Of Happiness

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Of Happiness - John Carré Buchanan

Ebony hair stirs softly on a zephyr.
Laughter dances at the corners of emerald eyes.
Ruby red lips part to reveal a dazzling array
of almost perfect pearl white teeth;
and the world…... brightens.

They lie beside each other on the grass,
naked feet casually raised to the firmament.
Elegant fingers craft a daisy chain
which she places on his head with a giggle,
He holds a buttercup to her chin.

Four twigs tumble to the gabbling brook;
whoops of joy echo in the verdant valley
as feet patter across the bridge.
Eager eyes scan the chuckling water
and an excited young voice calls; ‘I won!’

Hands swing in unison, fingers entwined,
untroubled feet rustle autumnal leaves
as they flash gold, and red and tumble aside.
Two clouds of breath linger on the chill air
melding to one, as they fade.

With eyes closed he basks in the winter sun,
the scent of her perfume when first they met,
the ecstasy on the face of the new mother,
and the smile on her lined face;
as she held his hand and gently slipped away.

John Carré Buchanan
20 May 2012

A Prayer

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A Prayer - John Carré Buchanan

Floating,
muffled sound,
grey darkness,
through soft shut lids.
Warm body,
cold thoughts.
so cold they burn-
as they roll over me;
like water on a
wave washed shore.
I am laid bare.
Warm body,
cold mind,
oh;
that the body were cold?


John Carré Buchanan
18 May 2012

Bilbo – A Hamster's Tail

Image: Bilbo by Elanor Buchanan

Last night my daughter’s hamster, ‘Bilbo’ died. He had lived a fair life for a hamster and his passing was not wholly unexpected. He was buried under a rose bush in our garden and in keeping with his name Elanor read the following words from J.R.R. Tolkien’s ‘The Lord of the Rings.’ over his grave.

‘End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path... One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass... And then you see it………White shores... and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.’

I must admit that Bilbo’s passing seemed to affect me more than it did Elanor, who had been expecting him to die as he was very old for his breed. I kept feeling jealous of Bilbo as he has moved on, whilst I remain here trapped in a pain riddled body longing for an end to my current life.

Before I reveal my poem I should explain the references to the Lord of the Rings. Both Elanor and I have a great love for these books, indeed Elanor’s own name is derived from Tolkien’s ‘The Return of the King’, when at the end of the book Frodo suggests Sam’s daughter should be named after a flower in keeping with the old custom in the Shire. Sam agrees, but says; ‘if it’s to be a flower-name, then I don’t trouble about the length; it must be a beautiful flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be beutifuller still.’

Frodo suggested the name ‘Elanor’ after the sun-star, the little golden flower in the grass of Lothlόrien, both Sam and I agreed.

And so to the poem;


Bilbo – A Hamster's Tail

Sometime during the night
the rhythmic tapping ceased.
That irritating, yet somehow comforting pulse
that played every night; stopped.

The nocturnal cacophony;
click, click, click of the water bottle valve,
grate of enamel on bars, rattle of a turning wheel.
These barriers to sleep; ended.

Snuggled quietly in its den
the soft, sand coloured fur became still.
No longer did it trap the warmth that rose from within.
The warm bloods circulation; ceased.

There, on a star filled night,
while the cats prowled the house and garden,
and the family and the dog slept peacefully,
Bilbo the Syrian hamster; died.

The sun rose into a clear blue sky,
A sand coloured body was buried under the rose bush,
as for Bilbo; he sees; ‘White shores... and beyond,
a far green country under a swift sunrise.’

John Carré Buchanan
13 May 2012

Liberation Day

The Guernsey Flag

Today Guernsey is celebrating Liberation day. I would like to take this opportunity to wish all Sarnians around the world a very happy 67th Liberation Day.

Liberation Day

A flag flies free
Over Sarnia chérie
Williams Gold Cross
On the red of St George
Enrich the beautiful blue sky
As they dance on a breeze up high

Our Elders remember when it was not so
when an imposter deigned to overthrow
When the red, black and white
Proclaimed German might.
Five years oppression
and depression

Then came the red white and blue
to bid the Germans adieu.
and from that day
the ninth of May
is celebrated every year
and on Liberation day Sarnians raise a cheer.

John Carré Buchanan
09 May 2012

In Case Of Emergency Break Glass

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In Case Of Emergency Break Glass

The box in my mind is inscribed with six words;
‘In case of emergency break glass.’
The memories stored within
are designed to bring me home.

