Silence

A few weeks ago I attended a poetry workshop in a lovely old house owned by a friend. The weekend allowed me to spend a considerable amount of time in large silent rooms and uninterrupted; I managed to write 5 poems in 2 days. This poem came about as I sat in the drawing room and listened to the silence.

Sitting in silence is an interesting thing to do. If you try it you will quickly discover that we are very rarely able to sit in total silence. That day I could hear an orchestra playing in the old house.

Silence

The house is quiet, but not silent.
I can hear an orchestra.

The stray branch which scrapes the window
mimics the strings as they warm up.

As wind caresses the chimney pot
a flute plays in the fire place.

The ‘woods wind’ can be heard
through the old sash windows.

The rattle of a door as it sways against its latch
adds percussion.

Then, as a spoon tinkles in a distant cup
and a pianist springs to life.

In the hall the grandfather clock conducts
beating out a steady rhythm.

Footsteps herald the arrival of coffee
and the moment passes.

John Carré Buchanan
21 September 2011

Torn Trees

Image Source:

I found this image on the internet a few months ago and it inspired me to write this poem;

Torn Trees

The silence - is deafening.
No birdsong,
no fish jumping,
not even a chirping cricket.

The ‘Great One’ stands defeated
It’s magnificent head severed
in a blinding flash
as Zeus vented his rage.

A few trees remain,
buttressed against the onslaught,
they stand tall,
discussing terms with the clouds.

Stunted stumps of others
cut down in their prime
Jut from the surface
as if hewn by a mighty scythe.

A long breath is drawn.
Water flows across the battlefield
Gently clearing away
evidence of the fray.

Reflections lie motionless
too exhausted to shimmer
on the still water’s surface.
Waiting for a different light.

John Carré Buchanan
20 May 2011