Voices

Sometimes your voice wants to hide.

It probably wants to get under

the desk of your old school.

I don’t know.

 

The voice has many enemies.

They’ve always been there.

They mock the voice.

They make it squeak,

break and dissipate.

 

You can hear their

vulgar laughter

if you listen closely.

 

These voices huddle in groups

and operate within earshot.

 

When you hear them,

be careful, but don’t be afraid.

 

Let your voice erupt like a volcano.

Often, you won’t know it

when this happens.

 

That doesn’t matter. It’s what

they are most scared of.

 

Though remember, your voice

will not drown out

the other voices.

 

They’ll just be quiet

for a while, nursing their wounds.

 

Then they’ll be back.

The war of the voices will always go on.

Be prepared.

 

The above poem is from my first collection Reeling (2012). You can download Reeling for free here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/dominic-alapat/reeling/ebook/product-22413556.html

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Now When The Mind

is so full and heavy

with chatter

it is no small matter

to sit down

and write

a poem

in fact

it is no small matter

for anything

you know it too

so here I sit

writing this poem

trying to push

all my mad shouting voices together

arguing talking laughing

cursing hooting

gathering them all in place

like children in a classroom

trying to make them quiet

and when finally

they do

they stand up

and walk out in a row

in silence

and then

those absent voices

turn into thoughts

they take wing

and today they’ve turned into trains

in the sky

flying mechanical worms

chain-links

crisscrossing the white

dividing it like farm-hedges

and all over

huge entranced clouds

softly breathe

gliding in bliss

across this city above

while the trains their silver backs

shining in the sun

blow their horns

ooooooo oooooo

through all this white white white

light spreading over all that fog

I gaze and gaze at it

like a signal pole burning

at the prettiness of it

where my mind flies

like a bird

bursting with happiness

whistling

singing and winging

over these skies of golden awakening

this other world

and then slowly

as I fly

I ask myself

isn’t it worth doing

writing a poem

everyday

anyday

more than anything else?