Neptune hurls his cavalry at our shore
Fearsome white stallions charge
Manes fly, eyes roll and hooves pound
as they attempt to breach the wall.

Off shore, silent defenders stand, fast.
Rugged, Red , Granite shoulders
bear the brunt of the attack.
Whilst their claws tear the hearts
from the attacking steeds.

And then in the aftermath Primrose,
in the hedge rows Bluebells in the woods
And Daffodils in the fields
Tranquillity and beauty divine.

Here in these memories; I dwell
Here; I have legs that work.
Here; there is no pain.
Here; I am a man again
My blood flows; released by shattered glass.

John Carré Buchanan
04 May 2012

He Who Pays The Piper

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The poem below is about a real person, I had the good fortune to work with him during my last tour in the Army. His unusual way of indicating that he had had enough was truly brilliant and I thank him for the many hours of useless discussion he saved me from.

He Who Pays The Piper

Peter’s experience was legendary,
he was the guru in his field.
To his knowledge and experience
even consultants would yield.

He would attend meetings
as his boss’ right hand man,
where he’d clarify things
the hierarchy didn’t understand.

Ever the diplomat,
Peter would hang his head
To hide his disbelief
in what Some “experts” said.

But once he’d heard enough
he’d make his contribution,
and leave them all astounded
at his elegant solution.

It was always pretty obvious
that the meeting should end,
but the high priced help
had their egos to amend……..

Now Peter was a busy man
he hated wasting time,
so he showed that he’d had enough
in a manner most sublime.

He’d reach a finger behind each ear
and remove his hearing aids,
then he’d lean back in his chair
oblivious to the ensuing tirades.

One evening whilst we were having a beer,
I asked him about this habit.
He said; ‘I don’t pay good money for batteries,
To waste them listening to fools rabbit!’

John Carré Buchanan
02 May 2012

Early Memories – Philippines I – Let The Pirate Bumper Pass

Author Taking the Plunge - February 1983

After leaving school I went out to live with my parents in Hong Kong. Just before leaving my parents took advantage of Chinese New Year and we went on a diving holiday with a group of friends. We ended up in Cebu in the Philippines on a 61 foot trimaran which came complete with a crew and an unexpected group of German tourists. The Trip was memorable for a number of reasons, not least the fantastic diving, the superb weather and of course the rum.

The following poem recalls an event which took place one morning which highlighted the fact that even in the most idyllic places in the world there are people who are prepared to do almost anything for cash.

The title is a line from Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance.

Early Memory – Philippines I – Let The Pirate Bumper Pass

We were on a diving holiday
on a charter from Cebu.
Every day we dived a bit
and sunbathed and rested too.

The food was horrendous
curried eggs at every meal.
But the local rum - called Añejo
made the evenings pass real well.

The swig of rum, a slurp of Coke
then shake the head and swallow,
then pass the bottle on
to some other fellow.

Now pirates ply their evil trade
in the South China Sea;
and unbeknown to all of us;
the yacht had an armoury.

Every night a guard slipped out
and took up his position.
Carrying an AK 47
as he embarked upon his mission.

I didn’t know he was aboard,
until I awoke one morning,
with a rum induced fuzzy head
and my bleary eyes screamed warning!

For there; a few inches from my head
was the barrel of a gun!
and a chap that I’d not seen before;
a lump formed in my tum…..

My mind raced with thoughts of pirates
taking us hostage or worse.
But he left me with my hangover
……..Wishing he’d been a nurse.

John Carré Buchanan
24 April 2012

Early Memories - USA I - Renewable Energy

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During the mid-80’s I served in the Parachute Regiment. I was lucky enough to spend a period on exercise in Fort Lewis, Washington State working with the US Rangers. The Rangers are one of the USA’s elite units and as such were considered to be almost as good as the Paras;-)

The US troops were extremely well equipped, but they tended to be body builders rather than athletes, a little gung ho and being totally unaware of things that were not American, a little naive. This coupled with their propensity to shout ‘hoorah’ at every opportunity meant that on the whole the visiting Brits saw them as slow, loud and a bit dim.

Differences in procedures made things even more interesting. The Rangers were bussed back to camp at night whilst their trenches were prepared by engineers using backhoes; the Paras, on the other hand, spent the night digging in.

The scene was set for some great wind ups and pretty spectacular banter.

