Remember the time of the televisions humming song,
That snowed-out picture that stayed too long,
We'd strain to hear a voice, a single steady note,
Lost within the winter of the signals remote.
But look between the lines where the static parts,
The chaos is a canvas, mapping all the charts.
When the crowded world, loud with blurred design,
The jagged, restless friction still forces out the line
It is not in the silence that the truth is finally shown,
Wading through the white noise, seeds of light are sown.
The background roar grows sharper, until it falls away,
And leaves a sharp silhouette against the fray.
Clarity Through Static
She sits where chandeliers spill gold on marble floors
Diamond cold against her throat, Gucci bag at her side
Friends lean in, laughter bright like baubles in a ballroom
Talk spins: Paris in spring, Italy by the sea, new bags, new trips
Forks touch plates piled high, then rest. Half the food untouched, cooling
Beneath the diamonds beats a broken soul in velvet seams
She laughs, but the sound thins out before it reaches her eyes
Outside the glass, heat shimmers off the street
On the footpath a crate holds donuts dusted with sugar and sweat
Her dress is patched, joggers dusty from miles walked before dawn
Wrinkles carve worry lines, but her eyes keep a steady, quiet light
She stands through summer, smiling at each passerby
Under the bridge by garbage bins is where she sleeps, yet she thanks God
Hunger rises when the restaurant door opens and scents drift out
She feels it, turns, sells one more donut and counts it as enough
Static clears. Her gratitude rings truer than hollow chimes
Poet’s Note
Date: April 22, 2026
Title chosen: Clarity Through Static
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Rose colored glasses cover my eyes
Everything that glitters is not gold
I prefer the dark despite the sunlight
Bad times uncover the hidden soul
It’s easy to dance when times are good
When belly full and happiness is shared
But when time is heavy hard as wood
True nature reveals a soul who is there
Can you see the forest for the trees
Is the bigger blue picture in your view
Wind blows dilemma in burgundy breeze
Will you stand or run how will you choose
Hesitate or are you quick to red react
Are you boisterous and bold despite
Problematic times do you gather facts
To use create a solution that unites
Clarity through static of possibilities
Are you the pebble tossed in pond
Creating waves of change in reality
As certain winged words you use to bond
You are as clever as birds of feather
Wasting not your time in fuchsia flight
Standing on principle as tough as leather
Revealing gold soul and anointed life
Buzzing brilliance, I leisurely recline.
And hold the dense receivers to my ear
Listening for a sign from feeble shine,
The whispers from a dusty atmosphere.
The hiss of static fills the ether-space
A crash of numbing waves upon the shore
Of numbers lost in white noise's warm embrace,
Drowning into silence forevermore.
Until that steadily increasing thrum,
Beating quiet against the void of space,
Its tender percussion a rising drum,
And grants an ace, a lonely speck or trace.
Years of white noise may blind the sky-blue sea,
But now the cosmos calls, at last, to me.
my state of mind
has been in a daze,
a smog,
a fog.
I watch your lips move,
but have no clue what you say.
Your words are muffled,
and fizzle into nothingness.
Like tides rolling in
the only thing i hear is
a repeating pattern.
I wish for clarity, but
all i hear is static.
They speak in muffled tones
As if precise words don't belong.
I move in close to comprehend,
But it sounds like imprisoned wind.
I adjust the listeners of my heart;
To feel, to touch, to become a part;
To assist in their efforts to communicate.
There are waves of static to eradicate.
The static is derailed, and clarity prevails.
Mission accomplished! Words, free to sail.
Buzz
Head aches with black and white
Hum
Sound settles in your skull
Pixels scar your retina
Close your eyes
Its a headache that blocks the other ghosts
Its pulsating where it needs to be
Takes over heartbeat
Neurons comply
Sit with it
Now all that's fallen pick up sticks
Align. Become clear
Cranial aerials
Breathe
Then walk away..listen
Buzz
Hair itches
Grey
Relax
Fade into what your grey invites you to
Why is there silence so early this night?
No chirping, no hawking, all is not right.
The sunset still offers ambient light.
Long silence is eerie, for there's no sight
of anything moving around, despite
the recent day hours, when sounds gave delight.
I now make some noise, perhaps to incite
some way to move them to run or take flight,
and pull out my whistle, blare it with might!
Up stands a bear with deep roars- what a fright!
