The Muse Stirs...

While August may not be the most fertile month for my poetical cornfield, the poems do accumulate. And, seeing as school is looming on the horizon of summer, I thought I might as well start the ninth month with a clean slate. So.... I present to you the acquired detritus of the tail end of summer!
..........
thunder...
after five years,
the mountaintop
.........
unnoticed,
the incense stick
buns out
..........
A Musical Offering.
the train whistle
becomes a fifth voice
..........
blackbird under juniper rain
..........
knitting.
the computer
endlessly updating
..........
sheet music.
all the parts
unlabeled
..........
celtic band.
the guitarist's
digital watch
..........
before the concert,
the harpsichord
tuner
..........
distracted from Keats
by the antics
of crabs
..........
soliloquy:
how much
is the actor acting?
..........

Noise!

Sound. Hammering, pounding, shattering! Warping, twisting, breaking. Unresolved dissonance clamoring, wailing, shrieking. Unbearable, beating everything, everything, into submission.

Mindless. Humming, droning, an undercurrent of pain and death. Suffering, rendered unspeakable, horribly, renderingly real. Heartbreak and anguish given voice.

The disparity of surface and soul explored in waves of intolerable harmonics. Overtones, loose firecrackers, whizzing overhead, snaring Hope, forcing her down to earth. Then deeper, deeper, until her quavering light is utterly extinguished.

Trumpets, drums, fifes blaring, individual timbres lost and overwhelmed. Somewhere, a choir sings of judgment, the words lost in a tumble of sliding consonants.

And then, after the noise,

comes the silence.
..........

(The above is not really a haibun, but I like it enough to include it anyway.)