going there
From winter to autumn
All had gone
But it never happened
The spring touch
His threshold to fold.
All you listened
But not it was me
Who could feel
Warmth of magical words
I love you
I miss you
I care you.
As the teddy bears listened intently, vastly quiet
She took advantage of their faithfulness
Giving them a story that made them feel safe
She was a happy eight-year-old, spreading joy.
She took advantage of their faithfulness
By loving them with all of her might
She was a happy eight-year-old, spreading joy
The ending of the day was bathed in twilight
By loving them with all of her might
Giving them a story that made them feel safe
The ending of the day was bathed in twilight
As the teddy bears listened intently, vastly quiet
Written 7-9-2020
Contest: Feelings of Nostalgia
Prompt: 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
As I close my eyes
I can hear the forest
As it comes to life
I can hear the whispers
Of the trees, as the
Leaves blows in the wind
As small pieces
Touches my face, as if
It was being scrubbed
Echoes of voices
Traveling throughout
As if, they were talking
Among each other
In their own language
It feels like a breath of
Fresh air
Encircling my body
Causing it to rise and then
Float high in the air
As the wind whisked me away
As it calls out my name
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