"Listening" A poem, a story or does it matter?

Our writing assignment was listening. I'll share a few thoughts that I'll post at the bottom of this poem/story or a combination of the two. I welcome input.

LISTENING

Listening is vital. It helps us to stay more present, more alive, more aware. But it’s a tool I have had to embrace and welcome back into my life. I find now I enjoy listening more than talking to those around me. I suppose that is why many thought I would be a good therapist. My mom was thankful for my listening, although at the time I probably should have been deciding what I wanted to do with my life. I I listen to my soul, I listen to nature, all is worthy of tuning into.
As I was growing up, I shut down my ears in many instances. If my father was having one of his tirades, I did not listen. If a boss pointed out a mistake I had made, I did not listen. If a teacher gave me knowledge in my learning path, I did not listen.
Perhaps I can blame it on my short attention span. Perhaps it had to do with all the information coming at me at once. Perhaps I was bored. Perhaps I was protecting myself. Whatever the case, I am more aware of how important it is to listen now.

Now I hear the birds chirping me awake in the morning. I hear the wind rustling through the trees. I hear my heart beating steadily. I hear my soul calling to me.
And my ears thank me for giving them homage.


Listening, only lately have I valued its commodity
It didn’t help me when my father ranted and raved
It didn’t help me when my boss pointed out mistakes
It didn’t help me when my mom shared her problems
It didn’t help me when I heard those around me
and shut out me.

but now the birds chirp me awake in the morning
the leaves rustle outside my window
my heart beats with passion
and my soul calls my name
Now I give my ears worthy homage
for hearing truly is a blessing.


I yearn to hear what I have to say now
each feeling, each emotion, not to be
dismissed, but embraced
Going beyond words, I tap into my
inner sanctuary of quiet and in the
quiet so much is heard, revealed.

My voice listens too stepping
aside from its daily chatter
to let heart speak to soul
and soul to heart

Warm conversations ensue,
and listening, I learn deep
mysteries of myself so
long kept hidden.

Listen to your worth,
feelings, and emotions
all laced with unspoken
words

Birds chirping
leaves rustling
heart beating
all voices calling

and my ears
embrace the
sounds that
resonate around
me

Feelings and emotions,
listening deeply,
they fill me up,
each has something
to say

Pain is hard to hear.
I clasp my hands
over my ears,
softening the blow

Beverly Bronson 2008

I notice that the words written above touch into the light and dark of myself. I was aware I repeated "birds chirping" or words similar to that affect throughout the piece. After discussion in class about this, I realized it may have been a way to keep me connected to my safer, more nurturing self. If the emotional pain/memories conjured up in words got to be too much for me, I talked about "birds chirping", lightening up my mood. This word play allowed me to continue on. How interesting that the written word has protective devices like this as we tap into our deeper selves. Or maybe "birds chirping" was just a theme I wanted to incorporate here and there. I do think the emotional pain finally won its battle over me and I could not continue on, leaving the poem unfinished. I also looked at the poem's structure, watching as the sentences got shorter and shorter as the writing progressed. There's probably some subconscious reasoning behind this, more internal safety issues?Or maybe my ego brain was saying "Make it look like a poem!" Anyway, presenting this in writing class was very helpful to me. The perceptions of other writers is always enlightening to me, and often healing as well. And I learned that poems and stories can go together hand in hand in one piece and be acceptable, no matter what our emotions may say otherwise. And finally, perhaps, what is written about above is just stream of consciousness, releasing what is pent up inside. Maybe it's really not important if this is a poem, a story or something else. Just getting the words out is enough for me.