Sunday, September 26, 2010

Poem of the Week #143


You can hear the slight whoosh
of blood through veins
and wind through fallen leaves.

Listen. You must stop talking
and even stop thinking
to hear the sound

of spider diatribes,
bird soliloquies
and the wonderments of worms.

Did you know if you are quiet enough,
you can hear dirt? You can hear
what the rain is planning.

These vibrations,
beyond all measurable
and immeasurable frequencies

are the same sounds that emanate
from a father’s hand,
or a mother’s thigh, or the sun.

These are the sounds of connection
and creation, the murmur of crescent moons,
the songs of stars that children hear

because they haven’t forgotten yet
how to be like fish or flower;
an aerial tuned to everything.

Lisa Vihos

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