Listen...

[Stashman]

I wrote this one morning while sitting on the outside stairs of my apt. building and having my coffee.

Listen...

Listen...
The sound of someone sweeping a walk;
Of birds, crickets and locust each singing it's own song.
The sound of traffic on a distant road,
And of children playing at games long forgotten by mothers and fathers.

Listen...
The sound of a jet in a lonely sky
Growling loudly at those who stand in wander.
The tinkling chain of a dog that lays
bathing itself beneath a soundless sun,
And of the gentle breeze whispering out to us
of it's own existence.

Listen...
The sound of a mower on a suburban lawn.
The squeaky wheel of a bicycle being ridden away
To an unknown destination.
The sound of a water hose bringing welcomed
Relief to splashing feet.

A baby crying,
A church bell ringing,
A bird taking wing.

Shh..Listen.

Written by

Gary Duckett

 

[Mr. H.]

You should put it to music, form a band, and call yourselves Gary Duckett and the Union Gap.

Nice verse there.

(must have been a big cup of coffee)

 

[Stashman]

You should put it to music, form a band, and call yourselves Gary Duckett and the Union Gap.

Nice verse there.

(must have been a big cup of coffee)

Thank you.

That morning I was battling a slight hangover from the night before. If not for the coffee the sounds mentioned in the poem would have been, "The sound of hammers banging against a paper skull" etc...

LOL!

Thanks again

 

[Mr. H.]

Got another idea for your Union Gappers...

Let me tell you how it will be;
There's one for you, nineteen for me.
'Cause I’m the stashman,
Yeah, I’m the stashman.