Static annoys. Purity brings joys.
Chances of clarity may increase
with the application of elbow grease.
I remember that fuzzy TV screen,
and adjusting rabbit years (oldsters know what I mean).
The Dodgers on the radio was bliss
when I tuned out the crackle and hiss.
Even a scientist, by noise, is drowned
till he cleans his data, and finds truth, profound.
Eva Cassidy sings a note so pure
it penetrates the soul for sure.
Love is not mysterious or obscure,
When it's true, it's the heart's cure.
The truth is what I want to hear.
Tell me what's on your mind, my dear.
She turns the radio dial with tired hands,
chasing a voice through the crackling dark.
Every station fractures into static,
a snowstorm of sound that won’t let her in.
She leans closer, as if breath alone
could coax meaning from the broken hum.
The world feels distant, unreachable~
just her and the staticky hiss of unfinished thoughts.
Then softly~
a thread of music slips through the noise,
thin as a pulse returning after silence,
a single note glowing like a lantern
held out by someone who somehow knows her name.
She stills herself, listening,
the melody rising, warm and unafraid.
something in her chest loosens~
a knot she’d carried so long
she’d forgotten it was there.
The song widens,
filling the room with a light she can’t see
but feels, unmistakably,
like hands lifting the weight she never spoke of.
She closes her eyes.
The static falls away.
The music moves through her
like a truth she’d been waiting to remember~
a quiet, holy clarity
that finds her exactly where she is
and asks nothing
except that she let it stay.
I do believe that we are not alone,
at times receive a message unexplained.
A feeling or a sighting from elsewhere,
that gives me such a thrill and brings a smile.
Premonitions of events I can attest,
from whence they come, I never disagree.
By keeping open minded then I gain
satisfaction through unbridged reception.
There is so much more we can explore,
Yes, all around are powers we can’t see.
Connections some electric that can shock,
instead of blunt denial, accept outside arrival.
So exciting supernatural times that spread.
with clarity if only we allow.
Ourselves to see through static that surrounds,
instead embrace this noise with open minds.
As I'm here today, tomorrow a row away
Fibonacci conscious and novice of the fact
Eso-meta-psyche intact in static intersections
Theoretic physics listed
Spooky observer directed undetectables
Far fetched skeptic sketch initiated contact
Star Trek
Sometimes I feel so funny
Even when I have no money
Sometimes, Life’s ecstatic
Even when I’ve had it
Life is fun
I’m on the run
Finding meaning in the static
Even as the clock keeps ticking, hours do not pass,
They keep saying time is the best healer,
But she lives in a static picture,
Where she’s denied the medicine everyone has.
Artists look and don’t know how to paint her,
Admirers try to debate her,
What’s that anguished look upon her face?
Is she haunted? Is she scarred?
Why is the pain of a girl from a static picture so real?
She could be made of stone,
But her carvers would forget her heart to transform,
She’s a sculpture with a fleshy heart,
That still beats, still bleeds, still breaks apart.
She’s watched by the many,
In a museum, in an opera house,
Her painted pain, her carved agony,
Fine art that only by him wants to be touched, watched.
“I’m actually excited to see you bloom,”
He once said,
But how could the girl anchored in the past,
Bloom if time never comes to pass?
Oh, to never be art or artist,
To never be so tormented you need to create,
To never be someone’s tortured art, their own personal hell.
Watch existence burn; see vermilion flames flicker in my eyes
Whilst you stand amongst the ashes and bones of what was never meant to be.
Inhale the murky smoke of contempt,
Choke on particles formed from your contrition.
Feel the accelerating heat scorch distressed flesh.
Quiet—lest my demons hear you scream.
Perched, waiting to devour
A soul so frigid, frostbite seeps from your stagnant veins.
Mercy is nowhere to be found.
Hysterical laughter escapes from my broken lips
As you writhe in pain, trying to escape.
Vines of razor-wire belladonna barricade;
The hunter is now wholly ensnared.
Visions of the past materialize like static,
Disrupting the penultimate bits of your sanity.
Microscopic questions flow rapidly:
Is this version of reality just a delusion,
Disrupting the very fabric of time?
Or are you suffering for your incompetence?
The smell of sulphur grows stronger with each thought.
Through melting breezes, the Pied Piper plays
Such sweet music—wrath’s revenge.
The Devil’s Inferno is calling you home.
Sub Categories
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.