Most of the basic words we use everyday, if not all of them, presumably began as undifferentiated sounds; noises that people made to correlate with what they heard in the world around them. Sometimes those sounds become words that are little altered from the sounds that prompted them: “meow,” “woof,” “roar,” and “chirp” come to mind. Write a poem that uses one or more onomatopoeic words in the title or body of the poem, or is about sounds in general: the crack of a bat on ball; the rumble of a broken muffler; the gurgling of small waves on a beach; the rustling of wind in the trees. Your imagination might create sounds no one ever thought of, or that don’t exist.
WILLIAM PRESTON’S ATTEMPT:
SISS. BOOM. BAH.
These words, if they’re words, are so puzzling to me;
I always am wondering what they can be:
the sounds of the cymbals; the crashes of drums;
sensations of rumbles, vibrations, and thrums?
Perhaps they’re mnemonics, a form of encoding,
or maybe the sounds of a sheep exploding.
© copyright 2013, William Preston
WALT’S NOISE:
SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL
Stuck between hard rock and a place
where music finds its root.
Foot tapping and the gentle rapping
against a table top never stops.
The kids are jumping, Their feet
are thumping the floor. Windows
rattling and battling the urge
to turn every dirge into Top 40.
Back beats and bass lines found their
way in their day. Hear the people sing.
Elvis is dead; Long live the King!
© copyright 2013, Walter J Wojtanik
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Whoosh,
thought past
right by me.
[Hay(na)ku ]
Brilliant! (Thoughts often whoosh right by me too!)
They even muss my hair as they fly by 🙂
🙂
… then they seem to get lost. 🙂
Thanks RJ
[My replies seem to ne jumping around – not sure where they will land]
Mine have a “pffft” sound, and an odor, too.
W.P. I left you a sound-note in comments on your Interview…
I replied there. Sorry not to have checked back before this.
🙂 My comment was posted late. Will enjoys talking with you there.
“Odor” of a thought – that is an interesting thought…. 🙂
A pedestrian attempt! I’m only just free of the constant tuneless whistling and singing of the almost-teenager who spent the New Year with us, I’m onomatopaeically played out.
NOISES OFF
Whoosh and crash outside
as wind and jetstream coincide.
A clatter from the kitchen
as someone does the dishes.
Wailing violins from the radio –
I could do without the audio
accompaniment.
Silence in the ocean
in the world of fishes.
I think I’ll go there.
Oh gosh! I love this! Think I’ll go there too!
Same here.
The ocean sounds are so soothing. Hoping you find some relief.
I’ll take ocean noise to teenager noise any day. Good one, Viv.
🙂 We both ‘Whoosh-ed” together at 3:03.
I think that here is a lot of sound in the ocean – we are just not tuned to most of it. 🙂
Having spent best part of two years mostly underwater in the Indian Ocean, I can confirm that fish aren’t very chatty!
Noise
Fwwwap fwwwap fwwwap went my lips
as I sp-sp-spit out some pips
and then gave some thought to Onomatopoeia.
I can grrrrowwwl
or meooooowwww
but just how
does a cow
make a mmmooooo
while she’d chew
on her cud?
This is ud-
derly, sud-
denly noise.
Poem ploys
are just scripts
to eclipse
the more serious kinds of POW! erful stuff that just whifffffffs
(pen or lips.)
Damn those pips!
Scritch scratch scretch
rhyme and kvetch
‘til a wretch-
ed verse is penned……
Here’s my zzzzt frnerk wibblesnok quiridingdingding poem, my friend.
(Okay – in a very silly mood – and was actually inspired by hearing ‘The Trolley Song’ playing in my head.)
I love that song… and that movie!… and your ‘silly mood’ poem
I love how you play with words, RJ. I love stuff that whifffffffs!
Thimply threemendous!
Love this, RJ!
~
Steady rise and fall,
Her breath the only sound that
Moves the still night air…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014
~
Your beauty knows no bounds.
My comment is for Erin Kay.
Very thoughtful.
Thank you, M. 🙂
Thanks, Marie! I was thinking about you today. Hope you and yours are all doing well. xx
This serene and lovely
Thanks!
Simply lovely.
Thank you, Jane. ❤
Oboyoboy…. this is masterful.
Thanks so much, Will. Glad you like it. 🙂
The Noise in the Middle of the Night
Three in the morning, I awaken to clatter
Clitter and clatter and chitter and chatter-
Arguing voices, tell me what is the matter
These sounds make no sense, just clitter and clatter.
The illuminated face of our clock tries to smile
The cat is still sleeping, but her tail twitches while
The sound of the clattering ,smattering , style
Of noise from the window makes sleeping a trial.
I look out the window, the world frosted in snow
Oh, where did our garden and flowers all go
Weary and wilted, the wind does not blow
But something is falling and noisily so.
No need to keep wondering what is the matter
What it is causing this clitter and clatter
Rain drops are falling from clouds up above
But vanished is the gentle sound that I love
Water changes to ice on this night dark and cold
Shattering the silence –nature’s artillery bold!
Artillery, indeed! I love this.
This is a wonderful collection of sounds, Marian! Love the ending.
Pashaw, she spit,
but without all the spittle bit.
: ) Love it (esp., without the spittle)
😉
you could say right on target! 😀
Waste not, want knot.
😀
I get a lot of this outside at night, like a new shift of noise-makers showing me what they can do. Like the rain falling, some are restful; others, like raccoons, not so much. Love this, Marian.
Shhhh, Do You Hear Anything?
Silence
isn’t silent.
I’ve never heard
its voiceless void
even in the quietest
quiet of night
I hear
the pops and creaks,
hums and groans
of the house
settling down.
In the stove
crackling wood,
spluttering fire
whistles high and sharp
then dies away- a whimper,
small protest of whining sigh.
All is quiet,
yet my ears,
register the roar
of nothing.
the roar of nothing I like that
These are the sounds under sounds. I love this description and the ending, especially.
So do I.
When I take my hearing aid off – “quiet still has a sound”, not from the outside, but from within. A soft sound or movement, but it is there. […and not the ‘ringing-in-the-ear’ some experience.] Turning off the outside sounds are like wrapping up in a warm fuzzy blanket.
I can relate. I hear sounds when I take the aid (or implant processor) off, and not all of it is tinnitus. The “blanket” varies, though.
Yes, the blanket does very. 🙂
Love the roar of nothing!
Intuition
What to do when, is called intuition
and while there are some who claim it unspeakable
it is, truth be told, quite a common condition.
It’s there for both the bold and the meek-(able).
How many times have you heard someone say
(in fact, by statistics totally true,)
“I just knew it was going to happen this way.”
more often than not, this has happened to you.
There are those who insist it’s a language unteachable,
and knowledge of it, with the smallest of sounds,
like the wall of a castle forever unbreachable,
the inscrutability of it abounds.
Yet what it comes down to is simple admission
to the power of making intelligent choice,
and boldly granting yourself the permission
of listening to that small inner voice.
Intuition to lean on, it’s really not foreign,
the more you do so, the more you are strong.
In actuality a power forgotten
that has been hiding within all along.
Ellen Evans 1.5.14
write a “sounds” poem for PB
This is a fascinating piece of work, in my opinion. I never thought of intuition as an inner voice; for me, it’s been more like motion. Very thoughtful piece, this. Thanks.
Thanks Will. I used to say that my intution was nearly always spot on. But as time goes on, I am inclined to think that it is always right, and sometimes I just don’t listen!
Laughing toy monkey
Once so hilarious
Now sounds like a machine gun
Oh, Connie, I can identify with this. Once my in-laws bought a pull toy that was supposed to sound like popcorn. I left it at their house!
This resonates in me. Christmas shopping for grand-daughter was tainted with sexy dolls and toy arsenals.
For me, this recalls Natalie Goldberg’s (Writing Down the Bones) description of “monkey mind,” the querulous editor on your shoulder that confounds writing.
