tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831311721231522342024-03-05T15:20:38.516+00:00Poet at JaybernA veteran and poet pulls up a sandbag and shares a life of adventure, mishap and dogged determination.John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-2738861776560251212020-12-16T16:31:00.000+00:002020-12-16T16:31:00.692+00:00Just Listen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFbUfu9QbOY6owhgkJcEGI7K93FeydWMmUVGRlfXRZ4uZfjJnTr-wOfg3fcJ71knf3NR-olRJ0bpyyCBEs-SimmhyWMaaPkPR6wbwGdGLAuUPlOxtNJ52gpnCccYYvyxZSprGzfAsqCE/s1600/83BEA1D0-F17E-43C2-B3F9-45C21D3C4BB4.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFbUfu9QbOY6owhgkJcEGI7K93FeydWMmUVGRlfXRZ4uZfjJnTr-wOfg3fcJ71knf3NR-olRJ0bpyyCBEs-SimmhyWMaaPkPR6wbwGdGLAuUPlOxtNJ52gpnCccYYvyxZSprGzfAsqCE/s320/83BEA1D0-F17E-43C2-B3F9-45C21D3C4BB4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br clear="left" />We are encouraged to talk about mental health and I agree that it is good to talk but remember;</div><div><div><br /></div><div>If you decide to talk, choose a listener you trust and try to tell them what you want out of your talk.</div><div><br /></div><div>If someone opens up to you just listen and be there, don't try to fix things.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wrote this after I was too honest answering a question and the person I spoke to was too intent on fixing things and refused to back off when I asked them to. The resultant harassment was very painful and a month on I am still hurting.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><u><b>Just Listen</b></u></div><div><br /></div><div>Between two streams</div><div>overlooking the sea</div><div>surrounded by pips and chirps</div><div>as birds chitter chatter.</div><div>It's good to talk. </div><div>A chill breeze cuts deep.</div><div>Sharp trills;</div><div>- it's good to talk,</div><div>yet sharing gives rise</div><div>to caring and sharing</div><div>and chitter chatter.</div><div>Sharp breeze cuts through</div><div>tries to take control,</div><div>to help me.</div><div>In my head</div><div>two streams guide me</div><div>to the depths ahead</div><div>they mock me.</div><div>Shh, be still, calm,</div><div>Help me,</div><div>just... listen</div><div>to the chitter chatter</div>until the cold breeze passes <div><br /><div> <b>John Carré Buchanan </b></div><div><b> 29 November 2020</b></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2Guernsey49.4481982 -2.5894921.137964363821155 -37.74574 77.758432036178846 32.56676tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-47282628822745301122020-10-04T17:27:00.003+01:002020-10-04T18:53:30.614+01:00Forget The Small Change<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YyTHZpf-K0mBL2DcKZYh7_d9k07rLSvdmg3OY5laqWN71iNubDCmVa9YZKZpeiVVuAHOVbcAM6Xrds55vmK1kGlzHYvqExn7l0_biBgBui5EUqwOmIvqiDVh-o-SoKPx9MnF3lOpplc/s1900/ruin.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1264" data-original-width="1900" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YyTHZpf-K0mBL2DcKZYh7_d9k07rLSvdmg3OY5laqWN71iNubDCmVa9YZKZpeiVVuAHOVbcAM6Xrds55vmK1kGlzHYvqExn7l0_biBgBui5EUqwOmIvqiDVh-o-SoKPx9MnF3lOpplc/w320-h213/ruin.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><b><u>Forget the Small Change</u></b>
<div><br /></div><div>What will it take for mankind to change? </div><div>To stop the destruction, pollution and rage, </div><div>to see the potential of sharing resource, </div><div>to savor prompt action not lengthy discourse. </div><div><br /></div><div>What would it take to quell mankind's greed? </div><div>to drop the ‘want’ and focus on ‘need’, </div><div>to relish in beauty and strive to protect, </div><div>not keep on consuming 'til everything’s wrecked. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it to late to save mankind? </div><div>Is our destiny already defined? </div><div>We're in the midst of an extinction event, </div><div>yet we charge forward with relentless intent. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps we need to show more respect, </div><div>focus on what humanity forgets. </div><div>In a world without nature, we cannot thrive.</div><div>We must change focus if mankind’s to survive. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>John Carré Buchanan </b></div><div><b>25 September 2020</b></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2Guernsey49.4481982 -2.58949-20.692991416459769 -143.21449 90 138.03551tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-67631428656452848242020-04-05T12:55:00.000+01:002020-04-05T12:55:25.797+01:00Cataract Removal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYPCM8oaSiOfTJDbfPdMqFHALx0dCMKrug4bMwciNULQQ8zzuJVziCEqRk4G8NhxznoNNPcVIT2DbRnY4q5pdwGepsVcWbT88NksEnrYzBymwglGnl_BkOFLK8SyEMWfaKcjE53LupxU/s1600/E85191E7-FD40-4698-A0AE-6915A809585D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYPCM8oaSiOfTJDbfPdMqFHALx0dCMKrug4bMwciNULQQ8zzuJVziCEqRk4G8NhxznoNNPcVIT2DbRnY4q5pdwGepsVcWbT88NksEnrYzBymwglGnl_BkOFLK8SyEMWfaKcjE53LupxU/s320/E85191E7-FD40-4698-A0AE-6915A809585D.jpeg" width="320" height="245" data-original-width="720" data-original-height="551" /></a></div><br clear=left>As The Covid-19 lockdown continues in Guernsey I find myself writing again. I can’t help but notice how intrusive nature is now the man-made hubbub has been removed.<br />
