Monday, 22 October 2018

Keywords


Our next open mic has the subject "Question Mark" this is my effort.

Keywords

He sat behind the table
looking at the mirror,
knowing in his heart of hearts
that there had been an error.

Behind the glass they looked on
and watched him getting nervous,
they bore the marks
of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

For he had typed a keyword
whilst planning to invest
And he had been identified
as a person of interest.

Sweat beaded on his forehead
as they kept him in the dark.
They nodded at each other,
it was time to question Mark.

John Carré Buchanan
11 October 2018

Friday, 5 October 2018

A Call From Guernsey Airport


This happened when I traveled from Guernsey to Newcastle last month. Unfortunately the lady concerned and I shared 2 flights and she was just as vocal on-board.

A Call From Guernsey Airport

Suddenly a voice started speaking;
"Hi, It's Janet, I'm going to be late."
it wasn't muted, It wasn't muted at all,
it was one of those full blast old people calls.
A voice born in the days of operators
every monotonous word at full blast
as if the smart phone and not the speaker was deaf.
Expressions on faces 20 meters away
ranged from irritation to simple smiles
as the woman with the latest smart phone
cut across the hubbub of the busy terminal
by shouting at her friend in Newcastle.

John Carré Buchanan
24 August 2018

Thursday, 4 October 2018

Doggone


Something a little bit different.

Scenario: I'm sitting on the loo when the dog decides to burst in and sit between my feet!

Doggone

I'm sitting on the Loo,
having a poo.
I don't need you
admiring the view.

John Carré Buchanan
25 July 2018

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

The Nature of Everything


The subject for our last Open Mic was; "String". I thought I that it would be a challenge to write about String Theory, the problem was that I didn't know anything about it. I set my mind to learning about it and then strung the following poem together.... Enjoy!

The Nature of Everything

Heisenberg was uncertain about position and speed,
we can't measure both precisely he had to concede,

for to look at an elementary particle is enough to make it change,
which isn't very useful when you’re not seeking a range.

Quantum field theory uses points to allow prediction
but positions; x, y, z and time, whilst useful, create a fiction,

for the maths of gravity gets in the way when you work in 4 dimensions,
three spacial and one temporal if we follow the convention.

We needed to go much deeper and work another dimension,
in fact we have to use eleven to gain some comprehension

Now if you're beginning to feel a bit bemused;
you write a poem on a theory so confused.

By now those crazy physicists with their bulging pulsing brains
decided that they needed more and invented the membrane!

‘Branes can be gigantic, a universe or more.
I think it's time I make a break and run toward the door

but if I stepped through it, would a multiverse I find?
or is that just a figment of an overactive mind?

They're now trying to prove super symmetry exists,
crashing particles together and examining the bits.

If they find sparticles in the instant of collision
I suspect string theory will still need some revision.

Now, about this super string theory you need to know two things;
everything out there is made of vibrating energy strings.

The second is much easier, I won't string you along,
the whole blasted theory, well, it could just be wrong.

John Carré Buchanan
23 July 2018

Dorothy's Bench


I wrote this poem on a really bad pain day whilst sitting above Saints Bay on a bench dedicated to Dorothy Mary Harvey. The weather was perfect, the view spectacular and a choir of birds was serenading me and yet depression and despair filled my mind.

I forced myself to focus my attention on my surroundings. I paid particular attention to every detail of the environment and as I did so I drafted elements of a poem in my mind. After a couple of hours I had recovered sufficient strength to walk home and put pen to paper.

I hope you like my poem.

Dorothy's Bench

Dorothy's bench is sited well
a refuge from an inner hell.
Last night’s showers
have brightened flowers,
the wind tousles trees
but I can't hear the leaves;
for birds singing mask that sound
as nature's beauty abounds.
I strain to hear the dancing stream
or is it just a wishful dream?
Silent waves on beach
distant memories of joy beseech.
That blue sky with wispy clouds
shines bright above dark thunderclouds.
I wipe my eyes and pray,
that showers could wash despair away.

