Sometimes

Sometimes the words
Just sit
Inside my head
For they
Don’t want
To play.
And try as I might
Cannot make them
Come out.
But they are there
I know they are.
It’s just that
I see one or two
But cannot find
The right order
In my mind.
But tomorrow
Is another day
And then they
Might gladly say
Write us this way.
But do not delay
For
Sometimes the words
Just sit
Inside my head.

Martin Delemare
2nd September 2007

River Ruffian

Know well the river ruffian
Puts on a smooth face
In the drowsy summer days
Dabble, drift and dawdle
Around in the lazy eddies.

Swells and bruises in the rain
Boils over ragged boulders
Riffles down gravel glides
Casually claims swimmers
Sneakily spews unwanted
Debris deposits downstream,
Later to be found
High in the tree branches
Or sieved by the reeds.

Dream world of the fisher
Mysterious bubbles and ripples
After dark noises wild
Shrieks, cries and calls.

Know well the river ruffian
Waits forever for our
Frailty, foolishness and faults.

Martin Delemare
8th January 2008

Elvers

Cold water, slimy weed
No socks, no shoes
Water snails between toes.
Wade along very carefully
Try not to tread on broken
Glass, jam jar in hand.
Watch for the wriggle,
Tiny elvers climbing
Up the wet, wet wall.
Sudden grab in hands
Hold tight to wade
Back to the wall
Plastic bucket safe.

Caught little fry
In long-handled nets
Put them in same bucket.
Back home in a tank
Less fish every day
But the elvers were …
The elvers were fatter.

Martin Delemare
23rd February 2008

The Black Bridge

Sun was climbing in the bright sky
Shone on fields of stubble, after harvest.
We were little lads out on adventure
With shorts and sticks we made our way
Beside the slow river, looking for lost
Bits of tackle, line and fishing gear.
By trampled swim we poked and searched.

Moving on we looked for plums at edge
Of old orchard, long-abandoned now.
On a fence hung a dead, black crow,
Maggots wriggling fat in decaying meat.
And passed near the place by a ditch
Where bloated cow had lain all winter.

Back on the river bank we saw it coming
Bumping down the dusty track
Old blue Fordson Major with trailer
Sinister bundle inert upon the boards.

We saw too the distant black bridge
That took steam trains over the river.

Twisted rope hanging down, death-line
Hanging down from the life line
That ran across the bleak marsh.

Money problems they said to me
But that meant nothing
Nothing at all to me.

Martin Delemare
10th November 2006