Yes, …and some “grandparent gifts” are best left at the giver’s home. 🙂
That is exactly the way I feel about my dog’s stretchy toy dog.
[…] For Poetic Bloomings http://poeticbloomings.com/2014/01/05/prompt-124-sounds-resound/ […]
CLICKETY-CLACK
The magic of the Iron Horse
we oftentimes dismiss.
Yet, true enough, it shaped our course
with clickety-clack and hiss.
The future of America
was built on rails and track.
With western-bound hysteria
came hiss and clickety-clack.
The mighty engine chugged along,
a deadline not to miss,
determined by its steadfast song
of clickety-clack and hiss.
It made a nation free to dream.
But progress can’t go back.
We moved away from trains of steam
and hiss with clickety-clack.
© Susan Schoeffield
Love this Susan. Love how you ended each stanza
Good one, Susan.
I think this is wonderful. It evokes times spent trackside, feeling the trains go by.
And you made this sound just like a train chugging along! Wonderful.
THE SEARCH FOR THE SOURCE OF ENERGY
We stand motionless in the middle of Central Park
grinning like fools at each other, at the place,
hardly daring to believe we are where we are
There is an energy in New York City that is like no
other and as we sink onto a park bench, we try
decide just what it is…
Off in the distance, the ubiquitous horn-honking
of mostly yellow cabs goes on pretty much non-stop
–its counter-point in the park, the clip-clop of
horses hooves as carriages pass by one after the
other, ferrying visitors on tours of the park
A pair of pigeons coo above on one of the old-growth
trees near us; they are silhouetted against a sky
fading to scarlet as the day dies
This is the city that never sleeps, a reputation
well-deserved, we agree, as our hotel is just off the
famous, and never quiet, Times Square
We wonder if it’s just the time of year— the week before
Christmas— there are people crowding the square
at all hours
And we are both struck by the hub-bub that masses of
people make but how surprisingly orderly it all seems
There’s a police presence at almost all intersections so
the trill of a whistle is heard there
We’ve learned quickly to recognize the different emphasis
on the whistles and what they mean
Short soft tweets are just ordinary “keep it moving” noises
But if you hear a loud sustained blast, you better clear
the road, whether you’re a person or a vehicle
All these people pressed together and rarely any shouting;
that’s been a surprise
And even with street vendors on almost every corner and
some even mid-way down the streets
No hawking of wares…another surprise
Not what we were expecting
However, dinner at the Algonquin, the place where so many famous
writers used to congregate?
Pretty much just what I expected…the elegance was understated;
the china, crystal and silverware gleamed genuine and antique,
And all I heard throughout the meal was the gentle clinking of silver on
china, the occasional musical joining of crystal wine glasses raised in toasts,
the murmur of conversations, some polite laughter
I imagined seeing Dorothy Parker come through the door at any minute, hearing
her wicked laugh disturb the status quo…
In our quest to discover NYC’s energy source, we visited the world famous
Birdland, curious to see what jazz would sound like there
Another surprise as that night, Michael Feinstein sang from the American
Songbook—old standards and some Broadway hits—tunes that caressed
our souls; it wasn’t quite the jazz I was anticipating but it mattered not
We also lucked out and saw “Tosca” at the Met…in the balcony closest to heaven,
in that space, the energy fairly vibrated there, the place where so many “firsts”
have taken place – Pavarotti, Price, Fleming – to name a few
We were struck by the lights at the Met; all of them are replicas of their main chandelier, an ultra-modern stylized snow-flake; when the “lights go up” – the ones in the main auditorium
actually rise into the ceiling…an added bit of magic
Of course the sound at the Met was nothing short of extraordinary…angel voices that
reverberated inside our heads, long after we left there
A highlight for me after the show was hailing a cab, dressed to the nines…another ubiquitous
NYC sound, “Taxi!”
