the context of silence

there is
the serene silence
of peace
gently broken by the sound
of a bird

the sobering silence
of anger
that forms in the echo
of a slammed door

then there is
the soulful silence
of lovers lying side-by-side

the singular silence
of a man
alone with his thoughts

the silence of a friend
waving goodbye from the window
of a train

the silence of enemies
standing on either side
of a line in the sand

the silence of a hawk
in flight

of the sun
the stars
and the moon in the sky

of a stopped clock
of a flower unfolding

the silence just before
the film begins

of paint drying on canvas
of lips moving in prayer

the silence that occurs
before the wind
that arrives ahead of the storm

the silence between
the final vibration of a violin
and the applause of the crowd

the silence of
worry
pain
loss

distinct from
the silence
of a smile

the silence
of the color blue

or the silence
we choose

and of the thousand thousand silences
the most powerful silence of all the silences
is the silence
of silence

(D James)

after the end

the power of night
the black and white

lithe and still
darkness falls

bringing the final
moment

nowhere to go
from here
but to the end

fast and painless
eyes open
but the light gone
out

those years
gathered up
then scattered
by the wind

a billion specks
of light and sound
swallowed
by darkness

then nothing

not even
the black

(D. James)

climbing the mountain

the blank page
stares back at me

silently mocking
my attempts
to scribble
something

of weight

the blank page
like a snow-covered
mountain

challenges my ability
to communicate
and whisper-laughs
at my thoughts of words

until I say
to the blank page
“ok, you write something”

then there is silence
and I can finally settle down
to begin the work of stringing words
together into something that makes sense

to someone
somewhere

(D. James)

it’s alright when I shut up and listen …

waiting
wanting
you

just you

but this damn waiting
feeling spun out
lost

knowing you’re there
somewhere

too far

then I close
my eyes
and listen

can see
your smile
almost hear
your laugh

feel you
right here
with me

(D. James)

nothing between us

in the silence
before dawn
I breath in
the scent of skin

rub the nape
of your neck

run my hand
along
your waist
to the pale belly

you roll over
stare straight
into me

seeing
who I really am

not who I project
to keep the world
at bay

but who
I want to be

who I am
when it’s safe

you smile,
revealing
your true self

I don’t know
if you do that
with others

but to me
you are always
an open door

inviting me
to step through

and I’m curious
what, if anything,
I do for you

(D. James)

what do I know?

(for Ian A.)

What if the old man
isn’t wandering or lonely

What if he has
all the answers
and knows it’s pointless
to say anything

Now who do you
feel sorry for?

(D. James)

Nowhere, actually

They talk
and talk
then talk
some more

Saying the most
benign things
about the weather
or what someone else
has already said

I look for silence

But still they talk
and talk
without really saying
anything

In the end
I wonder …
do these words
really get us anywhere?

(D. James)