The Lost Art of Quiet

Was there ever
a time and place
where nobody spoke?
A time in the day or
a place where it was
I think when your
gab is trapped
your ears open up more
I think nobody shuts
up anymore
I think I’d like for
folks to shut up more
Sometimes people whisper
about a local boy who
doesn’t speak much
I don’t know the boy
but I already like him
People think he’s
mad or sad or dumb
I figure he’s wise.
When I am quiet,
people think I am
I don’t care
what they think.
I think they sound
like those cars with
the muffler that makes
the car sound fast and
only it’s not
it’s all show
it’s all NOISE
I wanna wear a
sign that reads
Shut Yer Trap
Stop russlin’ your
own tail feathers
I don’t care what
your brother’s cousin
had for dinner
For fuck’s sake
I mean, just leave
me be
Understand that
I am quiet.
And when I offer up
a poem there is no
obligation to listen
to what I have to say
it is a choice, a courtesy
for me to zip my mouth
and point to a poem
Stop dancing, ladies
Stop hollering and pointing
to your crotch, cause I don’t
wanna see it
Stop pounding on your
chests, men
I think it’s just me and
that one quiet boy who
think it but…
Let me come to you.
Do not mistake my
stillness for depression,
for I am simply conserving
my thoughts and words
Like a good person outta
Was there ever a time
and place where nobody
If there was it is far far
from here
I want peace
I want quiet
and understanding
I want to shut up and
listen and I ask the
same of you, no
I beg the same of

9 thoughts on “The Lost Art of Quiet

  1. Right on, I had a friend who could never stay quiet, as if the lack of noise frightened her. If nobody talked, she’d start humming! Marvin and I have an agreement about jibber-jabber, “Is what you’re about to say going to contribute to the silence?”

  2. Lots of monks have observed long periods of quietness. David and I used to do that to, just for a day. Not a bad idea to start again. Although around this house it is rather quiet, no TV, no radio. Just some music occasionally. I think the loudest sounds are the donkeys braying and the turkeys gobbling. Martha and David.

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