Lazy Enlightenment
now my soul speaks
now it is spoken before
it has spoken
before it has attempted
to speak
to my body to my mouth
seeing itself
in itself seeing
the beauty of the mirror
mirroring itself
upon itself
it is there
there is no question
there is no answer either
it is there
we have not seen it
we feel it
it is there listening
to us listening
to those awakened
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Not Listening Effectively
Clarification!
I did not accuse you,
Of not listening.
Effectively.
However,
I do question...
You inability to use your ears,
For the purposes of hearing.
You may find that a doing so,
Will open your mind...
To comprehend with an understanding,
That to you which has been said.
But that would take,
A closing of your mouth.
To allow what has been spoken,
A giving of an opportunity to be heard first.
And IF that something said,
You already know?
There is nothing like the proving of it.
With action and not the servicing of lip.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Whispers Spoken In Breezes
why does sage sit alone within high mountain ranges
listening to whispers spoken in breezes upon journey winds
why does sage listen to words spoken by insects birds
listen to words spoken over centuries time by mountains
why is it that you grasshopper listen intent with thin legs
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Your Silence
I have spoken long enough
I have spoken well enough
Now let me be silent
And see how Silence speaks
Hear the words unspoken
For you could never speak
And whenever I asked you
All I could ever hear, was:
Your Silence…
Yes, that very Silence of yours
Which sucked all my life out
making me feel miserable
day in and day out
Still I kept holding on,
hoping on and hanging on…
If you could ever speak
Yet you never spoke up
Instead, offered me a challenge
A challenge to a broken heart?
A challenge to a defeated soul?
Oh! How Ruthless you could be…
And still you ever want me
To keep hearing your silence
And make some meaning of it all
I told you long before
Silence never works for me
I am a woman of words…
It might work well for you
So be it, my love…
If that is what you call ‘friendship’
Let you be silent
And me be too
And we can still remain ‘friends’
For if you speak
And I speak too
Who knows, One day
We might become foes…
And I would rather die
A Friend of yours
Than choose to be a Foe.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Silence 1.
Most times when I'm hurt,
My silence speaks for me.
She speaks very loud;
Even louder than a megaphone.
I choose to be silent, -
When most things happen,
Not because I cannot speak;
Nor that my words have evaded me,
But because in my silence-
There's a challenging power.
Sometimes in my fears,
When my heart is filled with love,
And my eyes with tears;
I learn to love, just like a dove.
My mouth moves to speak,
But is suddenly cut short by silence,
Silence in love, silence in fear.
Silence in tears, silence in joy;
And when I'm in this mood,
My silence stands so tall-
Even taller than a giant;
She makes her way; -
Even more than spoken words.
Spoken words of loud emotions,
They meet my silence-
And they tremble in awe.
I could hear those words;
They say to themselves,
'How art silence so mighty? '.
poem by Echezonachukwu Nduka
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The Irony Of Delay
what the heart wants to speak
the mouth tries to hide
the teeth grits in anger
the tongue genuflects upon its tail
then the right time comes
the heart speaks
but by then the body has become weak
the mind too fickle
and so when finally the heart has spoken
what true love is there
the niche is ready for the funeral
of the limbs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yourself
T‘is to yourself I speak; you cannot know
Him whom I call in speaking such a one,
For you beneath the earth lie buried low,
Which he, alone, as living walks upon.
You may at times have heard him speak to you,
And often wished perchance that you were he;
And I must ever wish that it were true,
For then you could hold fellowship with me:
But now you hear us talk as strangers, met
Above the room wherein you lie abed;
A word perhaps loud spoken you may get,
Or hear our feet when heavily they tread;
But he who speaks, or he who’s spoken to,
Must both remain as strangers still to you.
poem by Jones Very
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What if?
A question to which no answer could be found
What if?
Someone to give an answer in fervent sought
What if she ask herself
What if all precious moments in waste
And every sweet word spoken in vain
What if?
Loved never to be
And chosen yet was another
What if she found him not handsome?
And in seeing, is another seen
What if?
He never looks into my eyes?
And never speaks the words of love
What if my lips never kissed?
And never more than an innocent virgin felt.
poem by Nicholas Boateng
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Silent Truth
I can see the truth with it's infinite light
Shining through the darkest night
Becoming pure in it's own way
Never trying to become astray
Sometimes the truth does not speak at all
Never telling us that we will fall
Although we rise again and feel
The truth is always there and real
Listening to the truth may open our eyes
Catching us by an unexpected surprise
The truth is spoken again
And will never fail to end
poem by Sarah Bruun
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My Pain Has Spoken
My pain of the past has spoken to me for the last time.
No more flashbacks no more pain.
Them of the past won't speak to me any more.
Of this I can now be so sure.
As the pain grew to be to much.
I knew suicide was my one and last bid to freedom.
I just hope those left behind can live with what I've done.
Becuase I couldn't live with the past.
I was dying inside so fast.
But now I am free.
And my pain has now spoken.
