This Land is Full of Noises by Robert Nisbet

Ours being a small and rural region,

much of our noise will be ripples and shifts,

quirks, half-mutes and ghostly sounds.

 

Yes, traffic certainly, a few loud racers,

the odd blasting exhaust, but get a mile away

from the small towns and it’s more a grumble.

 

The jets to America are too high to be heard.

There’s the now-and-again light aircraft drone

and the gliders, lower, hinting at a wind’s rush. 

 

The sheep’s bleat can sometimes reach crescendo

but is often more a token of a stolid self.

The cow’s low is placid, stays short of the mournful.

 

The coastal winds can rise to a shriek, a pounding, 

which can quickly drift on down to stillness

and soon to the sinking hiss of sea on sand.

 

Two sets of footsteps, trudging a Preseli peak,

just a slight crunching, faintest puffs of breath,

then the one flurry of the spoken ...

 

Just .. well..  just want to say .. sorry ..

 

Few other sounds, just a slower breathing,

one long sigh, words of a kind ..  ah .. well .. yes ..

and above, just the piping of the buzzard.

  

* first appeared in 'North of Oxford' in January 2020.

Robert Nisbet is a Welsh poet whose work has been published widely in Britain and the USA, including regular appearances in San Pedro River Review and Third Wednesday. He is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee.