These are my musings and observations on my daily life, loves and the laughter that are all a part of my experience of living now in the shires of England.

Friday, 31 December 2010

Poetry - The Language of Silence by Harold Rhenisch

The Language of Silence

Among the wild strawberries in the clearcut

next to a shallow stream

I am left to speak with horses

They carry Plato’s furniture on their backs

In the drawers of the commodes

carefully folded in silk

are their memories

The horses know about balance

Memory is my country

With each passing year it has weighed on me more heavily

and now I speak with horses

it has taken me forty years to come to this

Red ants scurry over the horses’ flanks

as we talk

There is a stillness to the air

It is as if a school of trout

muscular and cold


are slipping through trunks

and over my hands

Harold Rhenisch

The Blue Mouth of Morning

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