Cinda Lawrence - Actress

Poems by Cinda Lawrence © 2017

 

 

The Voice

Profound is the sound of the human voice.

Loud, soft, squeaky, breathless, deep.

Panicked, choked and bereft.

Word upon word upon word upon word;

Upon silence upon frown. Or grunt. Or Laugh. Or sigh.

Music or monologue; song or stanza.

A deluge of words from the heart or the mind or the ass.

Opinion or oratory;

Truth or lie;

Wise or inane;

The voice rises, ebbs and flows in a wave of passion, persistence or indifference.

Pitch high. Pitch low.  Pitch underhanded.

Rapid and rushed or slow and slithering.

Tone is everything;  the truth or the lie.

The fake or the authentic.

Words: dance and jig and jog; seduce and slander;

Overpower and underwhelm Tone.

Tone, tone, tone.

Swimming through words...over, under, above, below, between;

Around and around; in and out and through.

Thought travels, pauses or recedes.

Urgent momentum pushing, pushing, pushing or surrendering.

A whisper or a shout.

Meaning nuanced in tiny inflection.   Pause.

The word Pause.  The wordless Pause. 

A question? An exclamation!  Both?

Deep feels real. High feels grating, untrustworthy.

Words or tone...by which shall we judge?  Shall we judge? 

 We shall judge. We always judge.

The voice judges all.

Hear meaning, not voice.  Not my real voice. 

Recorded or live?  Lost in the mist?   Perhaps; but not in the memory.

Unique.  Unknown and unknowing.  One like no other.

Not words on a page nor a screen, but words from a Soul.

From a voice box rising in sound; unreturnable and irretrievable.

It's Out of the Box!  No back space.  No white-out.  No erase.  Erase!  Erase!

Indelible, memorable or forgettable; remembered  or forgotten;

 By the merits of the Soul, the Speaker.

The voice....the vehicle of regret, pain; winsome and winning.

Nonsense and annoyance; speeches and speculation. Swears and slanders.

Sweet sentiments from confused owls. 

Barely a thought before it is a creature.

Remembered or forgotten, but never returned.

Powerful when heard; wasted often.

The words are right but the tone is off. 

Tone, again and again and again,...Tone rules; Tone defines.

All shall rise or fall on Tone.

The words may be believed if the Tone can persuade.

Trust the Tone; trust the Soul.

I hear the voice in my head. Not the sound, but the passion.

The Intent is in my head.

Mouth opens; words form.

Words become sound; become meaning; become consequences.

The sound is Out!  I hear the voice.  It's Out.  Too late.

Choice without choice, it is alive, defining me how it will.

My "voice" but not my Voice.

Really?  Is that what you really think? 

What Tone did I use? What Tone did you hear?

Quick!  Change the Tone. Speak more slowly. Choose other words.  Too late.

Blurt and blab and babble; berate and betray;

I heard your voice the first time. You only get one shot. 

The first voice is the only voice. The voice doesn't ponder.

All or nothing; no, never nothing.

If no one is listening, no matter.  The voice doesn't care. 

The heart knows what the heart knows.  The voice doesn't care.

Now and Then

The sweet peace of skin on fur. Gentle fingers. Trusting Eyes.

No Fear,  Only Trust.

Now.  Now.  Now.  And Then.

Another Now….and another and another and another.

A Now that could have never been.

A Now that could have been in L.A. Or Detroit. Or Istanbul. Or Havana.

The infinite possible Nows.

This is my Now…and another and another and another.

What to do with this Now?

Embrace it. Curse it.

The first Now or the Ninety-Eight Thousand, Two Hundred Seventy Sixth Now.

It’s Now and Poof! it’s Then.

What to do with Then?

Embrace it.  Curse it.  Ignore it.

This Now is sharper, clearer than the Now of Then.

The Now of Then is Now Then.

Today’s Now is meatier. How many wasted Nows?

Is a Now wasted if it becomes a forgotten Then?

I want it Now, but Now becomes Then in a blink.

Every blink  a Now transforming into a Then.

A caterpillar Now turns into a butterfly Then.

All my Nows are caterpillars. All my butterflies are Then.

Billions of  Thens swarm my  Nows and ask “What Now?”

 

Sir Vival

Metamorphosis.  Meta.  More.  Foe.  Sis.

Need me.  Knead me.

Love me.  Loathe me.

Bonded by Survival.  Sir Vival.

Sir Vival.  My Alter Ego.  Sir Vival.

Sir Vival whispers in my ear…go, stay, work, love, write, eat, believe.

Sir Vival cares not for Opinions.  Or Lies.  Or Martyrs.  Or Betrayal.  Or Fear.

Sir Vival moves and shops and helps and eats and worries and wonders.

Sir Vival needs no first name.  He is royal.  He is unbreakable.

Sir Vival is of neither Mind, nor Body, nor Heart.

Sir Vival simply Is.  Until the day he Is Not.

 

Ignoring Me

If I ignore Me, is Me still Me?   Ignore body.  Ignore future.  Ignore past.

Ignore the Ignorer.  Bore the Ignorer.

Ignore words, success, sex.

Ignore the Ignorer.  Ignore the Ignorant.

Ignore my Ignorance.  Ignore my Wisdom.

Ignore the world and the world ignores me.

Me. Not Me. Without Me, nothing to ignore.

Almost there.  Ignorance protects the heart.

The gritty mush covers a layer of silk upon a layer of air upon a layer of thin, thin glass.

Ignore the mush and never break the glass. Break the glass and there is Me.

No more Ignoring.  No more Complacency.  No more Hiding.  No more Me.

Break the glass and Now is Then.