Unnerving Silence. A poem by Eamon Blake

Listen, can you hear? Listen carefully, there’s not a sound.
A sudden gust and there it is, light white litter just drifting.
The wind picks up, the dust rises. The withered clippings, away they blow.
No gale can shake the naked branches, no creaking: An unnerving silence.

No balls being kicked or cycled bikes: No games being played, no children.
No gathered teens or boisterous youths, no hand-holding lovers, nothing.
What way out for the barfly, no place to go, no place to bet.
What about the beauteous? What of them? This is an unnerving silence.

From my window, the wall of green, trees brightening from their winter sleep
Holding my gaze they seem happy, now they breathe what’s pure and clean.
Among their thick and jagged branches there is no rest just frenzied hope.
Twig-filled beaks, they strive to nest; awaiting nights unnerving silence.

Now at twilight there is a hush, all succumbing to the creeping night.
The hoot of the owl, the first time ever, the clicks of the bat, well I never?
A fear is about, it doesn’t care. It’s eerie and sinister so beware.
Isolation, loneliness, brings strange times, heed the unnerving silence.