Poetry from Alan Martin

Troubled Waters

Words, today, come at me like  squalls at sea,
unexpected, disruptive,
whipping up breakers into shark’s teeth.

There is a current in them;
it is heading for the rocks.

I wade into the cool deeps of silence.
I drift away from words.
I float in free space,
zero G.

May 22

Pigeons and psychos

After the war news,
peace returns to this blessed corner.

Two plump pigeons
in proximate companionship,
pecking about on the lawn.

A naive peace, perhaps,
given the number of predators in the pinewoods
just ten yards away;
given the wanton destruction
over the hills and
too close for comfort.

Carw    May 22