Enmore

by Paul Bavister

The stream that sparkles down through the common
will sometimes find the easy route along a path,
and the walk to town changes –
maybe up and over a greensand ridge.

A week later,
the stream has found a crack in the rock
and disappears.

Some summers, it forms a shallow pool,
and if you go there, you might see a deer
drinking its reflection.

Then the pool drains into a slow-flowing stream
under dead leaves that have been blown
in a line against the ridge.

Now it pours bright and clear
over shallow waterfalls between tree roots,
each pool alive with reflections,
as you find another way to cross the common.

Coastal Walk

As we walked down the beach
you said you never knew what I thought
about anything. We reached the caves
and I knocked rocks against rocks
and listened to the echoes.
We took a path that zigzagged
up the crumbling cliff
and when I looked down
the water was already rushing
into the caves. I threw a stone
into the surging waves.
Back at the seafront bar
we sat in a sunny window seat
and it had been a perfect day
but I still didn’t know
what to say.

BIO

Paul Bavister has published three poetry books, the latest being The Prawn Season (Two Rivers Press). His recent work has appeared in Glass, Porridge, and Ink, Sweat and Tears. His poem, Starlings, came highly commended in the RSPB/Rialto poetry competition.