This mind is full of sounds…
like Shakespeare’s island; though
no mind is like an island…
where are all those sounds stored,
indexed, waiting tidy on their shelves?
Only when a sound returns
do you realise that it’s been missing..
hasn’t deprivation always been
the Creator’s pointed message to us?
just now, sitting with a teacup,
after a ‘testing’ week…
a gentle, sweet and reasonable
woman’s mother voice returns
to mind's uncatalogued fine inner ear;
reminds me it’s been absent for awhile..
and the world that seemed so alien last week
surrounds me with its mellow sound of care.
And what an AMAZING storehouse the mind is...to save all those sounds just for us...to be called forth just when we need them...or to prod us and make us feel guilty when we need to be reminded...and to bless us with voices long lost to us. Thanks, Michael, for posting this one...it, too, is like one of those long lost voices, a gentle reminder for me to stop and listen? Scarlett
This is nice, Michael. I think poets are blessed by more vivid sounds in the 'inner ear.' Mine show up often to soothe, or to remind me of something undone. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Prospero himself could not have expressed it more beautifully. After the first few lines of this I thought of that moment when your ears have just been syringed and you can hear life again - so aggressively and agreeably. Even the sound of the toilet paper scrunching becomes joyous. So glad you found your 'mother voice'. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