Dead Air

these irritably critical conversations

are spreading me thin     like honey scraped

across burnt toast     and I am quite sure

that if I stood naked before your paper lantern

you could see straight through my skin

 

because too much talk reminds me

of being six years old at Huntington Beach

and pressing my hands to my ears each time

the lip of a wave rose up like a startled horse

and planted its wet hooves at my sinking feet

 

there are things to be said     questions

to be answered, explained, detained, drained

until our mouths are deserts on opposite continents,

but you can’t fit an entire ocean in a bottle

and even if you could, would it make more sense

than it does between the horizon and the shore?

 

the chatter on this station is turning to white noise

as we repeat, replay, rehash, reprise     everything

is a looping echo of what we already know

and I am ready to rotate our exhausted dial

until I hear the static sonority of dead air 

Reviews

[Commanda Panda]

Inspired by you. Written for you. Enjoy.

If you’re standing naked, I know what should be spreading.
You’re a smart woman. You know where this is heading.
Let me get your mind off all the things you’re dreading.
Then let’s elope, but it won’t be a white wedding.
I’ll be your knight in dented armor, and the metal is black.
If you suffer from the blues, I’ll thwart the mental attack.
Evil is my way, but you’re safe from its grasp.
Darkness has a place for you and a love that will last.
If you ever get down just read the words that I wrote.
Even condemned souls can gift someone with hope.
Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got someone to choke.
Should I use piano wire or a coil of rope?

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Haha You always make me chuckle, my friend.

[Rebecca Buller]

"...the chatter on this station is turning to white noise as we repeat, replay, rehash, resprise everything"

Poetry at its finest, my friend. And I simply adore any poem that has references of any kind to the ocean. It's actually a dream of mine to one day live near its shores. Very beautifully done:)

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Rebecca...humbled.

[Rebecca Buller]

You're welcome:-)

[Richard]

i love the imagery and the almost cute/cynical ideas such as ocean in a bottle and whether or not that makes sense ... I just loved this whole thing :)
deserts on opposite continents ... great metaphors I loved this!

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Richard!

[Jack...]

It would be nice if all conversations included an excuse/apology limit that was automatically initiated like setting your knidle up so your kids can only play on it so long. There comes a time when "I'm sorry" becomes only a phrase likened to static on a radio...something we hear but can not understand because it has no meaning. I love the imagery you have painted in this sad but wonderful poem. You always seem to make me think...wonder a multitude of what ifs and why nots. Very cool my friend. So happy to see you pop in and leave such a beautiful calling card behind.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Jack. I am glad that you always manage to really "see" what I am trying to say.

[Scott Lee]

I love this. Simply and wonderfully amazing.

[Ken Simm.]

There are the glimpses of a story woven into this visual feast. The words construe against each other much in the same ways that your waves will hit upon your beach. Furthermore the story is personal and feels cathartic in the telling of it. I may be wrong but there seems to be iceberg like a lot more beneath the surface of this beautifully constructed missive.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Ken...there is something beneath the water. As a writer, i tend to like to tell my story, but leave it open enough for others to relate...perhaps I should show more of myself.

[Ken Simm.]

I understand that completely.

[icelandicblue]

Round and round we go but we never quite feel the understanding that we need. Dead air is preferable to the white noise of justifications and explanations. It's a long way from childhood and then it really isn't.

the lip of a wave rose up like a startled horse
and planted its wet hooves at my sinking feet

Those are a couple of golden lines you've got there.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, my friend!

[icelandicblue]

I was also drawn to the mythology of those lines since Poseidon is credited with make the first horse from a wave.

[Pryde Foltz]

the lip of a wave rose up like a startled horse
and planted its wet hooves at my sinking feet

The imagery on these two lines is amazing.

The whole write was full of some very tight poetry. Nicely done.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you, Pryde...getting back into the swing of things, I hope!

[Dean]

always questions...the quality that makes us human. The last line of your poem is the killer..static sonority indeed! I love it!

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you, Dean...so glad you liked this one!

[kublakhan27]

Honey scraped across burnt toast...it sounds like a constructive conversation gone bad. For someone as sensitive as I am, every conversation is irritably critical. In the flesh, I am pretty useless for the most part when it comes to expressing myself. If I never wrote, I might explode from all the things I would have bottled in, like an ocean fighting to fill a bottle. The third stanza just made my jaw drop...I've never thought of it that way before, and the way you lay it all out with your words just strikes a chord with me. It's a joy to be reading you again my friend.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

It is good to be back, for people such as yourself. I've missed your words, both in review and in your poetry. Thank you so much!

[kublakhan27]

Always a pleasure my friend...those words mean so much :)