Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Phone Call

Even the rocks remember sounds—
a crush of land grinding
all the edges, basalt, marble,
the fallen glass against the sand.
The only escape is deafness, a narrow corridor
away from the primal, endless chant.

I hear the complexity of
your voice, your history‘s symphony.
Overtones remember an adored woman—
she broke you wide open,
and now she’s lost in the river of your time.
There’s an undertone of darkest
testosterone, urging you to ruin,
your breath forms crafted words, spilling out
an irregular rhythm, like marbles
dropping on a tooled leather drum.

I still remember your steaming street
after a downpour of rain,
drivers who never looked back 
splashing puddles on dazed passer-bys. 
Say, I never loved you.
Say, I know you still
    in the music of your voice.


  1. How wonderful the pattering sounds of the rain, of the eedges grinding and "like marbles
    dropping on a tooled leather drum." A phone call look back is very complex indeed. The three part form to this is perfect.

    1. Thanks for the feedback. I really appreciate it.

  2. Lyrical..especially the last stanza.

  3. I really enjoy all the water references. Reminds me also of times when in anger the phone has been slammed down to end conversations. One solid distasteful drum beat. But then there is the reconciliation dance in 'the music of your voice'...

    Thanks for your visit to 'Biographic'

    1. Thanks so much for your comments. It helps me improve.

  4. Masterful use of sounds throughout the poem that takes the reader right there - the phone call, the look back, the steaming street and splashing cars.........closing lines that go straight to the heart. Awesome write.

  5. Sherry, thanks. I really just "found" this one - it flowed. When I think music, something just works.

  6. nice sounds...nice words and thanks for sharing your words


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