To One Hand Clapping (This Life is the Art of Listening)
1-12-06
There are only
whispers.
We are the contemplators
in our highest.
This life is the art of listening.
To
bubbling puddles in warm summer rains
To
the accountant who weeps in her poverty of soul
To
the radio hiss that reminds us the news is only human
To
pores
that connect our heart to the global atmosphere
To rocketships,
needling into dreams.
I’d like to be reduced,
to see like the caressing wind.
To feel all the Earth,
all the stories and frailties
and the lies that inadvertently
made laughter discovered.
Just for a moment, so I know
that when I die, it shall
hum.
The Om is my explosion.
And, if ever I fathom
that my very imagination,
muscle of ridiculous power
(if trained),
is
God
then I will permeate.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
good poetry, i liked the reduced part. good title as well, keep it up.
Spectacular. I almost tripped up on the line breaks in the second stanza (maybe you could smooth those out a little) but after that I was hooked. Loved it. Particularly the ending; kinda gave me a feeling of a silent explosion of atoms drifting soundlessly across space, like in those sci-fi movies...LOL I'm weird. Anyway, kudos on a great piece.
nevermind. my buddist friend just told me. amazing, really.
the title is great and really just sprouted a million meanings into my head. on top of that, the poem was wonderful.
i was really sucked into the first three stanzas, mainly the second one. this, i think, is by far the best poem i'm read by you. i enjoyed the way you use your words in unpredictable patterns that always wind up feeling so right.
only one question: what's om?