Poetry: ‘Tis the Season
By Alan Martin
Surprised, yet again, by autumnal torpor,
and, intent on understanding,
I settle to observing rain,
and the consequent habits of snails,
and the number of blackbirds that take to my lawn,
with their wet and muddy probing beaks.
A manifesto at least
would offer some certainty,
but in the absence of whence,
stuff happens,
I think I will give up thinking,
and accede to cycles,
there is just conceit in complications.
When hungry, i’ll eat,
and then check the rain
for temperance and common sense.
Or I could carp at the stars in the night,
are you listening, stars …
well pay attention….
you send me to sleep, do you hear?
Or, having recovered from that,
I could shout the dawn down
for waking me up.
I will not be buying
full spectrum daylight
in prescrptive Watts,
or in likelihood less,
Googling Amazon for darkness in June.
It’s so much better
to deliquesce.
Carw Dec 2020
Alan Martin is a Pembrokeshire native who has worked in several UK locations as an engineering inspector. He now lives on a smallholding in mid-county with his wife and son.