It’s exhilarating to raise your hand, give a shout, and stop a car…
No matter where we toured nor what we saw, the city seemed to fairly thrum
with an undercurrent of energy that was hard to define but like nowhere else we’d ever been.
Our last stop before returning home was the New York Public Library,
a building as architecturally beautiful as any we’ve seen in Europe, with its
stately Corinthian columns and magnificent paired lions, Patience and Fortitude, guarding
its entrance…its interior is decorated more like a cathedral than a library, vaulted ceilings with oil paintings directly on walls and ceilings…
And even though the city’s energy is still felt in this building, the most remarkable thing
we noticed was the absence of sound, the quietude in this seven story repository is conspicuous, and the space resonates with silence.
It was a fitting end to our unanswered quest.
I was utterly enthralled by this description. I could hear and see what you speak of, and the conclusion was perfect; true sounds of silence. As I read, I also heard Autumn in New York in the background of my mind.
Squ-Onomatopoetry
Ketterump, ketchunk,
skree, skree, whump,
again, again, he won’t let up.
From deck to feeder’s
ringing, swinging, he
closes its maw with his weight
then jumps with a thump,
winging poof of furry goof,
no spoof on feathered friends.
His onomatopoetry’s
percussion without harmony.
Squirrels on feeders—
who’d have thunk it?—
lay down some jazz
for the birds each junket.
Skree skree, kerplunk it!
He’s sound gone mad.
Who knows when this set ends?
Ha!! What a fun visual audible poem this is!!
Superb! The sounds you used helped paint the picture, and the allusion to a set left me nodding in agreement.
Why I Like Silence
Noise comes in colors—did you know?
It crashes everywhere you go.
Big bully racket trouncing sound
with bluster, hazing all around;
like red or orange, pushy hues,
the saxophone of broken blues
can tear the night and vanquish sleep.
Or purple and canary shriek
with sticky wetness at your feet.
The hopes of pastels, quiet seas
of tint, still crowd thoughts like disease.
Even white noise can wear us down
with static hiss and hums that drown
our needs for silence, sweet and healing—
snowfall on dogwood tree, cardinal pealing.
In silence, we hear sounds we keep.
Oh, Yes Fire of red, soft of pink, calm of green, cool of blue……
Yes…that silence is such a must…you’ve turned these colors into sound and persona…what a cool thing, Jane! Well done. 🙂
So true. We talk about colors or pattern being loud and there is a good reason for that. I like your direction with this.
This is so good. Marvelous, in my opinion. The idea of colors having sounds appeals to me deeply.
This is brilliant, Jane. I love the use of color.
[…] Poetic Bloomings-Prompt #136-Sounds-Resound the use of some onomatopoeia words…I don’t really think I accomplished this very well…I started off with the intentions of bringing in some sound action but got caught up in the free writing aspect and let the muse run the show! […]
Sigh and Blue Skies
~
It was the winter of sigh
and sudden blue skies.
It was a winter of fissures,
ice-cracking-
frost creaking across glass
and fast-paced panting-jaunts.
It was the season of split fingers
tinder and telltale splinters,
it was a spell for holding heat
and learning how to retreat,
being patient a while
and waiting for warmer days-
there were moments for playing ,
reading and quietly praying;
there was swaying, singing
and much mental sifting.
It was a winter for sigh
and sudden blue skies,
crisp lit golden-
the catchers of sun,
last leaves on the trees
become sudden inspiration;
when snow covers all
it makes focal and feature
these remnants of color-
they’re beauties that one might miss
amidst the vibrancy of trees
full and fast-green swaying seas.
It was the season of small brilliances…
sun-split gemmed berries
and snow-dust flying fairies,
it was the winter of sigh
and sudden blue skies.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
~
Poetic Bloomings-Prompt #136-Sounds- the use of some onomatopoeia words…I don’t really think I accomplished this very well…I started off with the intentions of bringing in some sound action but got caught up in the free writing aspect and let the muse run the show!
I think your muse ran well. I hear sounds all though this, as they play with the images.
