Poetry by Alan Martin

Image from Bessi at Pixabay

A BIT LATE NOW

I wake to still the strident bell

before it steals the morning peace

and hides it in the evening star.

I will sleep under beeches now

and rouse when the dawn sings

and earthkind energies

will seep through my soles

I will action amnesia

of my inchoate past

when I painted by number,

drugged by prescription,

and trust in trust now.

And I will heal

in timelesness.

Carw December ’23

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