The night is full of white noise
which sings constantly, just
beyond the edge of hearing.
What are its messages —
if they could be deciphered?
How can I separate out the words?
You want me to come, now,
and I want to come, now,
to some poetic conclusion.
We would like it to be
both simple and profound.
We would like it to be illuminating.
It should have a feeling of rightness
without being too obvious.
We might gasp with delight.
But the nature of white noise
is not like that; I think it’s anti-poetic.
It is both there and not there.
But it’s not a paradox either,
just an awkward fact, with nothing
riding on it, hanging on it, whatever....
NaPoWriMo Day 21
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.