And who are they, this multiplicity?
On principle: anyone allowed through
The door: as many ears can be placed
Close enough to hear the poet say: sing ....
— page 6, Context Collapse (A Poem Containing A History Of Poetry)
by Ryan Ruby
And what of the poet
with no audience
to speak of,
to speak to;
still, they write, as if
those ears were at the door,
listening for the singing,
a melody into the void
Some words just scatter
into nothingness; a poem
is as fragile as old furniture,
pieces broken on the floor
#ContextCollapse
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JG02M2Y0wi8
Winter thunder
bellows at dusk —
low harbinger
of sparks and storms
being born;
somewhere on ice,
lightning strikes
Star falling;
Open your mouth
to catch the night
(for an emoji poem for DS106)
Fingertips
along the edge
of a flake -
Fragile as it's falling
I reach my hand
into the snow
to find the key
to where to secrets go
as if, in wonder —
three degrees below —
a door opens, and
in, I go
Teeth, chattering -
this cold breeze battering
my skin; I've lost my voice
to the winter wind
Somewhere, miles away,
someone else will hear
me sing the song I lost
to frost's morning sting
Still a flicker,
hope is a small candle
we hold in our heart
We live the seconds,
the steady thrum of our time,
then forget the arc
Tucked beneath blankets
in maelstrom hibernation,
an alarm bell rings
Tuned in, listening,
the voice frequency sputters
on about a storm
for Algot
Pebbles in water
look distorted; the ocean
tries to hide beauty