One evening on a company scale exercise in which we had to attack a platoon size defensive position my Corporal whispered “Fix Bayonets” in a rather loud stage whisper just before our assault went in. There was a flurry of activity and the words “these f….g Brits are crazy’ were clearly heard drifting on the cool night air; by the time we arrived on the position there was no one there.

The exercise was hard work and rewarding. Both units benefited from the experience. My lasting memory was born out of a practical joke I played on one PFC which really took off; the following poem explains all;

Early Memories - USA I - Renewable Energy

It was morning in the forest
And the troops were dug in well
British and American
the aim to help us gel.

There’d been a lot of banter
In the preceding weeks
As we’d competed and compared
our differing techniques.

I reached in to my Bergan
and removed an electric razor,
I was ready for some fun
I’d thought up a real teaser.

I stabbed my bayonet into a tree
to make a small incision,
then slipped a lead into the hole
and started my ablution.

The Ranger who shared our scrape
could not conceal his glee
as I shaved my face with a razor
plugged into a tree.

He asked me to show him
this great ‘British’ invention;
and he begged to swap near all he had
for it was beyond his comprehension.

It quick became a standing joke
As we plugged things into trees
and not one of us would trade one
..... or tell of batteries.

John Carré Buchanan
23 April 2012

Early Memories - Mauritius I - Mimi's Anchor

Mr Louis-Alexandre Anselme - 2011 (Source)    John Buchanan, Mark, Mimi, Me, Alan Gawith Circa 1976 (Buchanan)    

It is lovely when research leads you to discover the unexpected. I was looking for a photo to go with the poem below and discovered an interview conducted in 2011 which was made with the very gentleman I had just written about (See Photo Source above). I remember Mr Louis-Alexandre Anselme as ‘Mimi’. I had the pleasure of diving from his boat in 1976 when I was thirteen. Back then he told my father that at 50 he considered himself old, I am glad that the years in between appear to have treated him kindly.

And so to the memories;

Mimi would meet us on the beach in his boat and there would normally be considerable jocular discussion about how many fingers of rum had been consumed the night before. Once the boat was loaded we would set off for one of the many dive sites around Trou aux Biches. I remember he called one; ‘Jenny’s Place’ after my mother.

My lasting memory was of his laugh lined face staring across the bay while he lined up the marks, perhaps a tree with a house or some other prominent feature in the far distance, he would then order the release of the anchor which was in fact a stone on a rope. On submerging we would invariably find the rock sitting plum centre on the dive site.

When it came time for us to leave Mauritius we had a final dive at Trou aux Biches. After the dive Mimi invited us back to his tiny house where he offered our whole family large beakers of Advocaat which at the age of 12 and 13 my brother and I found much too much to handle. I seem to remember the two of us slipping them to my Dad, and Mum having to drive us home.

This poem is about Mimi’s anchor which being improvised sometimes fell short of the bottom.

Early Memories Mauritius I
Mimi’s Anchor

Mimi was a fisherman,
he owned his own pirogue.
He used to take us diving;
according to my log.

Mimi was a master,
he knew every local mark.
When he dropped the anchor over
he knew exactly where he’d parked.

Mimi’s anchor was a rock
tied to the only rope he owned.
When we were out diving
his goats were sure to roam.

Sometimes on the deeper dives
you’d hear his propeller turning
and if you didn’t spot the rock
your head would soon be burning.

For hanging ten feet from the bottom
the rock would hurtle round
providing that vital anchor line
that keeps divers safe and sound.

John Carré Buchanan
18 April 2012

Early Memories - Sark I - The Woodsmen

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As a child I used to spend many of my holidays staying with my grandmother in Sark. There was a beautiful valley called Happy Valley near to my gran’s guest house. The valley had steep slides and ran down to a very dangerous, near vertical crumbly, cliff face which fell a couple hundred feet to a beach below.

The valley was used by clay pigeon shooters and my cousins, brother and I used to collect the unbroken clays and return them to supplement our pocket money. Once our bike baskets were full of clays we would often spend time playing on the wooded slope pretending to be woodsmen, building hides and traps and generally larking about.

This poem celebrates the time we spent building “Man traps” which in those days was one of my favourite games


The Woodsmen

Dappled green light,
bird song,
muffled voices.

Vine across path,
twisted upward
into branches.

Log hangs high.
Notched stick
bears weight.

Stick pokes vine
Log falls
Woodsmen laugh.

John Carré Buchanan
07 April 2012