Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I listened to the leaves
glowing green and turning shades of
colors warm to the ear, I could clear
the space in the air with its own snap
its buzzing of molecules, I heard the fall
drifting drifting for an eternity
but the hot rods of the false moon were louder
I traveled across the sonorous star streams
in my reverie of remembering being & time
but the din from the beer bar
drowned out the soft hum of the stars
the talk of the puppets on the television
are chewing huge chunks of glass so loud
I once could hear myself breathing
while I turned the pages of a book of poetry
I also remember hearing the paper crash
like a wave on my senses the sounds of words
so eager was I to devour the poem like a cake
of light & infinity
my deep mountain breath rising and falling
my ancient blood an ocean in my brain
my rushing veins like a great tree of life sighing
as each world word made its impression felt
there was a time when a neon sign spoke to me
when newspapers flew across the street like great
empty sheets of madness & mindlessness
and the alley called to me to write my angry words
on its snaky belly into the roaring city lights night
I listened to the night write its marvelous name on my lips
the beat of the music of a thousand voices coming from all
directions, I could really hear the poets words rumble and
tumble through a crossroads of coming together, a
meeting of like minded spirits on the edge of fields of story
with their messages of freedom & sweet cries in the song
to remind us of who we are when the cosmos plays its sax
the words, the words, the words, silent and also allowing
the silence to become a presence that connects each word
to each, we lost the ability to hear the music of the spheres
the traffic of lies and political and religious noise vomiting
out of the view shooting into the cities horizon perspective
has dumped its toxic waste on anything that resembles
rhapsody or the blues with a taste of thunder in a lick of tune
anything that resembles sanity, the kind that poets speak of
so many words in so many books dreaming like chanting monks

I really like this, it has great motion, moves with urgency without pausing for a breath of air.......
i was particularly fond of this part:

the traffic of lies and religious and political noise vomiting
out of the view shooting into the cities horizon perspective
has dumped its toxic waste on anything that resembles
rhapsody or the blues with a taste of thunder in a lick of tune

this sums in up quite well......all that was beautiful is being systematically turned into a circus of meaningless sound bites for radio and tv by out of touch zombieticians, ...as citizens continue to lose their homes at alarming rates........

I listened to your listening....much enjoyed.

~A

A lot in this. It is a gush of words, images, thoughts. Nice last line too.

so many words in so many books dreaming like chanting monks

There always seems to be that conflict between the human world and the cosmos. This poem sorts its way through as it moves down the page and that last line is earned.

I wrote this all at once last night, when I first began writing it, I
almost quit it, but then i let it take me down to that last line.
thing is I don't know how I feel about it after i let it be posted.
Should I edit it? or will it just become another wait and see.
I liked what theirishsea said about earning the last line.
But, and it does feel like that sometimes, like I was writing
the piece all for that last line.

oh and what saw said, about those few lines
I had to get something about the blues, yeah

and Kailasana got the idea of the poem

about listening to the listening

peace & poetry

revolutionrabbit wrote:I don't know how I feel about it after i let it be posted.
earning the last line.

I didn't post, but I allowed: life's not whated, only howed.