Sound Poems | Examples of Sound Poetry

Such a sensitive soothing sound, As the words float around, My thoughts are bound, To what I've found, A profound state of bliss, As I witness it all unfold, Uncovering the gold in silence, The power in presence, As my essence flows through reality, Affecting all I see, Knowing it's a reflection of me, A...

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Silent Ringing Ears In the silent night, ears ring loudly to themselves: nothing else is heard...

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there are gaps, in sound grand pauses - the intentional evocateur! demonstrating that resonant pulse ~ how more bounces back from absence we are the preordained silence on a sea of sound, we are carried away yet, dropped...

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After the storm, everything was still— but not peaceful. Just... wrong. Shingles scattered like leaves. Walls torn open like someone needed to look inside. A tricycle, flipped over. Bent. One wheel spun, slow. It kept going like it didn’t notice the end of the world. A child sat near the wreckage. Barefoot. Silent. Mouth open—but no sound. I watched. Wanted to speak. But silence had teeth. And it bit down hard....

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Born yonder east flickering behind the rolling sky. Majestic birth of light governs wonders for new and old eyes. Though northern winds crash and whistle around walking legs under hooded collar of wet yet thick, warm, heavy coat. Screwed up eyes know light shines bright between the lines of driving rain causing splash on tarmac roads. Heavy sway of...

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The tale of when our ancient world begins when curious characters did abound, such as the audibly contrasting twins, who bore the common names Silence and Sound. The mission Sound would always prosecute with loud and bold voluble persistence, thunderous, unyielding and resolute, his one aim to tell of his existence. While Silence stood still with an open...

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The silence here is not of peace— It hums like blood beneath the skin, A hollow hush that will not cease, A quiet carved from what has been. No birds, no breeze. Just broken ground, And boots that whisper through the dust. Even echoes fear this sound, Where dreams break and memories rust. I used to hear the laughter loud, My brother's voice, a...

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I turned to look back, feeling anxious as I stood "by the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find." Was there someone there watching me? The gate creaked shut, echoing the taint of guilt That I hoped no one heard. Earlier I came through this gate to meet you in the woods. It was rusty, stuck shut, and needed a heavy...

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Forbidden Ground Wandering beyond the limitation of death Trespassing through the back gate of forever Maundering alone in a virgin wilderness Witnessing the future destruction — of time (Dreamsleep: May, 2025) Bookends Enough to be absent he fumbled the words His mind ever vacant new truancies heard Those spaces beyond him those spaces behind Bookends of fruition — unspoken defined (Dreamsleep: May, 2025) Sognefjord Waiting A mile past tomorrow a glacier lies at rest New...

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Who knows the sound that silence makes, for its the absence of noise that we perceive. For silence cannot be heard. It's lost in the listening up for. It's felt as the break between, what we're waiting for, what we are expecting to happen, and what we are listening out for. Wait for it! Hang on, Hang on! It's coming! Just wait! Listen Up! The quieter...

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(Inspired by Prince song When Doves Cry) A lonely world, they say, for a boy and a girl. Maybe I'm just too much like my father. Why do we scream at each other? This isn't love's soft pearl. How can I live through this heartache? Another tear will smother. Maybe I'm just too much like my father. We try to live...

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Pink arrives like the first warmth of breath on cold glass— soft, sudden, unapologetically alive. It is the color of almost, of not-yet-bloomed, of fingers brushing but not holding. It lives in the hush between laughter, in the curl of a lip before it becomes a smile, in the sky’s quiet confessions just before dusk gives in. Pink remembers how to be tender without being fragile. It is the flush of defiance and the...

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I never liked loud noise. As a child I would run inside terrified by the sound of an aeroplane flying overhead, cower under the wrap of my grandmother's thick coat on the rumbling roar of a passing truck. There was always menace in sounds that exceeded a threshold which for me was barely above that of the spoken voice. Even then, crowded spaces chorused in...

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blowing wind has stopped my anxiety is high tornado train sound...

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back up warning sound dump truck garbage truck or what possible bank heist...

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