Cueva del Agua

Warm wind dies as we enter wood
Heat builds in clothes designed for cold.
Grubby arms of suit tied round middle.
Trees stand tall, spiky firs
Broad leaved trees hang low.

Entrance, large gash that swallows
The wide rushing river, darkness,
Inside is gloom. Slowly we see.
Trees whole trees jammed across
Passage wide. Up we climb
High towards the lofty room
Before careful descent on other side.

Waterfall plunges to long narrow lake.
No footholds to be seen. No obvious
Way on. What the hell! Jump.
We’ll sort the problem later.
Carbide flares as water pressure
Pushes acetylene to the jet.
Brightly illuminated
Narrow swimming pool.
All to ourselves; exclusive.

Martin Delemare
6th July 2005

The Kill

Loud squawking, flying low.
Raptor looks down in distain
Laboured flight from heavy pay
Talons death gripped tight again.
Dead but not yet dead
Ambushed bird twists its head
And shrieks and squawks
Buzzard’s determined journey veers
Out to sea and away to
Some charnel post on high
Where in deadly purpose acts
Out the ritual slaughter and
Devours the wretched gull
Stark contrast of scarlet blood
On white feathers to mark the spot.

Martin Delemare

4th June 2006