i am still learning to be the listener i want to be. born into a house where i had to keep my lips parted and my vioce high… i had no choice but to speak. Well-choice i had but not with a promise that no harm would come to me. i never got the chance to simply listen and implore my ears to be my main guide. i now grow tired of words and speaking-asking, retorts and response in time with anothers request. It has become aggravational. i just want to listen.
I was listening the sound of the cars while I was walking through the street… all noise, all nothing. The passing cars wold remind me of the city I was at, a black mazda passed by, but it wasnt him.
Listening. Listening to crickets out on the back patio. This suburb reeks of money as evidenced by the untended backyard full of crap. Tonka trucks, lacrosse goals, etc.
I hear your voice in my head. Like this sweet melody, of a far away dream. Whatever i do, i find you here. In my heart. And I can’t even begin to explain this storm of feelings, washing over me when I think of you. It’s like I’ve found a very precious treasure, hidden from the outside world. It’s like I’ve finally found my way back home. Because if there is something I know for sure, it’s that the place where I want to be, is in your arms.
i don’t like to listen to strangers’ conversations anymore. instead, i’m listening to the leaves in the wind and my feet touching the ground as i walk and walk outside the grey foolish town
I’m listening to what you are saying, but I’m not really understanding it. Do you mean that you miss me? Or are you lying to me? I just don’t understand. You have mixed emotions. You love me one day, but the next you hate me. Why?
music, heatbeat, sound of bird, chanting of monk, flow of river, chattering of monkeys, ratteling of iron metals, screaming, shouting , and everything that i hear upon i awake i
I am listening to the sound of the city
glowing all around me
and underneath all that noise I’m used to
I am listening to your heart beat
and I may be wrong
but when I listen to it
drum out its beat
I can hear the faint tune
of it singing my name
What does it mean to be a good listener? listening can seem like a passive activity but what it really means is engagement. Listening isn’t really something passive, we choose to listen to the people around us and engage with them. Listening is important, try to listen when you should, otherwise it could be too late.
I find myself craving for someone to listen to me. Maybe I should I carve my every thought on my flesh. Will you listen then? Will I be a priority then?
I listened to the birds sing their chorus this morning. They told me to be patient. They told me that I was only hearing what I wanted to hear. I was listening. I was needing something more. Then, there was silence. And in that silence, a deafening roar. A moment of recognition. I heard it. It was my inner light. And it was truth.
After a while, I’ve stopped listening to music. The spaces of silence between the notes are ever more beautiful. And when those pauses make themselves known, I think of you.
Listening is hard. To listen, you must learn the skill. Thinking before you act requires listening to instruction. Listen to your parents. Listen Listen Listen. Thats all we ever learn. But if all we are doing is listening, when do we speak? We learn to speak by listening. Listening to teachers teach, preachers preach, parents lecture, and people speak. It just requires one little sense.
music is my life. when I listen to rap, especially, I feel like every emotion and feeling of inadequacy I have ever felt is finally validated through the lyrical phenom that is hip-hop music
Listening a much undervalued skill. If listening was practiced by more people understanding and valuing of others might be the result. Our politics and our government might be effective and viable once again. Problems might be solved and the result could be less unemployment, less guns and violence and an end to the the legal discrimination against the LBGT community and the fight for gay marriage equality might be the result. Oh well no one is listening today maybe tomorrow.
I am listening to music on my father’s computer. After a while the words, the chord progressions, all of it, just fades into the background and it doesn’t matter that I’m trying to discover new bands because I can’t even hear it anymore. I don’t even know if I like this song but it doesn’t really matter.
“I don’t want to eat pecan crusted anything, it makes me think of braised peacocks, or quails poached in brandy with their tiny bones.” I was listening to her as she prattled along. Her voice sounded like the car bumping over the uneven dirt track and what she said was as aimless as the path we were taking. We were moving up into the mountains, into the mist.
I’m listening to the quiet. Waiting. I hear nothing. Emptiness. I want something. I want action, I want noise. I want voice. Because it’s hard to sit here alone, waiting, listening to nothingness. And silence is overrated. I want music.
Yeah. I’m listening. Barely. All i want to do is get out and go. Why? This shouldn’t be how I feel but I really need to get out. Please. I don’t want to be late. As soon as I leave and I get there, my problems will disappear into my punches and kicks and I won’t think about what you’re saying. Cause I don’t freaking care.
“i am listening!” she felt scared, which is why she looked away when he spoke to her. he could be cruel when criticizing her for something she did that did not appeal to him. why did she stay with him? she was whipped.
Listening in to the quiet silence of distilled air. Tapping’s hit at your fever and the temperature rises the more you sit and think of what to do. You’re helpless. Sat in a room with nowhere to go and nowhere to be.
I am listening to the fog in myself.
It sounds like two mice are about.
