Think the Simon and Garfunkel mega hit of the sixties. Silence has a sound. It is up to us to describe that sound. What do you hear as the sound of silence? Is it eerily strange or quietly cacophonous? What sounds do you consider silent? Take the challenge and make us hear the noise!
MARIE’S QUIET:
Ears to Hear She sits in silence, listening for God to speak. But she hears no one. She sits in darkness, watching for God’s appearance. But she sees nothing. She grasps at the air, trying to feel God’s presence. But she feels nothing. She raises her voice. “Abba! Father! Where are You?” He, soundlessly, speaks. She closes her eyes, absorbing His attention, knowing who He is. Her heart hears His voice in both silence and sound. He gives her ears to hear. She opens her eyes sees Him everywhere, in all He created. The air wraps her up, blankets her in His shelter, fills her lungs with Him. She knows she is His. She sees and hears and feels Him. She knows what she knows. © Marie Elena Good, 2022
WALT’S VACUUM:
CRYSTAL STILLNESS Here amongst the evergreens, a scene I relive every year with the fear this immortality will wear off and folks would scoff at the fat old man in red. It is said that those who believe will receive more than material gains. It is then that the real gift of the season comes through. But I listen, here amongst the pines, and I’m surrounded by a cold silence; a whispered wisp of unthawed thought that soothes this wondering heart. As I start to think of December I remember echoes of the past that blast my memory, and there is no remedy for this reverie. Names and faces are revisited on this mental list that have kissed my spirit and I hear it once more: the arctic air, frigid and frosted, in stillness amongst the evergreens and marks of reindeer paws, in crystal silence, I am Santa Claus. © Walter J Wojtanik – 2022
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
PONDERINGS OF AN ASTHMATIC
In silence,
breath
wheezes loudly.
Such a frightening sound.
Wow, William. A gem of reality.
Wow. I know this sound.
perfect~
Oh my. Captured in brilliantly few words.
scary sound.
Walt, your “whispered wisp of unthawed thought” rings like a bell in a cold clearing. Wonderful.
Totally agree with William! That line so grabbed my attention! Profoundly wonderful, Walt!
Make that three of us.
A marvellous sequence, Marie.
Thank you, sir!
Simon
And Garfunkel
What a very strange pair
Such great music their stories told
Songs that will live for ages
At 1:43 am, I guess I wasn’t quite awake. The 4th line should have been “Such great stories their music told”. But I guess it could have meaning either way.
Yes
Funny thing is, I read it as you corrected it. My understanding was what you meant to state. Not what you stated. 😉
Silence
How I miss it
Haven’t heard it in years
Tinnitus has taken over
I know no sounds of silence
Earl, love these two offerings.
Love this Earl!
Uh-huh
True enough!
Oh dear. That just “sounds” so hard to deal with.
Me too, Earl.
Sunday Morning
It’s the sound of hours
as a breeze fills the trees
and the church bells ring.
Misky, what a lovely recording of a universal moment of pause.
Thanks!
Beautiful.
Thank you.
Superb!
Thank you!
Lovely!
Thank you.
Sigh … I want to just take this in with you …
I’ll get you a coffee.
Love ‘sound of hours’.
Thanks!
Wow. Stillness, Marie, the kind we are called to as believers, is the solid spine of this beautiful work.
Walt, you have artfully revealed a pensive saint here, proving that at the core of this jolly soul, you are a Claus that treasures sacred pause.
I can’t imagine a better compliment. Thank you so much!
Beautiful and deep poems from our fearless leaders Walt and Marie. 🙏🏽
Thank you, sir!
SEA OF SILENCE
There is an expansive silence
amongst the myriad of stars.
Their wild, collective color is resilient,
but their spirit still cannot be heard.
Perhaps we cannot hear their sigh—
or perceive the cry of their foreign intelligence.
The ageless carriage of song and ballad,
rays versed in the wisdom of the sea of silence.
Are a concert unto themselves,
cheering and dancing in tune of their own music.
© Benjamin Thomas
Ah, yes; the music of the spheres. Wonderful.
I have no doubt that light is sound and sound is light. You testify to that in this poem.
Lovely~
Thank you 🙏🏽
What gorgeous depth to this. And I see a Creator God connection, for me. Wonderful!
Thanks 😊
Beautiful, Benjamin!
Thanks Sarah!
PECULIARITY
Autumn
in the quiet
of a misty morning
gives death a fleeting sense of life
borning.
Yes! The season of quiet.
oooooo yes~
This sings to my heart, Bill.
Beautifully potent.
