Australian Poetry Journal Vol. 13.1 1 July Written By Todd Turner County Keats Man should not dispute or assert, but whisperresults to his neighbour, and thus by every germ of Spirit sucking the Sap from mould ethereal, every human might become great, and Humanityinstead of being a wide heath of Furze and Briers with here and there a remote Oak or Pine, would be a grand democracy of Forest Trees.—John KeatsAhem... The forest resounds on one note—a faint speech hummed of an unspoken word,and words are akin to its mother tongue, an inherent wick of its breath-blown air. Enter the forest, and pure tones heft the wooded loom, groaning oak boughs drop leaves upon the floor, golden-green. Here, I standawoken in its dream, freed from the sap-sucking hoo-ha—ad nauseum of man.So come listen to the harmonium of the sunswept floor. Go gather yourself in seclusion, down in the sweet-damp deep. The forest is in assembly. Be still—and don't take any more than what you need. Todd Turner
Australian Poetry Journal Vol. 13.1 1 July Written By Todd Turner County Keats Man should not dispute or assert, but whisperresults to his neighbour, and thus by every germ of Spirit sucking the Sap from mould ethereal, every human might become great, and Humanityinstead of being a wide heath of Furze and Briers with here and there a remote Oak or Pine, would be a grand democracy of Forest Trees.—John KeatsAhem... The forest resounds on one note—a faint speech hummed of an unspoken word,and words are akin to its mother tongue, an inherent wick of its breath-blown air. Enter the forest, and pure tones heft the wooded loom, groaning oak boughs drop leaves upon the floor, golden-green. Here, I standawoken in its dream, freed from the sap-sucking hoo-ha—ad nauseum of man.So come listen to the harmonium of the sunswept floor. Go gather yourself in seclusion, down in the sweet-damp deep. The forest is in assembly. Be still—and don't take any more than what you need. Todd Turner
