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Open Poetry #12
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Joyce Johnson
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Member Rara Avis
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912
Washington State

0 posted 2001-03-11 12:51 PM


Familiar love, like a ticking clock,
Kept every day sound filled.
Its steadiness unheard by me
Until the voice was stilled.

The TV turned to football,
A softly clearing throat,
Merely background noises
Of which to take no note.

His running of the water
In routine daily showers,
So tranquil, but in memory,
So loud it over-powers.

The rustling of the paper
As he turns another page.
His noise of indignation
As he reads of some outrage.

The quiet in this winter
Of my life is hard to bear.
How can one miss the constancy,
Unnoticed when it's there?

So loud, the ticking of the clock.
On my cheek a silent tear
In homage to those little sounds,
No longer there to hear.

September 2000


© Copyright 2001 Joyce I Johnson - All Rights Reserved
Mysteria
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Member Laureate
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328
British Columbia, Canada
1 posted 2001-03-11 12:56 PM


Oh this was so poignant and familiar to me, as I am sure to many. The very things that we hate the most are the ones we miss. This was very well done, and I loved your analogies as well as the constant, even rhythm. Great read!

~*~A poet is someone who reads more than they write ~*~

Packratmike
Senior Member
since 2001-02-25
Posts 632
California, USA
2 posted 2001-03-11 03:21 AM


This is a great poem. Very touching.

Packratmike

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