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In bad faith
we are obliged to answer a troll
told how winter did not prove
so bad as reported
or that he had no opportunity
of speaking his mind
till 12 o’clock at night
making an end of right and wrong
out of love for the gallows
Gedichten over het onderwerp: speech
Gedichten over het onderwerp “speech” op Poets.by.
Postprandial
After dinner to the garden
to speak a word
into the night.
* * *
sundown qualifies
speech as mere
excitement
Silence 2
Silence is a drug, be cautious in your dose taking.
For some of us get addict, and never feel again the urge to speak.
Songs About Life and Brighter Things Yet XLVIII
I seldom mean a single thing
I say, or (as the phrase goes) sing;
But if it sounds both bright and true,
I like to think I think I do.
Japanese Hokku 2
If you would know me,
Do not regard this display;
Mingle with my speech.
Is It Because I Am Black?
Why do men smile when I speak,
And call my speech
The whimperings of a babe
That cries but knows not what it wants?
Is it because I am black?
Why do men sneer when I arise
And stand in their councils,
And look them eye to eye.
And speak their tongue?
Is it because I am black?
After All
After all and after all
When the song is sung
And swallowed up in silence
It were more real unsung....
After all and after all
When the lips have stirred
Such a little of the thought
Is transmuted in the word....
Suffer not my ears with hearing
Suffer not your thoughts with speech.
Let us feel into our meaning
And thus know the all of each.
Aprons of Silence
Many things I might have said today.
And I kept my mouth shut.
So many times I was asked
To come and say the same things
Everybody was saying, no end
To the yes-yes, yes-yes, me-too, me-too.
The aprons of silence covered me.
A wire and hatch held my tongue.
I spit nails into an abyss and listened.
I shut off the gabble of Jones, Johnson, Smith,
All whose names take pages in the city directory.
I fixed up a padded cell and lugged it around.
I locked myself in and nobody knew it.
Only the keeper and the kept in the hoosegow
Knew it — on the streets, in the postoffice,
On the cars, into the railroad station
Basket
Speak, sir, and be wise.
Speak choosing your words, sir,
like an old woman over a bushel
of apples.
Under a Telephone Pole
I AM a copper wire slung in the air,
Slim against the sun I make not even a clear line of
shadow.
Night and day I keep singing — humming and thrumming:
It is love and war and money ; it is the fighting and the
tears, the work and want,
Death and laughter of men and women passing through
me, carrier of your speech,
In the rain and the wet dripping, in the dawn and the
shine drying,
A copper wire.