Water Boatmen
walk on water. Do not waver
like St. Peter. Have no boat to keep in sight
but just keep putting one thin thread
in front of the other
pricking the surface with such precision
that they hardly dent it at all.
For such a tiny insect
their faith must be to us
the envy of the world.
Welches Dam in Six Lines
A damp place by all accounts:
grazing grounds for Whooper swans
and wintering birds of prey-
the merlin and the peregrine falcon
who fly into this poem
and will not go away.
Hearing a Bittern in Wicken Fen
We hear it now and again
a dull rumble in odd numbers
threefold mostly but sometimes more
that hollow sound or soft roar
reed-deep in marsh mud
miles off the map.
In the chatter of reed warblers
it is a bass drum
punctuating a sentence of
shrill soprano proportions.
We hear it now and again
a boom like a foghorn
far out to sea –
more rumour than fact –
never a rumpus, far less a rout
just that strung-out
single note
that lets us know it’s there.
from his book Finding the River Horse
(used by permission of the author)
Neil Leadbeater is a poet, essayist, and critic who has been published widely. Born in England,
he now lives in Scotland. He is a member of the Federation of Writers (Scotland) and is a reviewer
for several journals, including Write Out Loud (UK). He has written numerous books, including
The Loveliest Vein of Our Lives, The Fragility of Moths, and Finding the River Horse.