A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the years following, from August 2024 to August 2025, 2025 to 2026 (provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Charles 🐾. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
What is that whistling sound that I hear?
Like an electrical hum of machinery;
I’m unable to say if it’s distant or near,
it might even be part of the scenery.
Not a hum or a buzz, a hiss or a tune,
it is white noise with no corners or reason -
constant and yet shy, it inhabits the room,
without crescendo, it wants no completion.
The other sounds bleached and cast from my ear
while this monotonous sound becomes rife;
not conditioning air nor inspiring fear,
I know it at last - it’s the rhythm of life.
Line count: 12
Rhymed abab
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 42
Prompt: Listen. What’s the most prominent sound you hear? Write about it.
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