I first hear them down the big hill where the creek flows— cicadas, crickets, chanting welcome to spring. The air warms, and they climb, bring their song to my front door, fill the farmland around my yard— until the tractor comes, spreads its arms, and paints the fields from green to mud. I can walk this place with my eyes closed now and tell you where the sprayer has been. It’s easy— just listen for emerald singing and the thick, brown silence.
We went to outer banks one year the same week that the township decided it was time to do all-nite sand dredging right in front of our oceanfront rental. Was wondering why the rent was so cheep.
Oh wow, this poem really gives a visceral feel of the loss wrought by the tractor. "Just listen for emerald singing and the thick, brown silence." Beautiful blending of senses in the whole poem, but especially this line, which hit me right in the gut. Here's what your prompt drew out of me:
Thanks, friend. I was really tuning in as I walked yesterday with your prompt on my mind. As I walked and listened, it was like layers of subtle sound revealed themselves, which then led all my senses to open and the joy to kick in. A gift!
I decided to come out into the damp humid evening and lie in my damp porch hammock before I go and get cleaned up for the night. It’s been raining and I thought it was cleaning up but then it started up again. I love rain. Always have. And I use the term summer storm because for all intents and purposes it’s summertime here.
.
The raindrops are still falling
The storm has all but passed
Though the rumble of the thunder can still be heard.
I can feel this, can smell the rain. Something about your poem really soothes, Karri. I love this pair of lines especially: "The sun thought the rain was over/and appeared in time to set."
This is so lovely, A! I love the idea of peonies creaking and performing the sobering turn in the poem when they “can’t even hold themselves up.” I’m afraid I occasionally play the part of the peony - more in the past than in the present, thankfully!
I've been trying to learn more about the plants and birds around our house this year. My husband recognized the peony before I did because his grandmother used to have one. This is our third year here and the first time she's been properly tended - since we moved in, at least.
It’s so funny that after I read your poem a friend on FB posted she had cut some peonies to bring in because they were so heavy and dragging the ground outside!
It's worse after rain, and we got some just as our first blossom was opening, so we got a couple small stakes to hold them up. I brought that one inside after a couple of days anyway, though.
This is delightful (and wistful), A...I love the idea of the ants hearing the peony creaking...and "the head of their hefty blooms/always under threat of toppling" describes so well the plight of the peony. Peonies have always struck me as almost too rich, too decadent to fully take in...the weight, the perfume, the density of all those amazing petals.
I love the micro world you bring us into here, A -- you have a real knack for that. The "creaking of a peony" -- yes! And I love the bigger place you take us to at the end. It was a cool twist -- I was at first admiring the peony for throwing themselves so fully into "the show," but then caught myself with your closing line. I vow not to be a peony.
It's not their fault, of course! They were cultivated that way. And I still admire the beauty of the one we discovered in our yard this year! But I've been finding that I feel sorry for them, too.
click click click from my car starter.
a 3AM phone ring
bone as it snaps.
mysterious attic footfalls.
bedroom crickets.
a "...cancer...." whisper.
That loud, still, screaming silence after a last breath.
...sounds that suck...
Bone as it snaps!
This is a powerful list...feeling it. The yin to Julie Andrews yang ("My Favorite Things" in the Sound of Music).
Woof! You nailed it Chuck!
Ooooh, this one gives me chills, Chuck.
Maybe you have heard one or two?
One or two, yes. Fortunately no mysterious attic footfalls yet, though! ;)
💔
I wanted a quiet moment at the beach.
What I got was:
Wind in my ears
Water crashing on the rocks
Sawing noises from a nearby house construction site
Lawn tractor in the distance
Car locks beeping
Children chattering
Birds chirping and singing
A little dog barking
A car radio playing
My own thoughts louder than the cacophony of external distractions
I gave up.
Ugh I have lived such moments! “Getting away” only to find that everything has gone with you. Thank you for sharing this delightful poem, Debbie!
We went to outer banks one year the same week that the township decided it was time to do all-nite sand dredging right in front of our oceanfront rental. Was wondering why the rent was so cheep.
Yes! So much for the quiet moment!
So relatable...especially "my own thoughts louder than the cacophony of external distractions."
This is the worst kind of day for me. Expecting quiet only to be inundated with unexpected noise and interruptions. Ugh.
Hi Lisa! Great poem! Living on a working farm sure brings it joyous noise. I loved the prompt too. This was in my ears all afternoon —
Turn Over
If they crank that engine
one more time it’ll crack.
I expect tractors, songbirds,
perhaps even the squeal of foxes.
Back behind the barn
my neighbor and his son
wrangle with their stubborn
early seventies F-100.
Obviously this horse has been
flogged beyond repair.
I love how you brought so many farm sounds to life here! It’s not quite as quiet as some might expect, is it? Thank you so much for sharing this!
Love it! As one who had a dad who was cleanly working on cars, trucks, etc those are familiar sounds indeed!
As an early seventies model myself, I felt for the F-100 (and also for you, hearing its near-death rattle over and over).
They got it running yesterday and it only made it to “almost” the top of the eighth of a mile driveway. Not sure about its future.
Oh wow, this poem really gives a visceral feel of the loss wrought by the tractor. "Just listen for emerald singing and the thick, brown silence." Beautiful blending of senses in the whole poem, but especially this line, which hit me right in the gut. Here's what your prompt drew out of me:
*
The joyful sounds
live in the layers between
hustle and bustle.
