By: Paul Bavister

Love Poem

I think back through the spiny mammals
scoffing yolk from dinosaur eggs
to leggy fish skittering at the swamp’s edge
then even further back to spinning jellyfish
and single cells in electric soup
when the earth was still too hot for us
and I think it’s an unusual thing
that we made it all the way
to looking at distant trees bright
with setting sunlight and I’m happy
that we wriggled from the swamp
and can hold each other and I give thanks
for the shrimps that became fish
became frogs became lizards
became hairy creatures whose bright
eyes peeped from mossy rocks
and every one of them living
to become us and the chance
that we met makes my mind spin
and my love for you feels like lightning
sparking into an ancient stream
and setting those mineral strands
on fire.

Anniversary

We were silent, nervous,
as we climbed onto the boat
then pulled in the rope and
motored hard against the flow.
As the river darkened the tops
of the trees were lit gold with
finches and starlings and doves.
We moored on a muddy island.
You went below deck, opened
a case and lifted a trumpet
into the setting sunlight.
Each note you mixed
with the evening breeze
was answered by the silver
bells of finches in the trees.
In the morning we looked
over the edge and our
reflections swirled between
ripples of blue sky and clouds
of damselflies. The notes
you’d let loose the evening
before were still in the air
would ring clear for twenty one years.

Lucky Robin

The lucky robin hops out
when you walk down the lane
to the car. It pecks the ground,
chasing insects you disturb.
You drive off across foggy hills
and I feel like I’ve swallowed
something bitter, guilt. I swipe
the black mirror to catch
the bright shadow of your car
rumbling from valley to valley.
You park outside the office
where another robin sings
from a hedge, dropping down
to leaves you kick through.
As the vision fades I hear
a robin sing in bushes
blocking light from the window.
I need to lift myself up,
not always worry, question,
resist, but live with excitement
and joy, feel the energy
of that robin as it flicks
to the hedge top,
feel the efforts you make
as you push through
those steel and glass doors
and make everything flow
for the people around you.
The robin is your lucky sign.

Gorse

As we walked between gorse
you told me how it guarded
a world where faeries ruled.
The flowers stained
our fingers yellow
as we pinched them
from between the spines
to take the edge off our hunger.
You smiled when you said
the hard black seeds
contained fairy poison.
Every night we made a fire
from twisted roots
that had dried on the turf.
You said it was logical
for faeries to build their doors
under prickly gorse. I said
the faeries might have been there
before the gorse covered the moors.
We couldn’t prove anything.
The black roots we piled on the fire
burned white hot
and cast wriggling shadows
like faces in the bushes.
By sunrise we felt restored.
When we left the moors
we missed the warm dry nights
and the eyes that watched over us
from the moonlit gorse.

Sparrows

Horizontal rain swept through
the ragged hole under the eaves
and down the wall beside our bed.
I promised that in the summer
I’d block the hole with plywood
but before the weather cleared
the roof filled with the happy chatter
of sparrows as they raised their chicks.
I could imagine their ancestors
chattering in the bushes beneath
a sun warmed cliff. I’m happy
it means nothing to them
that I’m worried about the muddled
answers I gave at an interview for a job
that I’m not even sure will pay the bills.
I’m happy they’ve taken advantage
of the lack of money to fix the roof.
I’ve worried so much
my head has emptied of worry.
I love the chatter of sparrows.

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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.