Adventures in Sound

Barry Fentiman Hall


What if the tapping at the window was not a raven?
Poe's true love may have been throwing grit to get his attention
She waited for him in the snow night after night
But he was convinced it was a raven and they never met

The cars on the by-pass become eroticised by the moon
There seem to be so many more of them than there used to be
Their irregular breathing like lovers making out in a lay-by
Nyloned legs keeping time as they walk away throwing the keys in a ditch
Or maybe it's just me that listens for such things where they don't exist

Brian Wilson had an orchestra in his head playing at different speeds
The bells fell behind the drums and came home after dark
The audience talked among themselves and became part of the show
He can still hear them when the music ends
They never stop talking

My father can still speak when I open my mouth unguarded
He sighs when I get to the top of the stairs at work
As I hum the scarecrow's song that never played when it should have
But never stops playing for me in the spaces in between my dreams

I am convinced that I can hear people's hearts beating far away
Sometimes they skip a little when life gets big on them
The needle jumps drawing mountains that may really be mountains
Although it is possible that my ears are playing up and it's my own heart
That has stopped

 Image from Pixabay

Image from Pixabay

Barry Fentiman Hall (BFH) is a writer based in the Medway region of Kent. He is primarily a poet of place and the people he finds in it. He has been published in several journals such as Anti-Heroin Chic, I Am Not A Silent Poet, and shortly Crack The Spine. His debut solo collection The Unbearable Sheerness Of Being was published by Wordsmithery in 2015. He is also the host of Roundabout Nights, Chatham’s oldest regular live lit night. He is a big fan of owls. Not to mention cats. And on a good day hares.