Nice, William!
The Quiet Place
As children in our country neighborhood,
mornings to nights were filled with sounds
of children playing, fighting, laughing
shouting from one large yard to another
or parents calling or whistling for their kids.
Pappap would leave his house open
when he’d be working out and about
or visiting his lady friend in Johnstown.
We’d usually play in their together
with all our noise and commotion.
But the times I went in alone, I’d marvel
at how still and quiet it was in there.
I’d snatch some orange circus peanuts
from the striped ceramic candy dish.
The clattering lid broke the silence.
Fragile, that silence! Loved this Connie.
That last line is a beaut!
I always enjoy your suprizes Connie!
This one has me smiling huge, Connie! Love it!
Oh, love the build up and ending to this.
And that’s how you get caught!
Freedom of Religion
Thank you for extending
your love and hope.
Feel free to keep doing so,
but if you see me, really see me,
please don’t always
feel the need to tell me.
When my lips are closed,
it does not mean, every time,
that it’s your turn to speak.
When my lips are closed,
there’s more room
for my heart to speak.
Even when you see me crying,
it doesn’t always mean I need help.
Spirit speaks quietly to me.
Most out-loud sounds are only noise.
Even though most yearning hearts ask,
can we still speak to God,
I prefer to sit in silence,
listening for my stage directions
from the Universe.
All is well and I am grateful.
Daniel, love this, esp “When my lips are closed / there’s more room for my heart to speak. ”
Hearing Merton again, here.
Absolutely fantastic~
This small poem is so full. So you.
Love this take, Daniel.
I like ‘listening for my stage directions
from the Universe’.
You can tell where I am, and that the prompt this morning fit the scene. We have a nephew battling cancer, so this one is for him.
I don’t see a way to leave a comment on site. Damon, your writing is always thoughtful, meaningful, and poetic. This poem of yours is stunningly gorgeous, to me, though brought on by a hard reality.
Father, the heart of this poet friend strikes my own. Please help his nephew and those who love him feel Your presence, comfort, healing, and sovereignty.
Thank you Marie, for the comment and definitely for your prayers.
It was very lovely.
(and one more for here, the sequel to the first)
Pass-a-Grill Listened To
It is merely quiet here.
But there is silence, too.
Silent is the curve of heron’s neck,
an echo of her careful stride
long-legged deliberation in her eyes.
Silent is the wait of a sand castle,
constructed on the shore
just yesterday
expecting nothing more than a return to random scattered sand
by faith in an expected tidal flow.
And silent is my fear.
There’s nothing here that makes
me want to doubt
a bright eternity wrapped around
a core of silent joy.
© Damon Dean, 2022
I think this was crafted beautifully.
Thank you William.
wonderful conclusion!
Glad you enjoyed it Linda.
Oh my. Oh my. The beauty and depth. Each stanza … oh my …
Glad you liked it, Marie.
Nailed it.
Stunning write, Damon. Good wishes are with you.
Empty Nest Silence
The empty nest, once quite bustling
With our children slowly rustling
Frantic parents quickly hustling
To get them off to school
The cheese wagon picks all them up
We relax and fill our coffee cups
Then clean the messy kitchen up
Then off to our jobs we go
For a while the noisy nest is quiet
Enjoyed only by our sleeping cats
Until the cheese wagon brings them back
Then the quiet disappears
Dinnertime sounds like a train wreck
Eating together, all hands on deck
A good time for the homework check
Then off to get the work done
Then they all pitch in for bedtime chores
The garbage, the dishes, then sweep the floor
While papa in his Lazy Boy snores
He could sleep through a tornado
Then it’s time for heading off to sleep
Hope they pray to God their souls to keep
Ten minutes pass and not one peep
Now it’s time for mom to relax
This pattern repeated year after year
As they grew different sounds we would hear
Then one by one they disappeared
Walking down their own chosen paths
Then came the glorious empty nest
The day we once thought would be best
No noise, no drama, or all the rest
But it wasn’t quite like we thought
The empty nest silence is deafening
Not so glorious like we were thinking
In a way, however, it’s a blessing
It’s God telling us we did good
Now the two of us make our own noise
We watch movies and play with our toys
In each other we find love and great joy
Thank You, God, for this part of life
This reads like it came from Ideals.
Perfectly said and so true!
Another typo, I think? In the first line? BUT … a happy mistake, in my way of thinking. “The empty next” seems like a great play on words that just works. Great poem!
Good catch. My wife caught it, too. But I’d already posted. Can you fix it?
