AFTERNOON TEA AT THE WARNEFORD

Speech
reaches out
to whisper and shout,
praise and curse,
across a silent universe;
making of molecular vibration
a means of human communication.

It wasn’t always quite like this;
the groans
and moans,
the hiss
and howls
in the warm pre-Cambrian mud
were eloquent enough avowals
of love and hatred, fear and blood.

Even now,
it isn’t always quite the same;
the grunts and lowing
of pig and cow
in farmyard barn and shed
make no poetic claim
but express the cosmic suffering
of the living and the dead.

When fragile humankind
comes here
to peer,
through downwards spiralling mind,
into thorny jungles of raw sensation,
it loses its clear articulation.

The fine distinction
of the human word
is dislocated and blurred
into jabbering of animal and bird.

Even here.

.

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