Quiet

Part of a series of poems written in response to Riverside Country Park in Rainham, Medway.

It’s quiet
definitely not silent –
it’s like anticipation
as if there is about to be an explosion
or one just happened
and you missed it.

Something changes in your periphery
you turn to look
nothing
and then again: a flash
you turn to look
nothing

just the wind telling stories to the grass
making the blades tremble
flattening them with words
whenever it feels the urge

the river shuffling past
unsure what speed to take
to look least suspicious
trying not to whistle guiltily

birds hovering on secret currents
calling to each other
laughing overhead
and behind your back.

A landscape with no natural focus
leads to unsettled eyes
wild jumps in your thinking
here, everything is too still
the quiet lends itself to paranoia.