6 April 2025

By Philip Kuepper

I

Boats shoulder their ways, slowly,
up the river,
then shrug into slips, with a sigh,
and go still,
river traffic blessedly slow
in contrast to the maniacal
speed on highways,
speed like violins afire with play,
compared to the strumming
chords of a guitar.
I find in the serene
movement of boats,
boats, operable,
in an ambience of peace.

II

I like the quiet of a dock at rest.
There hangs over it a sense
of the expectant,
of arrival,
of opening holds,
and finding them resplendent
with cargo.
Then there is a sudden gorging
on activity, of everything needing
to be done at once.
I don’t like that.
It is too much.
It is like watching an atom
being smashed,
exploding in every direction
at once. It is
an absolute absence of peace.

(30 March 2025)