They have dew in their whiskers
and they are discussing the moss.
One of them holds up a lichen umbrella
and does a funny sad dance.
there is so much going on right now. the thick snow, like a giant shaking his head of dandruff, falls everywhere and surrounds this little farm house. and I’m sitting here listening, listening to the thumps of what i hope are just squirrels bouncing around as if on caffeine above me on the roof. and music is playing from the
She pressed her ear to the door. Hands trembled and her tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. The words that traveled through the old wood struck her ears like the bell towers. She listened in on the conversation that would decide her fate.
I couldn’t hear anything, no matter how loud she was shouting. I knew she was mad at me. It had only been a few minutes since the accident, but my ears weren’t bleeding or anything…why couldn’t I hear?
She screamed in my ear. I heard nothing. Oh god, I was deaf.
No…I can’t be deaf…I’m not deaf…
But I was.
I sat down across from my mother. She dished out some pancakes and sausage to me. I smiled appreciatively, trying to decide when to tell her. “So, mom..” I started. I relayed the whole story to her, but then it occurred to me that she was never really listening.
I am listening to peppa pig on the background. In my head I am listening to the voice of reason. Why people have kids and do not accurately take care of them is beyond my understanding. I am dancing to the theme of Peppa now. I love being home with Jossy and listening to her shows.
He strained his ears, listening for any hint that he had been noticed, crammed under the bed in hiding. But there was no signs. The heavy tread of the innkeeper paced around a few times, and then turned away and made its way out the door. A sigh of relief escaped him, and he relaxed his grip on the rapier. It clicked against his manacles, and there was a pause in the tread. The man froze, holding his breath as he waited. But no. The innkeeper kept walking.
If she was not talking, she was drifting off into her own magical land. The words reached her ears, but they didn’t sink in. The more he shouted, the further she’d withdraw. Until one day, his “Listen to me!” became a cue for her to retreat.
Shhh
Just listen.
She told me.
You think too much.
Do you ever take the time to just pause for a minute,
and listen to what someone else has to say?
It can be nice, slipping out of your thoughts and putting someone else in control of your mind.
You should try it sometime.
i am still learning to be the listener i want to be. born into a house where i had to keep my lips parted and my vioce high… i had no choice but to speak. Well-choice i had but not with a promise that no harm would come to me. i never got the chance to simply listen and implore my ears to be my main guide. i now grow tired of words and speaking-asking, retorts and response in time with anothers request. It has become aggravational. i just want to listen.
{boots/listening}
before he invented lightning
god stomped on people and houses
when he got angry
early geologists listened to the soil
and called the phenomenon
earthquake
note that the animals didn’t
officially exist until adam gave them
their names
don’t tell him we’ve got it all figured out
don’t tell him we know that heaven is nothing
but a place
we book tickets to when we die.
he might shut the doors on us,
flood us out with his tears.
I was listening the sound of the cars while I was walking through the street… all noise, all nothing. The passing cars wold remind me of the city I was at, a black mazda passed by, but it wasnt him.
Listening. Listening to crickets out on the back patio. This suburb reeks of money as evidenced by the untended backyard full of crap. Tonka trucks, lacrosse goals, etc.
I hear your voice in my head. Like this sweet melody, of a far away dream. Whatever i do, i find you here. In my heart. And I can’t even begin to explain this storm of feelings, washing over me when I think of you. It’s like I’ve found a very precious treasure, hidden from the outside world. It’s like I’ve finally found my way back home. Because if there is something I know for sure, it’s that the place where I want to be, is in your arms.
If I sit here long enough with my thoughts pounding so loud in my head, I am sure you’ll be able to hear them. Are you listening?
i don’t like to listen to strangers’ conversations anymore. instead, i’m listening to the leaves in the wind and my feet touching the ground as i walk and walk outside the grey foolish town
I’m listening to what you are saying, but I’m not really understanding it. Do you mean that you miss me? Or are you lying to me? I just don’t understand. You have mixed emotions. You love me one day, but the next you hate me. Why?
music, heatbeat, sound of bird, chanting of monk, flow of river, chattering of monkeys, ratteling of iron metals, screaming, shouting , and everything that i hear upon i awake i
Your voice lingers;
And I’m listening.
What is that sound? It’s nothing.
You are no longer around.
I am listening to the sound of the city
glowing all around me
and underneath all that noise I’m used to
I am listening to your heart beat
and I may be wrong
but when I listen to it
drum out its beat
I can hear the faint tune
of it singing my name
zhiqi has a fetish for cue mor
i love listening to my neighbour pee, i do that by sticking my left ear to my toilet wall.
I sometime figure more about myself by listening to others.
What does it mean to be a good listener? listening can seem like a passive activity but what it really means is engagement. Listening isn’t really something passive, we choose to listen to the people around us and engage with them. Listening is important, try to listen when you should, otherwise it could be too late.