Done deal
~ Marie
After Reading the Last Line
another glance at others
my eyes lift off the page
in silence a resonance found
something greater taken in
than words on a paper
the poem I read
finds new life
in others’ hearts
hidden meanings
between lines
a life of conversations
takes pause
people gather in a circle
someone looks at me
and asks for more
a soft glow of light
in a library
a long good-bye
cornfields outside
dance and sway
in a gust of wind
stir images to share
another time
tires sing on a long drive
a brief patter of rain
in my mind
the echo
of words I read
as dusk shadows the land
Deep sign here
Er…. sigh
Beautiful~
Deeply sighing with William. Such talent you have, Mike.
“the poem I read
finds new life
in others’ hearts
hidden meanings
between lines
a life of conversations
takes pause”
I always hope my words find life in other hearts–their own interpretations.
Beautiful, Mike!
Sara. your words do find new life in hearts.
Thanks so much, Mike!
Cochlear turned on to hear
What would otherwise be silence
A gateway into a world of sounds
A miracle of medical science
Cochlear changes lives
Our youngest granddaughter was premature and has sever hearing loss. It looks like she’s got Cochlear Implants in her future. They were a miracle for Rush Limbaugh and our pastor’s daughter, and so many more. We’re praying they work for our little Mina.
I’ve had one for 20 years. Made a big difference.
She just turned 3 and they’re already talking about one if the hearing aids don’t work. And so far they’re not working well.
Sounds like she’s at the learning-to-talk stage. Good hearing’s important for that.
Perfectly written and good luck with your granddaughter’s hearing. Cochlear implants do work, but the sooner the better. It is very much like learning a new language.
Good poem. Agreeing with you in prayer!
WHEN LISTENING
to just the gentle breeze
I softly hear the trees
to caressing ocean waves
bouncing off cliffs and caves
to a lively rambling brook
taking one more fascinated look
to flowers growing in a field
even as a child they appealed
always the quiet sounds of nature
a calm way for a peaceful mind to endure
a smile comes as I wander home
knowing I touched the sound of silence today
all alone
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2022
Smiling here, too.
That made me smile. Well and originally crafted.
LOVE the final stanza, Janet!
Those last two stanzas are the essence of silence, Janet. Great work.
Note to Walt and/or Marie: Lately I have been receiving e-mail notices when someone comments on a poem of mine. I did not ask for this service and do not want it; I am content to read comments when I log on to Poetic Bloomings. I have tried to shut off this service by using the link provided in each e-mail, but to no avail. Can you fix this for me?
Thanks.
I’ve been getting them for a while and don’t know how to stop them. I got 4 today just from your comments on my posts.
I’ll take a look to see what might have changed unbeknownst to us. We didn’t change anything intentionally. I can tell you that it is likely on your end, but I don’t know how to fix it. There are a few here who have consistently showed up in my email every time they like or comment on one of my comments. I can’t figure out why, and can’t seem to stop it. But again, I’ll check out end to see if something changed. Thanks for pointing it out!
Hi again, Bill. This is Marie. I’ve searched all over the place behind the scenes and can’t see where it could possibly be something on our end. Our setting choices are actually very limited, and don’t include anything for sending email notifications to those who visit our site. As I had said, there are a few poets out here from whom, when they respond to a comment of mine, I get an email notification. I don’t get them from everyone. Just a few, and always the same few. I’ve never been able to figure out what is prompting them. I’ve tried. Like you, I don’t want them.
I’ll get in touch with WordPress help to see if they can give us a clue as to what might be happening.
Thanks, Marie. You’re probably right, that the problem is not on your end. Somehow, word-press seems to think that I want e-mailed notices of comments, even though I didn’t ask for them. In looking on the word-press pages, I came across one that seems to do with managing subscriptions. Somewhere in their options, I found one that essentially tells word-press not to send e-mail notices for anything. I checked that option, and am now waiting to see what effect it has.
I get them as well.
Speak Up
The world strolls by far too quickly
On a downhill run with no end in sight
The screamers and schemers make all the noise
As they blame their sins on the silent majority
And the silent majority sits silent
The cheating and swindling is rampant
All now in the bright light of day
It’s just as God’s Word had predicted
How the evil one would rule near the end
Still the silent majority sits silent
Novembers used to be a time of change
When the people would speak their minds
But mule stuffed boxes and the deceased
With other cons and baits and switches
The steal happened and we sat silent
How far will this downhill slide go
Before the silent stand up and scream
Our silence has driven many nails
In the coffin of freedom and liberty
It’s time for us all to speak up
Your first line uses contrast that works so very well.
