I can hear wind blowing at my ears likes it’s trying to tell me a story.
The sound of cars grasping the road like there begging for a hug.
The sound of bees bumbling, and trees blowing while the wind blows threw them.
But the grass the grass is silent.
The radios are screaming like our mothers do when they’re angry.
Car alarms ringing like nuclear waves sounds.
I can hear pens gliding across papers like ice glaciers glide across the ocean.
The sound of my feet holding onto the ground like there begging for comfort.
And that, that sound of fidgeting, nervousness, the curiosity of the ones beside me.
What do you hear?
Human Race By Zora Vanderveen
There are always the same people in a marathon Those who are ahead, Those who think they’re ahead, and those who don’t care The ones who wait for things believe they’re ahead Those who worked until they could stop are ahead And those who work don’t care We are doomed, The marathon is slowly filling with those who think they’re ahead And those who don’t care are few and far between And until something changes in people, Everything will stay the same
Kenilworth By Mitchell Vinson Hamlet Spivey
I listen to the broken audio loop of the cross walk station and the repetitive hum of the stationary cars waiting at the light I hear the radio that never seems to stat on the right station with the absurd requests of the talk shows and the screeching of tires is apparent with mad drivers at the wheel clicking their turn signals clenching their teeth as no one has the curtesy to let them over with their crying child in the back the car makes an illegal turn the wailing of sirens can be heard of the cop car that spotted the illegal turn as it chases the car.
Nature by Ellis Hicks
The wind pushes against my ear as a pillow in comfort
While the breeze makes leaves tiny maracas in the background
Even the balance of wind gave me the vibe of yen & yang
Hearing the scribbles, Crunches, mind waves of scription
The is Earth giving us a description
Seeing the toned down grass wresting against the ants Best but not least the tree seeds whistle with the breeze
Then there’s the blue wholesome sky
Always the same but sometime the clouds make it pop with surprise
Off on the side there’s ranks, bangs and clinks with clangs
Where sounds too scared to have any good range
Like cars running between sidewalks
And leaves a blasting to softly sounds of its’ grunts