Alice Oswald - Apr 7, Iyengar II & I

I love that she also writes about WEEDS, and they are equally wonderful! Sometimes I feel like a flower; sometimes I am a weed!

BristJy Ox-tongue

It is Bristly Ox-tongue,

too shy to speak.

Long silence.

It is Bristly Ox-tongue.

Who stands rooted

with his white hair uncombed.

Long silence.

He stands rooted.

He stands rooted

with his white hair uncombed,

pulling it out in handfuls.

This is no good.

Long silence.

He carries this silence everywhere,

like an implement from long ago,

he carries it everywhere.

This is Bristly Ox-tongue.

Long silence.

He has enormous jaws, chewing on silence.

He has enormous jaws, chewing on silence.

This is no good.

He has come indoors in his boots

and anyhow, his hands are more like hooves.

This is no good.

If only he was among his own kind,

rutting and feeding by night, hiding by day.

Long silence.

I said if only he was among his own kind.

If only he was among his own kind

standing in groups by the roadside

or making small clumps on the cliffs.

Now that would be good.