I hope it’s only temporary, this cotton-wool muffle
of everyday sound, with random crackle
of static, constant shower of white noise
and high-hat cymbal of gravel
on an empty road.
I’m bombarded with percussion
when I want to hear words,
a human voice, the television
and the ring of the telephone.
Until normal service is resumed,
the volume is way too low;
the only thing I hear
loud and clear
is the clamouring of new-born poems,
a Beethoven choral fantasy to my ears.
Kim M. Russell, 3rd December 2019
My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Get Listed: January Edition
Sanaa is hosting the first ‘Get Listed’ of 2019, with a poem by Shelley, thoughts on January and the New Year, and a new list of words from which to choose.
For this edition, she asks us to choose any three words that fit best with the mood/theme/personality of a poem on a topic of our choice. I’ve chosen to write about my current (hopefully) temporary deafness, using the words gravel, poems and percussion.