The Flood

vibrations flooding the bodies
convulsing to rhythms
a flailing dance
the sound encompassing
all creation
til at last
only the sound
exists

Eternal Shores

The salty beach air was a familiar comfort.
Sitting on the sand was just as peaceful as
it had ever been. It was late afternoon yet
he sun had scarcely shown it's face. Grey
shrouded this day.

I have to sit still and close my eyes to listen.
I listen as intently as I can. I try to listen with
the whole of my body. I try to let vibrations
fill me and resonate. I try to see past vision.
Sound fills and consumes. Is this the first
vibration? The sound of creation? The first
sound and the last sound of this existence?
I open my mouth and let my throat create
a response. Primitive sound, first sound.
It merges with what has filled me. Now
we resonate in key. I slow my breathing
to match the unseen waves. It is here and
it is I as well. Created from this and to this
we will return. Time is the illusion. This
is forever. A present without end. Only
here. Only now. Only forever and ever.

A language I can hear but
cannot understand.
Words of praise and healing-
your voice touches me
raises me to awareness

Quote Me

Pain is a crucible through which 
all must pass. 

The sound of a crying child is 
proof of order in the universe.

Everything changes.
Everything must change. 

There is no silence
merely an absence of sound

Broken Cymbal Symphony

A sound as though 
the bowels of Heaven itself
were being ripped out.

Temptation always provides 
a sound argument.

Move into ecstasy

Submit to the sound 

surrounding you

submission

Turn up
             the volume

Press your ears

to    the speaker

Distort dis tort dis t ort dis t or t

everything must
distort

transitions from music
to     white  noise

hissing
           feeding
back


amplified

noise


your subconscious ablaze

projected

through until

permanent silence

rules

tethered

The early morning chill creeps onto my skin
and causes my flesh to bump with geese.

I should close the window but I leave it cast
open wide because otherwise I could not

hear the sounds of the day which is beginning.
The world begins with the dissolving of darkness

from the horizon, sky being painted over in a shifting
palette of pastels, smearing, smudging, lightening

by the movement of the planetary axis. This is
a common miracle we often miss because of sleep,

because we are tired and half awake while preparing
for work and fixing bag lunches for the children

to take to school. The ambient sounds of early morning
peace become subsumed by the restless vigor

of our daily demands, work, and other obligations
that consume the hours of our short time.

The sun is not aware that we orbit around it, or any
of our names. The weight of its being is so great

that it never has the time for details, just the constant
journey for which it burns through infinite darkness.

sound echoes

what it is to listen

to a voice once silenced


memory engrained

like grooves on wax


each play wears it

a little further


sometimes the record

breaks and it doesn't


matter how well kept

it may have been

No Wonder We're All Going Deaf

Sound clutters every moment of your life.
The shrill sound of the alarm clock
screams into action.
Warm feet patter along cold tile
a muted pressing of flesh.
In the shower water cascades
around you, caught in your own personal
downpour of ritual cleanliness.
The hairdryer blows its hot air at you,
it almost looks like a miniature jet turbine.
The kitchen is a symphony
as toast pops, bacon and eggs sizzle
on the skillet and orange juice
and milk pour easily into their glasses.
Your shoes play a rhythm
called a steady walk.
Doors slam shut,
keys jangle, engines
sputter then roar,
this is just the beginning.