Settled on our front porch step
examining my well scraped knee
I hear a melancholy song
from atop our maple tree.
Hollow croons float down like leaves
desperately beckoning
lachrymose and wistful woes
insouciantly deafening
Unlike the lilt of the warbler's chimes
expressing his sanguine intent
the cold and lonely serande
is telling of the dove's lament.
And that the song is audible
foretells a lonely afternoon
for when the air is stale and still
its haunting is most opportune.
He bellows out his hollow verse
and I can't help but to bemoan
another day spent on my porch
another day I'll spend alone.
Invectively he calls to me
an air of peaceful violence
so wistfully it pierces me
it is the sound of silence.
Author notes
Memories of boredom from childhood
Comments
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I grew up out in the country too - and the silence of the hot summer afternoons is something I still remember clearly. I like the rhyme and the flow of the poem. But mostly I just like the memories it has dredged up for me....the sultry summer afternoons spent sitting in our apple tree reading a book, fishing in the creek down the road, and playing with some of the other kids ....eating strawberries (freshing picked off course) and walking to the local swimming hole. Great memories for me.
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Don't bother about sending me the link Loopy, I've found it! This is very good, it rhymes & flows well. It reminds me a bit about my childhood. I grew up in the country, there isn't much sound there either. Unless you count the cows & sheep.
I think Simon & Garfunkel also had something to say about silence...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hUy9ePyo6Q
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