Your support is such a treasure to me, William. Thank you for all of the encouraging that you do here and in your other places of being…it means more than you know. 🙂
Why, thank you kindly.
Lamaze Instructor’s Phone Rings
They’d call in the middle of the night—
I said they could—to ask if they should go.
Pains were coming on schedule,
feeling like I’d said they would,
radiating from the back to front.
They knew. I knew they knew.
They called for reassurance,
unnecessary permission,
a layman’s advice before they risked
calling the doctor after hours
or driving to the hospital, pillows,
blankets and goody bag in tow,
fearful it was just a false alarm.
Somehow I could tell, when
in the middle of a sentence,
she’d stop. I could hear it
in the silence over the phone.
Get your focal point, I’d tell her,
take a cleaning breath, then breathe:
slowly, in through your nose
and out through your mouth.
I’d hear her shift to the hee hee hoo
hee hee hoo, a panting to handle
more than the early twinges
of a body ready to unload its cargo
after nine months. Go, I’d say.
Call if you need me. You’ll be fine.
Before falling back to sleep again,
I’d find myself breathing hee hee hoo,
hee hee hoo before slowing returning
to breathing–in through my nose–
and out through my mouth.
(NP)
This is so timely and descriptive: a granddaughter just had a baby. I’m never going to forget “hee hee hoo” now. I loved reading and saying this.
THE MAGIC OF THE CRAYON BOX
Red and blue went walking on a whim
and found
it populated with a rising hymn
of sound
that rose from harmonies of swirling mist
foreseen
when orange deigned to pause and coexist
with green
and yellow lisped, and purple uttered prose
so gay
that brown and black were summoned at the close
of day
and all, together, sang a surging song
of vim
when colors orchestrated peace along
a whim.
copyright 2014, William Preston
I love this, Bill, the form, the dance of it, the fun of it (lisping yellow). It reads like a garden in spring.
Hummm – Color is Sound and Music and Dance.
I adore this poem, William. I don’t know how else to put it!
Morning Sounds
Bzzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzzz
Smack!!
All right, I’m up already!!
Meow, prrrr prrrr
Meow, prrrr prrrr
Hungry again!!
Didn’t I just feed you?
Swish, swash, swish, swash
Ahhh! Fresh breath and white teeth!!
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle
Click, clack, clunk
Whoop, scraaaape, plunk
Crack, sizzle, stir
Clatter, clink, pop
Tink, tink, splat
Honey, your breakfast is ready!!
Flip, whoosh, gush, whoosh
Gurgle, gurgle, gloop
Shoop, sshhhhh, shoop, sshhhhh
Click
Hmmm! Love the smell of coffee!
Whoosh, skrinkkle, scrape
Clink, clank, clunk
Click, fzzzzz
Oops
Click, fzzzz
Oops
Click, fzzzz, gorummmp
That’s the sound
Gotta work on the dishwasher
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle
Click, whrrrrrr, tick, whizzz,
Enter password
Write
© 2014 Earl Parsons
This poem warms me up from top to bottom — not an easy thing to do today! Thank you!!
What FUN! Had not registered all the morning sounds that abound once your hearing is tuned in. 🙂
Oops. Forgot to tinkle. haha
I loved the whole piece, but this fillip is precious.
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings #136: Sounds Resound. […]
TING!
A
new
message
notification!
Love is palpable,
felt in each
ting
-le.
2014-01-06
P. Wanken
Wonderful! Your ending calls to mind Frank Sinatra’s treatment of Love and Marriage.
TWICE WE MOVED
We pined for the silence of green rural scenes
and so bought a house with our limited means.
We lived near a farm of oinkers and mooers,
a rustic old place devoid of all sewers;
there always was sort of a tang in the air
that rolled in the nose with the clang of a dare.
Whenever we had a easterly breeze,
each breath was replaced by the squeal of a wheeze
and bugs banged the house like the patter of rain;
all the spots that they left were a permanent pain
in the essence of owning a countryside home.