John Carré Buchanan
09 June 2018

Friday, 4 May 2018

Deleted


I wrote this poem for an Open Mic evening with the subject "Deleted".

According to the UN Environment Programme, the Earth is in the midst of a mass extinction. Scientists estimate that 150-200 species of plant, insect, bird and mammal become extinct every 24 hours. This is nearly 1,000 times the "natural" or "background" rate and, say many biologists, is greater than anything the world has experienced since the vanishing of the dinosaurs nearly 65m years ago. Around 15% of mammal species and 11% of bird species are classified as threatened with extinction.

Deleted

The list, if there were a list,
would shorten every day.
highlight, delete,
every eight minutes, the list we deplete.

Today one hundred and fifty lines will go,
tomorrow two hundred? Who knows?
That range; one fifty to two hundred,
deleted every twenty four hours.

The list is long but finite
Each line a species
and every day - No, every eight minutes
another line's deleted.

Not individuals, species, all of a kind.
Imagine, seven billion people,
Condensed to just one line that says; 'Human'.
In your mind, highlight it, now delete it.

The greatest sadness is that so many lines
never even get highlighted
they're deleted
before they even make the list.

John Carré Buchanan
23 April 2018


If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.

Sunday, 25 March 2018

Love Thy Neighbour


I wrote this for an Open Mic following the prompt 'Neighbours'. I wish it weren't so true.

Love Thy Neighbour

We share the air
We share the land
We share...
No.
We share nothing.
We take,
We dominate,
We are not good Neighbours.
We are the neighbours from hell
the sort that vomits in borders
throws loud parties
burns rubbish on wash days.
The Bible says; "Love thy neighbour"
but we humans love only humans,
in fact
we don't even do that.

John Carré Buchanan
25 March 201

Neighbours


This was based on the prompt 'Neighbours', which is the subject for our next Open Mic.

Neighbours

They arrived on the same day,
lived next to each other for 27 years.
It's said that opposites attract
and whilst each took life in their own stride,
they moved forward at the same pace
their cadence - harmonic.
Each leaving their own footprints on life's path.
Yet, they were inseparable,
joined at the hip,
that is; until Joe trod on a landmine
and left his right leg in a ditch.
The new neighbour
is not such a good fit.

John Carré Buchanan
24 March 2018

Wednesday, 15 November 2017

Meteor Shower


I wrote this poem following the prompt; 'Meteor Shower' from Poets United.

Meteor Shower

A sprinkle of faerie dust
cast from a distant comet
surges toward a blue marble
which hangs in a darkened sky.

It touches the atmosphere,
the very air that sustains life below.
Friction slows and incinerates it
in a fiery streaking glow.

I watch the fireworks in the sky
and ponder; is the blue marble
just a spec of faerie dust
whose burn will flicker in a distant eye?

John Carré Buchanan
15 November 2017

Tuesday, 24 October 2017

The Swing


This Poem was written for our next open Mic which has the theme "Spooky".

The Swing

Golden hair streams from the flying head
excited blue eyes wide open with delight.
Bright summer dress billows
as white stockinged feet thrust forward.
The smile, missing two front teeth, a joy to behold
as she swings back and forth
from the mighty bough
and the bright sun shines down.

Golden leaves rustle on the swaying boughs
the gnarled bark watches.
Bright leaves billow on the breeze
and gather at the great oaks feet.
If it could, would the tree smile?
Does this ancient life see irony?
Standing tall across the ages
it's great bows thickened
whatever weather came

for once;

Auburn hair fell limply from beneath a hessian sack
the terrified face obscured.
Skirts, bound at the shin, fluttered on the fall
booted feet jerked back and forth
smiles and grimaces in the crowd;
justice upheld.
As she swung back and forth
on the hanging tree
soft rain fell.

John Carré Buchanan
21 October 2017


If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.