Sunday, November 20, 2016

Rob Schackne #163 - Susurrus


Suppose it begins
at the sub-atomic level
particles buzzing
like the business
nothing not excited
that some may call love
insects and flowers
vibrate hard with it
what some may call heat
the loud shimmering
the low pulsing beat
so by now you know
this world is humming
alive with strange whisper
sent across a universe
listening carefully
for a clue to our demise
that some may call life
with a fading sound
the last bird song
the last burning sun

how some beseech you
meanwhile other planets
circling other suns far away
suppose two others do the same


  1. Replies
    1. Dear Robbie, These days I spend more time unwriting. So you see now this damn thing pared down, edited, distilled to a few fewer lines, to one kind of essence. I guess, if I had to, I'd leave this poem only as 'how some beseech you' - a poem too mad and private to be a poem. Which, though universal enough for a wall or sidewalk message, is too little to get anyone up and shouting. And certainly too un-Brownian. But I suppose that one sad day poetry will be IV-ed directly, and each superfluous word systematically discarded, automatically unnecessary. :)


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