The sound of the sky on fire! Ancient nerds! I am the sound of new idea.. of a freshly picked garden.
That first sound above belongs to George Bradley and his poem, The Sound of the Sun. The poem is full of wild not-sound sonic descriptions of the sun. We discussed the power of extending a little past reality, to make your readers brain do a couple leaps of its own. So, part of the students’ challenge today was to write a poem full of crazy not-sound sounds, that make us all jump into our imaginations.
But that’s not all… Bradley ends his poem by asserting that you, too make a sound, and yet you can’t hear it. Challenge accepted, Mr. Bradley! I asked the students to carry on with our theme of identity, and write a poem describing what they sound like. The results are dazzling:
P.S. The second two sounds in that first line are from poems below. Read on!
Ms. Foley / Mr. Schaye
The sound that makes men ponder,
Mr. Bradley, I beg to differ sir,
The sound of touch,
Mysterious, cryptic, like the ancient nerds and Aztecs,
Of leather and hide,
Cotton and wool, a sound,
Unlike any other, gentle,
Indeed it exists, for if
It did not neither would
The world as we know it.
Just a Random Thought
It makes one, all wrong, though you had thought of it,
It isn’t a sound you think of, though is the air we breath
Every day, each doing as fast as the last
Of night that passes the sound of day, but
If you watch closely, when the sun sets
In the sky and the array of color is ever prevalent
You might feel it, the sound of anger, now and then,
That the source of it all, is somewhere,
Frustration, leading to dispair, how about that sound
I am the Sound
I am the sound of a freshly picked garden
Of a newly bought book,
I am the sound of a new idea,
Of a newly made pavement.
I am the sound of a number,
Of a drumstick of fried chicken,
I am the sound of the start,
From start to finish.
Well George Bradley,
maybe I can hear the sound
Maybe I sound like a
flashback: frozen pain
or the sound of a
red balloon going up
into the sky.
An idea from long ago,
that came out of
storage, and is at the
front of your brain.
It’s frozen pain.
The sound of someone moving,
The Sound Always Known
No, that’s not quite true
people make sounds
louder than a bomb
faster than Usain Bolt
more intense than atomic fire
hitting harder than a bullet
softer than plush
deeper than the Grand Canyon
the orchestra of
the mind and body
The Sound of Me
It’s the sound of confusion and jokes
Like a tree and a bear
The sound of tears running and a heart breaking
A sound like a machine operating, like a city
I’m the sound of silence or
the sound of Edge and Zimmer
The sound of blue turned to purple
friend to foe, night to day.
It’s a sound unlike another, only one can hear it besides me.
The Sound of the Earth Falling
Now, now, Mr. Bradley, I would like to inform you,
that I, Ariana, in fact do know what I sound like.
Imagine the Earth falling to its death
Imagine the screaming and swooshing as the
Earth tumbles down to the unknown parts of the galaxy.
That’s the sound of me.
Imagine the cracking and crackling as
dirt and roads crumble off the earth.
Imagine the sound as the Earth hit the galaxy.
You might hear this sound when the Earth turns round and round
or when a tornado hits a vacuum.
I do not sound like the sun
I sound like Cthulhu rising, like
The roar of his ancient cult awakening
I sound like the sea splitting open
Like the moon bursting into flames
Like 20 chickens being sacrificed
Like the sun being extinguished
And being destroyed by a black hole
I know what I sound like
And you cannot tell me otherside
Now, what do you sound like?
Oh yes, George Bradley I do make a sound
And I know what it sounds like.
I sound like the OMGs and the EWs
I sound like ice melting and knuckles cracking
I sound like oceans smacking rivers
And clouds colliding
I sound like light bulbs popping and pens clicking
The lightening clashing
And ghosts whispering
I sound llike mystery
I sound like misery
I sound like you
And the guy next to you
It makes one think, although it can’t be heard
The whisper of a balloon
That slipped out of a small girl’s hand
Sky-bound, the soft whistle
of the ribbon on a breeze
A soft wish, like the blue taffeta dress
Of the girl and her missing balloon
And the inside, the pinging
noise of the light, bouncing
to and fro and turning red
The way a balloon sways
Lingering, deciding where to next
How it hums to pass the time
As it swishes through the sky
A dazed rocket,
Softly blasting off
I sound like the wolf
When the full moon isn’t out.
I sound like a fallen tree
Moaning after it’s hit the ground.
I sound like the sun,
I sound like the world,
Frozen in time.
I sound like a world without air
that is still breathing.
Like a notebook filled with notes,
but still completely empty.
Hair that flows in the wind,
that is still, entirely still.
The sound of a neon purple rug,
letters and numbers that jump off the page.
The sound of a person getting olde
Sometimes the sound of achievement
sometimes the sound of sorrow
Like the sound of victory and the sound of loss
The sound of emotion
The sound of war
Or the sound of peace
Sounds of the body
Sounds of the mind
I sound liek anger
I sound like ocean blue
I sound like the moss on a tree
I sound like my hair growing
I sound like the rising and falling of the moon
I sound like the tear running down a face
I sound like the aging of a body
The Sound of Me
I sound like a rainbow
A leaf growing on a tree
Or the clouds moving in the sky
Hair growing on my head
When I blink, everything changes
Sweat dripping off my face
I sound like art, and happiness
Listen close, and you’ll hear my thoughts.