I find myself craving for someone to listen to me. Maybe I should I carve my every thought on my flesh. Will you listen then? Will I be a priority then?
I listened to the birds sing their chorus this morning. They told me to be patient. They told me that I was only hearing what I wanted to hear. I was listening. I was needing something more. Then, there was silence. And in that silence, a deafening roar. A moment of recognition. I heard it. It was my inner light. And it was truth.
After a while, I’ve stopped listening to music. The spaces of silence between the notes are ever more beautiful. And when those pauses make themselves known, I think of you.
Listening is hard. To listen, you must learn the skill. Thinking before you act requires listening to instruction. Listen to your parents. Listen Listen Listen. Thats all we ever learn. But if all we are doing is listening, when do we speak? We learn to speak by listening. Listening to teachers teach, preachers preach, parents lecture, and people speak. It just requires one little sense.
music is my life. when I listen to rap, especially, I feel like every emotion and feeling of inadequacy I have ever felt is finally validated through the lyrical phenom that is hip-hop music
Listening a much undervalued skill. If listening was practiced by more people understanding and valuing of others might be the result. Our politics and our government might be effective and viable once again. Problems might be solved and the result could be less unemployment, less guns and violence and an end to the the legal discrimination against the LBGT community and the fight for gay marriage equality might be the result. Oh well no one is listening today maybe tomorrow.
I am listening to music on my father’s computer. After a while the words, the chord progressions, all of it, just fades into the background and it doesn’t matter that I’m trying to discover new bands because I can’t even hear it anymore. I don’t even know if I like this song but it doesn’t really matter.
“I don’t want to eat pecan crusted anything, it makes me think of braised peacocks, or quails poached in brandy with their tiny bones.” I was listening to her as she prattled along. Her voice sounded like the car bumping over the uneven dirt track and what she said was as aimless as the path we were taking. We were moving up into the mountains, into the mist.
I’m listening to the quiet. Waiting. I hear nothing. Emptiness. I want something. I want action, I want noise. I want voice. Because it’s hard to sit here alone, waiting, listening to nothingness. And silence is overrated. I want music.
Yeah. I’m listening. Barely. All i want to do is get out and go. Why? This shouldn’t be how I feel but I really need to get out. Please. I don’t want to be late. As soon as I leave and I get there, my problems will disappear into my punches and kicks and I won’t think about what you’re saying. Cause I don’t freaking care.
Whatever, whatever, whatever.
“i am listening!” she felt scared, which is why she looked away when he spoke to her. he could be cruel when criticizing her for something she did that did not appeal to him. why did she stay with him? she was whipped.
Listening in to the quiet silence of distilled air. Tapping’s hit at your fever and the temperature rises the more you sit and think of what to do. You’re helpless. Sat in a room with nowhere to go and nowhere to be.
I am listening to the fog in myself.
It sounds like two mice are about.
They have dew in their whiskers
and they are discussing the moss.
One of them holds up a lichen umbrella
and does a funny sad dance.
there is so much going on right now. the thick snow, like a giant shaking his head of dandruff, falls everywhere and surrounds this little farm house. and I’m sitting here listening, listening to the thumps of what i hope are just squirrels bouncing around as if on caffeine above me on the roof. and music is playing from the
Listening to my heart
Is all I asked you to do
As you held it in your hand
Like it was a piece of you.
She pressed her ear to the door. Hands trembled and her tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. The words that traveled through the old wood struck her ears like the bell towers. She listened in on the conversation that would decide her fate.
I couldn’t hear anything, no matter how loud she was shouting. I knew she was mad at me. It had only been a few minutes since the accident, but my ears weren’t bleeding or anything…why couldn’t I hear?
She screamed in my ear. I heard nothing. Oh god, I was deaf.
No…I can’t be deaf…I’m not deaf…
But I was.
I sat down across from my mother. She dished out some pancakes and sausage to me. I smiled appreciatively, trying to decide when to tell her. “So, mom..” I started. I relayed the whole story to her, but then it occurred to me that she was never really listening.
I am listening to peppa pig on the background. In my head I am listening to the voice of reason. Why people have kids and do not accurately take care of them is beyond my understanding. I am dancing to the theme of Peppa now. I love being home with Jossy and listening to her shows.
He strained his ears, listening for any hint that he had been noticed, crammed under the bed in hiding. But there was no signs. The heavy tread of the innkeeper paced around a few times, and then turned away and made its way out the door. A sigh of relief escaped him, and he relaxed his grip on the rapier. It clicked against his manacles, and there was a pause in the tread. The man froze, holding his breath as he waited. But no. The innkeeper kept walking.
If she was not talking, she was drifting off into her own magical land. The words reached her ears, but they didn’t sink in. The more he shouted, the further she’d withdraw. Until one day, his “Listen to me!” became a cue for her to retreat.