The pine in the fur trees lisps;
The silent snow gathers in drifts.
Tree limbs tenderly touch and brush;
The blanket of twilight utters a hush.
The waves of the ocean their tumult roar;
The wings of the eagle whisper as they soar.
The multitude of voices mingle and blend;
What an evocative message they send.
The infant voice mews and coos;
The teenage voice sings moody blues.
The swamp frog’s voice quivers and croaks;
The fog horn moans amid misty boats.
Old lechers woo and the ghost says boo;
“Ouch,” cries an old women living in a shoe.
Voices ride high on the wind and the breeze,
Telling us to wake up to existence in ease.
The voice of our conscience warns;
Pride conveys a feeling that scorns.
Fading memory appears soft and vaporous;
Our anger gives way to snarling treacherous.
The voice of the mother is mild and forgiving;
The voice of the oracle is attentive and giving.
The voice lends a music in rhythm and tone
That can move hearts that have turned to stone.
Some voices wish to take what they said back;
The voice of the warriors shout when they attack.
The voice of the bitch is frozen and spiteful;
The voice of the witch is broken and hateful.
Everything has a voice with something to say,
Unique in character as it finds its own way.
Floods of emotion tremble in a voice that cried;
Eternal silence characterizes a voice that died.
When someone sits down to write they have to be prepared to strip all of the unnecessary voices away, all of the censors away, and share what they think the truth is, which, I'm convinced, is the task of the writer; to get to the truth. You've done a fine job here. rlc
For this reader, there is a powerful pictorial build from stanza to stanza, conveying a stealth sense of time. My only suggestion is to take another look at the lines of the last two stanza. The sentiment here is a bit mixed. I think with some rearrangement of lines you could better get the sense of closure with the line to end it: that can move hearts that have turned to stone. For me, that ending is more in line with premise of the piece. Some fine, well disciplined thoughts make this one of my favorites from you.
a multitude of voices. . . but only the heart which has been turned into ashes is able to hear them all and in fine nuances. A great piece. Cheers, alex
Love the way you can take something as simple as "voices," and give us so many variations of the word. And you are so right in that voices can be among the multitudes according to how it is portrayed. Good write!
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Inspirational poetry, written from the heart and soul. Verses that are well-suited for reading on a rainy day and that are guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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polyphonic!
Rebecca
Ron
Love ya!
Jane