The fan drones on in tonal circles
moving air as water pipes rumble
bass like, clarinet rubber hoses feed
assorted cheap sprinklers.
From another room
the ice maker clatters it’s frozen load
into a bin of cubes, then stirs
and whines a stream of water
into ice trays.
A fat fly slipped in through the mail slot
and is bouncing it’s repeated buzzing
off the windows in stupid confusion
buzzing and thumping the glass
again and again
in a comforting –
not for the fly –
rhythm, calling attention
to solid walls, drum-like
in percussive abilities
beating every hot sound
from in or out to shape
the heat of the long day.
A stray cricket is loose
in the basement singing
an odd fiddling refrain
from it’s dank confines,
serenading the power tools
and silent appliances.
With a little player’s luck
it will find a window cracked
and return to the main orchestra
for the evening performance
where night moths applaud
quiet in the humid hush
under the whispering stars.
3 comments:
How do you make images AND sounds all in one poem, Miss Myra? Is it fair to the rest of us (okay, mostly me)?
This line got me good: "The fan drones on in tonal circles"
as did this: "beating every hot sound
from in or out to shape
the heat of the long day."
and also this: "where night moths applaud
quiet in the humid hush
under the whispering stars."
Like the images in the second stanza, particularly "The ice maker clatter it's frozen load/ into a bin of cubes"!!
You are all so good for me, pushing me to write and knowing it will not fall into a black hole. It's been a rich month.
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