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,
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
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.