Eh? !
Going deaf
is such a curse.
Yet my listening's better -
'cos my hearing is worse.
Will it improve
my writing verse
if my listening's better
though my hearing is worse?
But, on the bright side - I'm
truth's creditor, not debtor:
my hearing's worse
but my listening is better...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Nothing is going to improve my hearing. I've only got to prevent it from getting worse.
quote by Stephanie Beacham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Liquid Sky
I aint no romeo. Im just the man for you.
Holding out as secrets travel, they kind of get to you.
Everybody says that it couldve been something.
Never was a smart kid, never knew a good thing.
Always hearing voices swim ... in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... always hearing voices, like no more choices in disguise.
I aint no sacred idol or a saint pretending.
Ill build you up. Ill tear you down. turn you wrong side in.
What am I afraid of? everyones listening.
Standing on my soapbox, lost the beginning.
Always hearing voices ... swim ... in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... Im always hearing voices, like no more choices, like a lie.
Its just, its just liquid sky.
Im always hearing voices like electric shock waves in disguise.
I dont know what this means. Ill leave it for your interpretation. its just me at the edge ...
Everybody says that it could have been something.
Never was a smart kid, never knew a good thing.
Always hearing voices ... swim in your liquid sky.
Liquid sky ... Im always hearing voices, like no more choices, like a lie.
Its just, its just liquid sky. Im always hearing voices like electric shock waves in disguise.
Always hearing voices swim ...
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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When Escalations Of Misdeeds Increase
A process of selective hearing,
Eliminates active listening...
With a comprehension done.
We all have been guilty,
Of hearing what we choose to hear.
Only to misunderstand with attitude to gain.
And when an attitude obtained is gained,
What remains is conflict to offer.
As if a victory will be achieved.
When escalations of misdeeds increase,
There is little evidence that peace will be left...
To be kept respected.
A process of selective hearing,
Eliminates active listening...
With a comprehension done.
When escalations of misdeeds increase,
There is little evidence that peace will be left...
To be kept respected.
That is not the goal,
When an ego has been unleashed...
From its confines of common sense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm sick of you
Can’t you tell I’m sick of you?
If you can’t let me make it straight,
I’m sick of having this debate,
I’m sick of being the friend you come to when you’re bored,
And I’m sick of my words being ignored,
I’m sick of listening to you telling me what to do,
I’m sick of having to do chores for you,
I quit,
I’m sick of hearing you flirt with my brother,
Why don’t you go find another?
I’m sick of hearing what you and your friends are doing,
But never hearing “you’re going”,
I’m sick of not being good enough,
Sorry we don’t like the same stuff,
I sick of you caring what people think of me,
It’s me, and I don’t agree,
I am who I am like it or leave it,
So I will go, but I must admit,
I am a screw up, not the best at being a friend,
But I don’t talk crap, don’t pretend,
I don’t use, lie, or fake,
So as I said, this is me,
Like it or leave it,
I am done.
poem by Courtney Helm
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You said that you'd call me!
Don't hate me for caring
Don't tear me apart
I'm lost without you
Please don't break my heart
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
My world isn't worth it
Without you by my side
The pains getting worse
But i have to bide by the time
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
Everything reminds me of you
I'm scared of never seeing your face again
Your eyes
Your smile
Your lips
Or hearing you speak
Or hearing you laugh
Even hearing you cry
I need you
Here
Here by my side
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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What the use?
What the use of dreaming if I ain't dreaming about you
What the use of chatting if I'm not chatting with you
What the use of taking a picture if you not on the other half
What the use of seeing if I'm not seeing you
What the use of talking if I'm not talking with you
What the use of loving if I'm not in love with you
What the use of living if you not by my side
What the use of thinking if I ain't thinking about you
What the use of smiling if I'm not smiling with you
What the use of hearing if I'm not listening to you
What the use of praying if I'm not praying for you
What the use of listening to music if it doesn't make me think of you
What the use of living I just don't understand if you not by side, if you not at arms reach I really don't see a point of my existence if my one and only love is not by side I need you here with me right by my side is where you belong
poem by Zinhlejobe Sithole
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Got Deaf.....
She got deaf after hearing that she lost
her child in bomb blast.....
She was shocked & couldn't believe what
happened.
She was not able to see her child in pieces.
She cried to her peak & tried to kill herself.
She got deaf after hearing that she lost
her child in bomb blast.....
She cursed the person who planed bomb blast.
She begged god to get her child back to her.
She just wondered how her dreams got shattered.
She got deaf after hearing that she lost
her child in bomb blast.....
She couldn't even get her child whole body.
She was just trying to search him in the stars.
She just thought that maybe it's an horrible dream.
She got deaf after hearing that she lost
her child in bomb blast.....