Beneath the constant kerfuffle
that drives the markets higher and
the wildlife into traffic and
all of us slowly but surely
into a siren song of panic.
But if you are patient and if
your heart is hospitable,
you will hear
the wind whispering
to the green summer leaves
the trilling of frogs
the buzzing of bees
a multitude of birds calling,
singing, percussing on trees
crickets pulsing in the weeds.
You will know you’ve tuned in
to the right frequency
when, in the resonance
you remember
that nothing else matters,
things are not as they seem
and your hospitable heart
beats steady and peaceful.
Joyful, glad, free.
I love this, Keith - the idea that the tuning into hear nature’s sounds tunes us to the frequency of what really matters.
Thanks, friend. I was really tuning in as I walked yesterday with your prompt on my mind. As I walked and listened, it was like layers of subtle sound revealed themselves, which then led all my senses to open and the joy to kick in. A gift!
“..your hospitable heart beats steady and peaceful. Joyful, glad, free “. Beautiful words
Thanks, Karri <3
Oh wow, I really needed "nothing else matters" today -- thank you, Keith!
So glad - I must have channeled that line just for you (not really, it was at least for me, too...I really needed to feel that when I did).
Kerfuffle.....
..heh heh heh..
Oh, I love this. Those first lines really drew me in and set the tone.
Thanks, A. So glad to hear this :))
I decided to come out into the damp humid evening and lie in my damp porch hammock before I go and get cleaned up for the night. It’s been raining and I thought it was cleaning up but then it started up again. I love rain. Always have. And I use the term summer storm because for all intents and purposes it’s summertime here.
.
The raindrops are still falling
The storm has all but passed
Though the rumble of the thunder can still be heard.
.
The sun thought the rain was over
And appeared in time to set
Puddles on the ground reflect the light.
.
The birds resume their singing
In the time that they have left
Before the evening fully turns to night.
.
And still the rain keeps falling
Not ready to give up
The remnants of an evening summer storm.
This pulls me right into all the sensations of a summer storm! Rain is one of my favorite sounds.
I can feel this, can smell the rain. Something about your poem really soothes, Karri. I love this pair of lines especially: "The sun thought the rain was over/and appeared in time to set."
Not ready to give up.
This is so lovely, like a sweet little vignette.
"The emerald singing and the thick, brown silence" is such a stunning line. I really struggled this one so I wrote about an imagined (maybe?) sound.
Do the ants hear
the creaking of a peony
as the petals slowly spread open
at the head of their hefty blooms,
always under threat of toppling, understanding the stakes laid
at their base, and deigning to rest
against their better judgement?
So much energy goes into
performing their show
that by the end of it, they can't
even hold themselves up.
So beautiful, aren't they?
Yet so pitiful.
This is so lovely, A! I love the idea of peonies creaking and performing the sobering turn in the poem when they “can’t even hold themselves up.” I’m afraid I occasionally play the part of the peony - more in the past than in the present, thankfully!
Me, too! Maybe that's why I feel for them so much.
Reading this I realized how much I did not know about peonies! Fascinating look into this flower
I've been trying to learn more about the plants and birds around our house this year. My husband recognized the peony before I did because his grandmother used to have one. This is our third year here and the first time she's been properly tended - since we moved in, at least.
It’s so funny that after I read your poem a friend on FB posted she had cut some peonies to bring in because they were so heavy and dragging the ground outside!
It's worse after rain, and we got some just as our first blossom was opening, so we got a couple small stakes to hold them up. I brought that one inside after a couple of days anyway, though.
This is delightful (and wistful), A...I love the idea of the ants hearing the peony creaking...and "the head of their hefty blooms/always under threat of toppling" describes so well the plight of the peony. Peonies have always struck me as almost too rich, too decadent to fully take in...the weight, the perfume, the density of all those amazing petals.
I love the micro world you bring us into here, A -- you have a real knack for that. The "creaking of a peony" -- yes! And I love the bigger place you take us to at the end. It was a cool twist -- I was at first admiring the peony for throwing themselves so fully into "the show," but then caught myself with your closing line. I vow not to be a peony.
It's not their fault, of course! They were cultivated that way. And I still admire the beauty of the one we discovered in our yard this year! But I've been finding that I feel sorry for them, too.
I am blown away by this beautiful and heartbreaking poem! "Emerald singing / and the thick, brown silence" -- double oof to that.
There was no way I could not write about you-know-what with this kind of a prompt. Tee-hee!
.
Because I am obsessed with birds,
I wake not to generic song
but to people I know.
I draw them into my dreams,
write roles for them.
The western tanager is a lover.
He chirrups gently in my ear to say
coffee’s on.
The warbling vireo is an artist
and a loner, and
the one I secretly want.
The yellow-rumped warbler is
sometimes a dark-eyed junco,
but only when he starts singing
way too early, and I am
that dumb.
.
This is a June kind of magic.
“The warbling vireo is an artist /and a loner, and / the one I secretly want.” I love this! Thank you for letting us into your secret.
What a charming description of your avian friends!
Your anthropomorphized bird companions are whimsical and charming, Rebekah. Thanks for this June magic, which leaves me with a smile :))
I love how you really bring birds to life here. Absolutely magic.
Emerald singing and the thick brown silence. Such imagery from those sounds. Or lack there of.
crickets...Crickets..CRICKETS.....
ARRGHHH 🤪
Haha I’m sorry to bring up auch a painful subject for you, Chuck!