Poem: Noise

 

Noise

 

cannot be silent

in the way of a lake.

we clamor, bustle and complain.

 

no hint of the sonata of a loon,

a cricket croon,

or the ancient fugue of coyotes.

 

our lampposts blare all night.

 

don’t have it in us to succor the quiet.

our very attitudes belch

with the bravado of leafblowers,

whose tirades richochet off each other,

ostentatious in their obstreperous.

 

collective and multiplicative.

 

it’s the antithesis of the humble.

the air strains

to host so much noise.

even so, we keep on trying,

upping the density of the hoopla & rackety-clackety

to make it spread.

 

it’s the reverse of majesty.

we are each an endless whoop

against the still of the woods,

competing to take up verbal space.

 

all the other lives around us,

those inferior nuisances,

 

if they are even seen,

 

had better learn to listen,

to be meek and harnessed,

to hide.

 

 

====================

11/11/24 ... mods