© copyrights reserved by author
poem by Anita Trivedi
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Mr U.F.O. Man (feat. John Ostby)
(feat. John Ostby)
Dear God it's me transmittin' from
This tiny place I live in Harlem
Oh heaven we have a problem
Cuz we lost all correspondence
And there's no more prophets
They've all been replaced with politics
And they have your people hostage
That's why I'm sending you this postage
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Hey now
You're my father
And I don't know what's out there
So many of us are scared
Hey now
We got people shooting people
We live in warface
I'm not talking nuclear
I ain't got there yet
Why we got intelligent mouths
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss
Shit, another one bites the dust
So the yellow red black and white
Send missiles in the dark of night
Probably wanna stop but don't know how
That's why Lord, we really need you now
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
People around if you feel our vibe ride
Come on aboard there's enough room inside
We're flying high where heaven hides
Hope I see you on the other side
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Why we got intelligent mouths (intelligent mouths)
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss (while they go
song performed by by Kelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Is
Silence is sitting back in the recliner after a day
at work when the radio was too loud.
Silence is hearing the birds singing after hearing
neighbors bickering.
Silence is listening to beloved hymns after hearing
yourself complaining about things that cannot be changed.
Silence is reading the words of Rumi after reading news of
rape, murder and molestation.
When one is silent about another's wrongdoings, silence is
the sound of the devil shouting. So speak up, and he will
not be heard!
When one is silent in prayer and rest, silence is the sound
of God talking. So speak up, so He may be heard!
Yes, when God talks to you, let Him talk through you!
Be silent no longer!
poem by Greg Oosterhouse
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Does Anybody Hear Me
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Verse 1:
Young with dreams, (ooo oo)
Had em for a long time (ooo oo)
Well nothings impossible
As long as you put your mind to it.
Sometimes you wanna let go
Hold on tight
But you gotta believe
With God on your side
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Verse 2:
Happy, (ooo oo)
Thats all youll ever wanna be. (ooo oo)
Well, knowledge is power,
Absorb as much as you need
At times I feel like love passed me by
Just imagine how the kids feel inside.
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Does anybody hear me? (when you feel you need a friend)
(anybody listening...)
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
(on.... yeah, yeah, yeah)
Before we move on.
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Only Voices I hear Are On The Inside
I was born not being able to hear
Born not hearing my mother tell me I'm dear
Born never listening to anyone who spoke to me
Born not enjoying music
Born without the ability to gauge sound, unable to hear the clock tick
But since the day I was born
Since before I could talk, I could scorn
There was one thing I always did hate
And that was the thing deepest inside of me,
The thing for which I cursed fate
Worse than deafness or being unable to see
Since the day I was born I heard voices
Not when loved ones talked, but voices that weren't my choice
To hear, voices that were inside my head
Voices that nobody else heard, but I didn't know if they were lying
Because my hearing has always been dead
I'd hear screeching or dying
When none was there
Those voices they'd tell me what to do and how could I deny them?
They were, they are, and they will be the only ones who care
Because they're the only one that speak to me, I can't find the sin
That I committed to be born like this, to be born broken
I've heard more conversations than any other man
And yet I've never heard man utter a word, through my whole lifespan
The only voices I hear are on the inside
And it's the greatest torment that I hide
They'll just tell me I'm crazy, well in writing
But these voices, they accept me, they sing
These voices they know because they've talked to me
These voices are the only I've ever known the
The first voices I've ever heard
Like a mother, I've never listened to a singing bird
But I've listened to a cacophonous symphony of arguing inside my head
These voices are like the woman I did not choose, but wed
I can't separate myself from them
The only time I hear anything, it's torment to condemn
Me, it's funny that I could never speak to anyone but myself
But I guess I've never, ever, been lonely... not ever.
I
Have
Never
Been
Alone
W ho could save me from myselves?
poem by David Knox
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I was blown away by the control and the range that I was hearing. I'm listening to Pavarotti and thinking, What the hell have I been doing with my voice all these years?
quote by Michael Bolton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cat Scat
I am watching Cleo listening, our cat
listening to Mozart's Magic Flute. What
can she be hearing? What
can the air carry into her ears like that,
her ears swivelling like radio dishes that
are tuned to all the noise of the world, flat
and sharp, high and low, a scramble of this and that
she can decode like nobody's business, acrobat
of random airs as she is? Although of course a bat
is better at it, sifting out of its acoustic habitat
the sound of the very shape of things automat-
ically-- and on the wing, at that. The Magic Flute! What
a joy it is, I feel, and wonder (to the end this little scat)
doe , or can, the cat.
poem by Eamon Grennan
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A Poet's 19th Nervous Breakdown
When writing truth instead of fiction
I'm having problems with my diction,
But poetry is my affliction.
It really is a bloody curse,
This mania for writing verse,
And now it's getting even worse!
I'm using my imagination
In scansion and alliteration
But is it mental masturbation?
I've said it now so many times:
Please save me from these verbal crimes,
This assonance and, oh, these rhymes!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Are You Listening
Are you listening to my words
When I say them
Do you hear me when I need you most
Sometimes I feel like you not listening
Are you deaf?
Am i not speaking clear?
If I clear my throat and speak louder
Are you listening to me
Do you hear the words from my mouth
Is my voice to low?
Maybe if I speak louder maybe even scream it
Are you listening
poem by Raesheka Antwine
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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