In the dark, when lights sputter out
From a sudden cut, the gloom holds council
To every sound, making sure each is heard
No matter its stature.
They sidestep the beads
From the torch and natter,
Freedom, freedom
Our potential is realised!
Tag: noise
I wear sky blue ear defenders to dull the threatening hum of the world.
They’re not perfect. They might cork the sharpness,
but they cannot smooth it.
And the times when I need their comfort most,
when the weight of voices, bodies, auras
tries to crush me and all I want is silence,
they become invisible. Strangers direct questions my way
as if they’re not even there. Comments
that need responses I’m too weary,
too flattened, to give.
I can still hear every word, and each one ties me with the cord of obligation
to reach for my social mask,
the one I thought I’d shed months ago.
I wear sky blue ear defenders to dull the threatening hum of the world.
They’re armour to protect me, but even armour
cannot save me from arrows.
Ear defenders and sunglasses
A safe bubble I can put myself in and
listen to everything
see everything
but not have it tsunami over me
every time I step foot outside my door.
Earthquake
A thousand conversations in my ears,
snatches of words, flashes of colour
and the whole ground shaking.
My ground
is turning, thrown up and down
with no chance to recover
before the world is split in two
and my heartbeat
is both silent and rampant.
Unable to process what’s going on,
detachment takes hold
forcing breath into my lungs
and oxygen to my head.
I look up and see the sky.
Calm, blue and trimmed
with a neat green beard.
Ice flows forward to crash
against my ankles,
bringing with it the lull of evening.
The voices, now tired, begin to settle.
even as the roar continues.
Eventually
they take the leap and merge
with the shadows. Dark.
Tied with the night.
Anxiety
The paces quicken; Lori chatter
down the phone as time expands and collapses
in a moment of sirens and panic and onlookers who don’t know how to react.
Of course, it’s all in your head
as you raise your hands in surrender
to that great barrier:
the front door, the bus, the road, the airport.
Rubbing shoulders, no air, no space,
condensed further than canned milk
and becoming even more jelly-like,
melting against the heat and fear
until you
scream.
And then they look at you.
Crazy.
And walk away.
Dream Recount
The light is bright,
but it has a condescending voice sometimes.
It’s also yellow, one of my least favourite colours,
and when it goes on and on at me,
I’m just a little overwhelmed.
Then there’s the crash of shattering glass
as feet shuffle, shuffle nearer.
A petty argument over my shoulder,
and no one’s answering the phone;
as I ring and ring,
I might as well be calling the moon.
I think I’d get a faster response.
Oh, but now here you are, my friend.
You’re taking my hand?
Why? – it’s okay.
It is, isn’t it?
Okay, I mean. With you looking out for me.
You just one-upped the light.
Huh.
Thanks, buddy.
Wave barrier
The hubbub in my ears rumbles through my bones and shakes the foundation I balance on. The conversations of a hundred different people, hiss, snicker, guffaw. Chatter chatter chatter, clinking glasses, scraping cutlery, a band incessantly droning on, light brightening, yellowing, glaring. It’s a wave of sensory input building, building, waiting to crash down and knock me back.
I can beat this, I can hold my ground.
Building my own rhythm, a gentle tap of focus. Constant, repetitive motion. A wall against the wave. My feet start to steady.
I might still get pushed back, but I’ll stay standing this time.
The Noise
It rumbles through bones, teeth and jaws
down to the ground, past all six floors.
Shaking the doors, cracking the windows
disturbing old dears absorbed in their bingo.
They try and try to stop The Noise
offering food, books and free toys,
but the little green ball that resides at its core
simply widens its mouths and screeches some more.
Evaporate
Engines chug away
propelling the clouds into new positions
that people read
as sacred teachings.
Oblivious
to the mechanics behind their prophets.
Those maintaining the perpetual motion
no longer speak or hear
in a common tongue.
Language
is lost to them now.
Treeshallow Musings 