Saturday, April 20, 2013


Poem #20 for National Poetry Month. My son loves to listen to radio stations that have lots of static. This drives me crazy and he delights in that.
Range
Static, the noise of in between
Or being not quite tuned in
Interference brings on the fuzzy
Frantic sound that splits my synapses
And creates such a crawling clawing creepiness
That I flee the room
When it seeps into my focus
I want it to be on or off
Not in no man’s land
I can’t understand how
You can listen to the barely audible
For hours just to hear
One drop of content
That you make out between
The rushing worlds of wooly words
My madness delights you
When I take to hiding
Because of this infernal noise
That you seek out
You find something soft and soothing
Coming to that place
Of uncertain danger and doubt
Making out barely what is being said
Excites the explorer or emerging mind
You sleep to it
When awake, you study it
You sift through it
For fortune’s faculties
That scales the heights unknown

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