There’s A Hum
There’s a hum,
sounds of an old house.
You wonder
if spirits
are whispering through walls, or
purely a soft wind.
Thoughts I’ve shared with you, but spoken so poetically here. Love your take on the prompt, Sara!
Thanks so much, Marie!
Such a beautifully done shadorma.
Thanks, William!
Packs a punch here.
Thanks, Benjamin!
WHITE NOISE
I don’t know if I have ever heard complete silence,
the total absence of noise in our busy world.
There is always a ticking clock, a rustle,
footsteps, snoring, chewing, music, and
absent every other noise, my breath and heartbeat.
Can thoughts be quiet when the world is not?
Perhaps silence exists only in the mind.
To find it, I close my eyes, empty my brain,
and let out my breath with a long shhhhhhhh.
Linda, I’ve never thought of it quite this way before. I love that you used an excellent poem to bring a new thought to my mind. Yes, I’ve never really heard silence, either. Wow …
“Can thoughts be quiet when the world is not?” A poem within a poem, that.
thank you both!
Hi Linda! So true. Love this.
That’s what works for me!
Marie, one of my favorites of yours. Spot on!
THE SEAFARERS WAY
I abhor the oblivion of sound.
When the silence creeps into the room
as esurient darkness consumes daylight.
Then I hear the deafening screams
of unattended wounds—abandoned rooms,
filthy, shameful, unkempt.
The ailing past blight of sunken ships all
contend; vying to break the surface from the deep,
yet I must keep…a semblance of composure.
I abhor the oblivion of sound.
The surly waves of silence do not emerge quietly.
They come crashing against the seafarer’s will.
Seeking to spill into his loathsome little boat.
Yet, he must master the grand sea of silence—
lest it overtake the kind bliss of still peace.
© Benjamin Thomas
MIND THE VALLEY
Silent thoughts project,
stretch, take root into the valley.
Silent—although they speak,
ethereal things unspoken.
They grow, some weeds, bristles,
thorns, wildflower feats, beautiful.
Some become louder than others—
even compete—in this land.
Speaking the unspoken.
© Benjamin Thomas
SILENCE IS…
Silence is…..
When You’re home alone
basking in a tide of solitude.
Silence is…..
The sound of each breath
becoming abundantly evident.
Silence is…..
When you can finally hear yourself
speak.
Silence is…..
Less of the world’s noise,
and sounds you chose to seek.
Silence is…..
Attained when you put to rest
your own internal clatter.
Silence is…..
Listening—to the air—
communicating quietness.
© Benjamin Thomas
TRUE SILENCE
True silence,
does not exist in nature.
You must go far, far beyond
this earthly ball.
You must reach for the stars.
Join the heavenly host.
Then, and only then,
will you achieve what most
have not, but seek—which is true silence.
The utter calm
beyond human comprehension.
Tis the bewildering psalm
of nothingness.
© Benjamin Thomas
AN UNSILENT ART
Poetry is not a silent art.
Words are contemplated,
mused, assembled:
To write, indite a form—there
they have a start.
They set sail, with all
manner of moving winds.
Undertaking an
adventurous journey—
To a blessed place
of paradise.
The land of hearts.
There—they speak.
© Benjamin Thomas
It looks like all five of these were composed in the dark. The cornucopia of images and sounds is astounding. Marvellous.
In Morning Silence
We pace each other
up the highway ramp
accelerating slowly slowly
feeling the lift sensing the rise
a Great Blue Heron alongside
our silver impala close enough
to touch to see eye to eye
crest lifting feather by waving feather
above the regal head blending into
body’s lean line stretching into
pale yellow legs held tightly together
like those of a diver mid-air
the whole a single slash against
the pale light drawn across the
Johnson grass and sunflowers
we hold our breaths in the silence
filling the space inside the car
all sound suspended even though
we inhale/exhale on every beat
of his pulsing wings up/down behind
the stiletto bill shattering a million molecules
off air hydrogen and oxygen impaled
and then the slow angling over as he passes
above the car to continue flying west
our speed a crawl as still we keep abreast
the heron slicing morning stillness
and still no one speaks spellbound
as if filled with reverence and awe
the car become some roadside chapel
and we, unexpectedly blessed.
Pure magic, this.
CONSTERNATION
Old cars
make lots of noise,
so when I turn the key,
only this harms my equipoise:
silence.
Marie, a beautiful, soothing sound. Wonderful poem!
“a whispered wisp of unthawed thought
that soothes this wondering heart.”
Exquisite language, Walt! Also loved the sound of the arctic air.