Spoken within the remains of my body
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Just there
Between two who are talking;
above two who are silent;
in the listening
after wisdom spoken;
the moment as the pen’s put down;
the moment after the book is lowered;
between two thoughts;
just before speech;
as cup’s put back on saucer;
knife and fork sing plate;
just before the inward breath,
and just after the outward breath,
between the warm memory
and the fond association;
just before the smile is smiled;
when the last tear has dropped;
just as silence forgets sound;
just as stillness forgets movement;
as all thought surpasses thought
as if no thought had ever been;
the moment before music starts;
the moment after music ceases;
the moment before words come;
just before the poem speaks;
between the listening
and the hearing;
all these gathered in your heart
just before you give it name.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Tales of Those Now Listening
Folks now gone.
With advice given ignored but shared...
Surfacing upon once deaf ears,
Suddenly heard...
As if from no where!
Those maturing with a wisdom,
Brought upon by age and reflecting...
Leave some to ask,
'Mama 'why' did I not listen then?
Daddy, we had our differences...
But what you tried to express,
I confess...
Seemed so old fashion and useless.
And when the two of you restricted me,
From doing things that would bring harm...
I thought my world would end.'
And the tales of those now listening...
Are as old although they remain ever so fresh.
And the listening somehow is heard,
Clearer now than it has ever been.
Some are spoken to their hard headed children.
With a hope 'something' learned,
Will sink into their thick and disrespecting skins.
But these tales of those now listening,
And delivered...
Seem to breathe new life,
As each generation applies an innovative affliction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Must Be No!
No is no! that is what the answer must be
Before I destroy my soul and ruin my destiny
If I think an action might corrupt my virtue or my soul
Then the answer to that question, must always be no.
Never ever will I answer with a maybe or even a yes
When I know that someday that sin I must confess
Though I might not know alot but one thing I do know
When it conflicts my pride and honor, the answer is no.
My reputation and my values is what makes myself me
It is how that I am known from what others do see
So could I lie or cheat to cause others pain or woe
The answer to that question, will always be no.
No is no! and the question must end their
As I wont say yes to cause any sorrow or despair
I will not steal or rob from a friend or even a foe
And the answer to that question, is once again no.
Though I might meet with temptation or evil or corruption
It might enter my brain which will cause a disruption
But then one day I know my past it will unfold
And I will feel proud in those times, that I did say no.
A poor man has nothing a rich man has his wealth
But that will not send a soul to either heaven or hell
So will I lie or use to deceive either the young or the old
Once again to that answer, it will always be no.
poem by Randy McClave
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To The Other World
try standing naked by this mirror
see yourself to every detail
look closer to your eyes
count the waves of your eyelashes
open your mouth and see how many teeth you have
all white, pure white lining up on your pink gums
feel your lips with your fingertips
feel the pulp the flesh of the lower lip
to the upper lip
touch your hair
do not imagine them all black
closely they are not at all
move a little bit closer and see your body
this beautiful human body
flesh, contours, curves, some muscles
the whole of your skin wrapping
everything in your body holding them all
nothing falls, on this erect body, this
god before you, standing steel-like with dignity
in front of the mirror
do not claim you have seen your soul with your eyes
do not lie
be honest to yourself now,
alone, you are alone, do not imagine
any god, any soul, any spirit,
just be honest,
touch your body with your hands
feel the joy of having this body
your body, pinch a part of it to feel
not pain, but just to feel that you are alive,
do you ever ask what made these parts stay as one?
look again at the mirror of this stature
your body, it is you, touching your body
take a hammer, and destroy the mirror
shatter everything to pieces
this is the world without a mirror
there is nothing to reflect you now
nothing to imagine, it is you, the real you
do you ever ask now, where is that other world?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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To Know The Word of the Spirit Original 01 16 2011
TO KNOW THE WORD
OF THE SPIRIT:
Original 01 16 2011
To know the word as motive
Know that God speaks the nous
Between his will and knowledge
Prerogatives of vision and reason
To know the word as verbal
Know that God speaks transcendent
Nous -to know the word as noun
Know God speaks the tone of you
To know the word as poem read
To know the word as pronoun
Know that god does not speak
Of you god speaks to you
To know the word as adverb
Know that God does not speak
About you God speaks through you
To know the word as adjective
Know that God speaks by you
To know the word as preposition
Know God speaks from the heart
To know the word as poem write
To know the word is off the table
Know that God knows who sops
And all that was [was] forgiven
To know word as free verse
To know the word as parable
Know that God speaks nous
To know that God has spoken
Know pain and pleasure in spirit.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permissions.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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Go To The Mirror
He seems to be completely unreceptive
The tests I gave him showed no sense at all
His eyes react to light, the dials detect it
He hears but cannot answer to your call
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
There is no chance, no untried operation
All hope lies with him and none with me
Imagine through the shock of isolation
When he can suddenly hear and speak and see
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
His eyes can hear, his ears can see, his lips speak
All the time the needles flick and rock
No machine can give the kind of stimulation
Needed to remove his inner block
Go to the mirror boy
Go to the mirror boy
I often wonder what he is feeling
Has he ever heard a word I've said
Look at him in the mirror dreaming
What is happening in his head
Listening to you, I get the music
Gazing at you, I get the heat
Following you, I climb the mountain
I get excitement at your feet
Right behind you, I see the millions
On you, I see the glory
From you, I get opinions
From you, I get the story
What is happening in his head
Ooooh, I wish I knew
I wish I knew
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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