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Posts Tagged ‘quiet’

 

 

I want to be quiet enough

to absorb the shouting,

still enough to subsume

the uproar, silent enough

to diminish the din. I want

to calm not just the air

but the hurt that drives

the shouts, calm the hurt

that drives the hurt.

Like bringing an ocean

to put out a candle—that’s

how bizarrely effective

I want this quiet to be—

the kind of quiet that touches

everything, tenderly,

like Persian perfume, and

invites it to feel how sweet

the communion of silence.

I want to know quiet

like a fine silken blanket

big enough to cover us all. Quiet,

like a bottle of wine that no matter

how much we pour and share

we find it miraculously always full.

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One Old Lang Syne

 

 

midnight comes—

a sweet quiet fills the house

wherever you hear it, we share it

 

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yet another poem inspired by this composition by Erik Satie

 

 

You wonder why I haunt you

like moonlight, why I come to you

like morning fog, dream thick and cool,

why I steep myself into your thoughts

like bergamot in black tea.

You wonder why I seldom leave you,

why I slip into your silences

the way rye darkly slips into bread.

 

It is my work to give you shivers,

make you tremble, make you still.

It is my work to make you fall in love

with the darkness inside yourself. It is my work

to be the unexpected black swan, and you,

it is your work to be the night pond.

 

 

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Though I have hours of work to do

I lie beside him until I feel

the quiet do what quiet does,

the fight and fuss leave his muscles,

and the growl and gruff leave my sighs

until we are at last two breaths

beside each other, soft and tender,

two hearts in the dark

with their walls down.

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Perhaps: A Love Poem

You are unlike
the bright taste of lemon

and you are unlike
the wild geese.

Quiet, you are,
and coiled in tight.

Not like the scent
of the lilies exploding

into the living room. Not
like the milkweed pods

that burst in milky froth.
But sometimes, when

I, too, am very quiet, not
like the perfume of wild

rose, not like the autumn
wind, more like

a hang moon calendula seed,
sometimes then

you let me in and I notice
how there is perhaps

another way to open
when we curl in,

shut out, say no.

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