Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Thursday, April 21, 2016



Listening reveals.
To hear the rustling clusters
of leaves that whisper to
soft brushing of a breeze,
the gurgling of a stream
that splashes onward down
a narrow bed of stones,
the far, full booming of
a metal bell's deep tone,
the crackle and the hissing
of fierce flames as they fly,
consuming dry wood, dancing towards the sky;
this is to sense
a fragment of
the speechless word
of all vast being of the world.

Listening is a sharing.
To hear bird melody
sound forth at dawn,
the drowsy purring of a dreaming cat,
or cows deep-lowing in the fields;
the watchful dog's excited bark,
the cry of gull, above foamed wave-tops riding wind,
a far owl hooting through
the insect murmur of the night;
this is to sense
the feelings of the wordless,
souls of the creatures of creation.

Listening is communing.
To hear a child's
first mouthings,
first mimicking of human speech
with all its meaning-sounding forms;
or listen to
a long, rich life reflected in quiet words;
to hear bright anger's fire,
or warming love,
all self's experience
in sound and sense,
a being speaking;
this is to learn
to listen to the human:
to love
word-weavers of the earth.

Listening is deepening.
To open to
the soundless stars,
to self's own stillness,
to that deep quietness behind
creation's song:
this is to listen
through silence,
to embrace
awareness of

the depths of Being.


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