Thrice To Mind
I Spoke Less — [I Heard Much More ]— IV
Journeyman’s Poems — Amended Poet’s Play On Form

©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
I spoke less; And it spoke back to me: More than I let my ears hear, Bounce the uncoordinated plain, cleaving a march — Embrace and envelope The total silence: by the absolute notches of heaving hearts! To tender to knock upon The reticent dart
I ignored my sovereignty, sanguine — Just raise, to a just repose; Damn, my supposer!
I vented the juxtaposing slugger — Just a raise, he demanded; Damn, arching supposer!
Then I bent down — I spoke less; thrice was I surprised, I heard more —
I spoke less And I heard it utter More, more than most Would dare to be solvable To themselves, By daring and embracing the Silence on and on I let it sit and remain.
You hear such a-distrust in me; False, is it not to believe such a notion — For peace alone is being in silence!
You hear, so come dear and near; True, it is not the notion of belief — For striding on, as you do, embroil!
Then I bent down — I spoke less; twice was I surprised, I heard more —
And hearing the true nature of One’s Company alone — sought; of his and mine’s Trickster and the braided Knot. Master — ye and I cannot be foolproof, yet, ever so be, we must be more so than ever.
A magical lyrical could not be said For that ghastly, greened-mouthed orge, But alas, what could I suppose then?
I spoke less; a devastating crop, And it spoke back to me — More — Bounced — Hopped — I remain true to that semblance now. The austerity asserted itself over the board shoulders of a harking, humbled maid.
The depleting island at quarters harsh, Twice as damaging to the ones Who goes on speaking unimpeded — Whence suicide is the clime of a distant mind.
I remained faithful to the sobbing ground — all thick with the Devasting air that grieves lungs to toil — Heaving bourse!
I spoke less And I heard it utter More, more than most Would dare to be solvable To themselves, By daring and embracing the Silence on and on I let it sit and remain.
I let my voice echo around The remaining thoughts That cleave as the especial heart Where most would rather resign Themselves so prematurely — Pinged on none who are leaving;
As is the lust, that cannot just itself On and on, no more. Nothing is what they fear repeated, In the echoing chamber Or the lack thereof sound. I spoke less and I heard only — more.
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A COOLING POEM — A BRIEF FASCICLE:
The CURATION — THE FINE RABBLE’S PUBLICATION:
I AM MERE POSSIBILITY! — SIGHTSEER’S POEMS:
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