Burt enough was enough: we now live in Rome
where the clatters and tinkles and jabbering crowd
are blessedly urban, and blessedly loud.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Begging y’all’s pardon, but “Burt” is supposed to be “But.”
…HaHa… that ‘tang’ has moved many city-slickers back to the city.
However, for most country-bumpkins, the ‘tang’ is acceptable, and not an offence to country living.
I understand. My wife grew up on a farm, and would agree. However, she says it depends on the “tang”; cow “tang” is acceptable; pig “tang” is not.
Night Noise
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I put my hands
over my ears. Why,
do I think the mosquito
will not be able to find me?
Hum, hum, hum.
The air conditioner
attempts to hypnotize
me back to sleep,
but the buzz, buzz, buzz
continues. I smack
my arm, hear a squish.
Aah!
This is fun to read. One nice thing about winter in the Northeast: there’s neither of those noises to deal with. Of course, furnaces can be noisier.
Thanks, William. I left the Northeast five years ago, and visited this season. I was reminded of furnaces.
I love it!!
Thanks, Susan!
JUNE SOUNDS
pitching stones
into the lake
from the bridge
high above
truant boys
ignore the whoosh
of fast cars
Whizzing by
somewhere birds
cheep and chatter
bright secrets
about spring
#
Save for the fast cars, this has a “Huck Finn” feeling to it. I love the sense of birds cheeping and chattering their secrets.
SOUNDS IN THE DEEP FREEZE
Sker-unch, ker-plick, sker-unch, ker-plick,
the snow is blowing hard and quick
and wind-chills fasten each false lick
of tongue to lip and makes them stick;
sker-unch, ker-plick, sker-unch, ker-plick.
Whee-oo, a-choo, whee-oo, a-choo,
I sneeze and see where each sneeze blew
as ice is forming on my nose too
and frost is biting without ado;
whee-oo, a-choo, whee-oo, a-choo.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Fun call on the sounds.
I responded about use of many forms of communications.
Gasp, Puff, Gulp, Wheeze
When they first mentioned the drastic cold
I imagined a small tear in the ozone layer
which swaddles the earth,
leaking in the cold air of space.
But then I realized
they always talk of space as a vacuum
so therefore, wouldn’t a small tear
mean the warmth or cold would
be sucked out?
Then came the magical words…
“polar vortex”…
and in my mind’s eye I saw
a swirling white wormhole
(with the occasional polar bear flying by)
descending upon us with winter’s fury.
The “polar vortex” arrived with the sun.
Deceiving in the light of day
but take one step outside and your gasping,
gulping for air and puffing your cheeks out
to warm up the frigid air your sucking in
and it all makes you want to wheeze.
Back inside,
Your left to wonder –
what the opposite of “polar vortex” might be…
“equatorial vortex”?
“Sahara vortex”?
“hellishly hot Vortex”?
Realizing you would probably be making
Similar sounds in an “equatorial vortex”
you move on … to tea.
The cold kinda turns the muse inside out, eh? This was fun to read.
Good one, Michelle. Isn’t it funny how you never hear a word, and all of a sudden you hear it constantly?
[…] a little more with onomatopoeic words. This is a really fun prompt…which I came across at Poetic Bloomings…Have a […]
Oh William, you saw that Johnny Carson episode too? The great Carnack almost fell out of his chair–thank you for the laugh! Walt, your wordplay always brings a smile–love that first line!
I wondered whether anyone would recall that allusion. I loved those Carnac bits; they recalled for me Steve Allen’s “Question Man” bit of a decade or two earlier.
Hidden
Silence in the ocean in the world of fishes,
I think I’ll go there.
Daring to dream fantastic schemes and wishes.
I wonder why and where
God came up with such a plan to show off His beauty
Where no one else can see,
Creating such marvels beyond the call of duty
Hiding within the deep.
Pondering His extravagant creativity,
I think He features
Secret wondrous and invisible marvels
In all His creatures.
“Silence in the ocean in the world of fishes, I think I’ll go there.” Noises Off by Vivinfrance