Voice (from me to you)

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What of having a voice
and not knowing how to speak
or what to say?
 
Is it possible that the sounds
need to echo from here to there,
from me to you
 
before I can find their most
deepest resonance?
To hear first, to listen,
 
the world’s greatest song.
To hear, too, the quiet thunder
roaring in this heart of mine
 
to know with absolute surety
that there are dreams of breaking free
and why, and how,
 
and what purpose is served
therein. Then the quiet whispers
turn to siren, voice to precious gold. – TS
 

To The Light

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With every screaming nerve
and every frayed edge
 
With the exhaustion that
follows a night of terrors
 
Upon realizing that rainbows
don’t always come with the rain
 
And our desperate pleas
are being swallowed by the wind
 
Fearing that fear itself is
consuming the right, real and true
 
I ask of us all, from heart’s depth
to love, and love more, and then more
 
To not turn away from
terrifying grips of this darkness
 
To not turn away from
the betrayed and the heartbroken
 
To find ways for us all
to come together, fast, deep
 
Let’s please hold hands
With a fierce not-letting-go
 
Let us choose listening not anger
Let us work toward understanding
 
Let us work to carve
Endless paths toward light. – TS

The World is Listening.

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Even when I’m not speaking,
the world listens.
When I try to speak
and the words reverberate
off sun-scorched, jagged peaks,
and sail down to dried up rivers below,
and bounce in the emptiness
of my head that knows
no longer,
the world is listening.
There is no quality of
judgement, the ears,
soft and receptive.
We are finding fault in others,
and deep, deep within,
a gash of torn hopes.
But the world is listening
through our sad cries
and all our lashing out,
and more,
the world is loving,
and has never stopped
loving us.

A Poem About Music and Life

 

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Hello!

I’ve just had this poem published on The Plum Tree Tavern – I hope you enjoy!

We Came Back
by Tammy T. Stone

A prior world of raucous sounds we
Made, riots of clanging bells but also

Hushed caress.  Where each tenderness
Melted like snow a river gone by, anger

Whipped loud, and everything that could,
Happened.  But it still wasn’t enough, so

Here we are, marking our cold re-entry in
Soundless, everlasting space, coursing

Through the warring bits, all of it a kind
Of alchemy we’re not here to understand.

We’re here to listen, though we don’t.
It can only start from here, the beating

Heart. The rhythm of palpation, how we
Wandered for years to get here.  Times

I rest in that pause, shivering, bone dry,
Waiting for an outstretched hand. This is

How I learned music can be touched. The
Sweet sounds that have made us and the

Ache of memories trailing through Time.
We are ruffled and ravaged. The world as

Sonorous Remembrance, reverberating in a
Thousand ways a feared, desired emptiness.

I try as hard as I can to listen to each note,
Devastating, beautiful, inchoate and true.