Smidgens
There are Other voices, which you are part of, yet separate
Those Other voices are filled within you, with their weight of coarse speech and their calluses that form upon your whispers, where empathy is a gesture gained and lost at the tip of fingers. Forgiveness is a motion of the air.
Those voices have years rubbed into you, your stripped throat rests for breath, transcriptions of your representation are tumbles, veering, slips of the tongue, loose like clay, then formed, dried, solid.
Those Other voices are differing tones of speech, a music, singing is flesh. They dance in the dissonance of tomorrow’s word search. Key words twist. Fonts waltz in the shape of the living. You are printed, faxed, fallen, risen within voices, as you chant, now, in front of me.
They move, they are moved, they have been moving, we become consonant
Beautiful! So well said
Love this
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Yes, you’ve picked up on the silenced subaltern part of the poem. Thanks.
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Your writing is captivating.
This also makes me think of those internal voices that have gotten louder or been drowned out over the years.
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Many voices become one voice…a singularity of thought, pictures, pixels, light. Are we still individuals? Were we ever individual? The great wheel turns and there are many signs along the pathways.
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Now change the “you” into “words” I am typing (or you are typing) onto my/your computer screen. Do you hear them in your head when you type? You have a different poem.
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Very true.
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Those are the best sounds.
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Beautiful ideas. Reading your poem makes me want to simply listen to all the natural “voices” of the world for a while. ^_^
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Phenomenal-ly Awesome! 😎🥀
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I agree with Bonnie J. Toomey. That line hit me right between the eyes, and right in the chest, too. Thank you for sharing.
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Like voices over time, your brilliant poem etched a memorable for my soul.
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“Those voices have years rubbed into you” – true and beautiful words. Bias is a strong thing we must be aware of if we are to teach ourselves and our children.
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