<br />
This poem reflects on a more positive aspect of the lockdown. I hope you are able to discover your own version of nature’s beauty as we all try to stay safe.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Cataract Removal</b></u><br />
<br />
The sky is clear today.<br />
The sky is crystal clear.<br />
Just blue,<br />
light at the horizon,<br />
deeper as eyes lift heavenward,<br />
the lattice of contrails gone.<br />
<br />
The bird song is loud today.<br />
Tiny voices sound so clear.<br />
Just birdsong,<br />
shrill trills carried on a breeze,<br />
sweet arias lifted heavenward,<br />
the incessant roar of traffic gone.<br />
<br />
Years seem stripped away.<br />
A memory of times gone by.<br />
Bright sun in clear sky,<br />
the birds sing, bees buzz,<br />
nature's beauty revealed,<br />
the cataract of progress gone.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
5th April 2020</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-63980605480916994822020-03-30T03:00:00.000+01:002020-03-30T14:28:40.548+01:00Flattening The Curve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ95MxMvEbY84s5qwyIJxz2CIGFhERAj3VOnAMrOkkiwXHEeBZBVMtwrxyg-jbFn5kiJKZG0SgOfTAUYh46CUUHTcmMHW-BSBZAVikCx8DZCPqJrJG4YvOhMRO44HbYC7v0E3_ZG7GZkw/s1600/D98AAEA0-FD38-449B-9C63-C176D171BDA0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ95MxMvEbY84s5qwyIJxz2CIGFhERAj3VOnAMrOkkiwXHEeBZBVMtwrxyg-jbFn5kiJKZG0SgOfTAUYh46CUUHTcmMHW-BSBZAVikCx8DZCPqJrJG4YvOhMRO44HbYC7v0E3_ZG7GZkw/s320/D98AAEA0-FD38-449B-9C63-C176D171BDA0.jpeg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="720" /></a></div><br clear=left>I’ve written a few poems likening mankind to a virus destroying the planet. <br />
As I work from home and follow the guidance on Social Distancing I hear reports of less silt in rivers, less traffic on roads and less aircraft in the sky. Dependant on which study you believe, it takes between 21 and 66 days to change a habit, perhaps once things start to settle down we will remember some of our new habits and the world will be just that little bit better. <br />
<br />
<b><u>Flattening The Curve</b></u><br />
<br />
So the virus has a virus,<br />
Mankind is not the boss.<br />
The body we inhabit<br />
is striking back at us.<br />
Oh we’ll overcome it<br />
but it'll never be the same,<br />
a bit of social distance<br />
may really change the game.<br />
Perhaps we'll change behaviours<br />
and flatten our own curve,<br />
to help reduce the damage<br />
we do to planet Earth.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
29 March 2020</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-27246745067635202512019-10-25T22:14:00.001+01:002019-10-25T22:25:25.677+01:00Graduation<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwOGuGAFm7QhdmbG5QeowzOlLV4eVVGLv7F3ouZItBvpySiP_x0IW-quRb3vIgh3yk6whjPRtUFhmFFZqXLC5GzgKcd3Xe9svXGQI26rbwAZcmBykk1_RTzSIWzwqhtBUcbFS8ZFIkSQ/s1600/126ADF14-ABB1-466D-A6D0-B4467416075B.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwOGuGAFm7QhdmbG5QeowzOlLV4eVVGLv7F3ouZItBvpySiP_x0IW-quRb3vIgh3yk6whjPRtUFhmFFZqXLC5GzgKcd3Xe9svXGQI26rbwAZcmBykk1_RTzSIWzwqhtBUcbFS8ZFIkSQ/s320/126ADF14-ABB1-466D-A6D0-B4467416075B.png" width="320" height="150" data-original-width="1030" data-original-height="482" /></a><br clear=left> <br />
I thought I’d write a follow-up to my poem 'The Wheelchair'. This follows a jog I took a couple of weeks ago on the beautiful cliff paths near my home.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Graduation</u></b><br />
<br />
I'm often called 'the wheelchair? <br />
"Mind the wheelchair', not 'the man'! <br />
Yet coming down the steps, <br />
confronted by a string of hikers,<br />
all I heard were calls of 'runner'.<br />
I've graduated!<br />
No longer 'the wheelchair,'<br />
I'm 'the runner'.<br />
Right now my leg screams<br />
my wheelchair beckons<br />
and in my head, I'm a runner.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan <br />
09 October 2019 </b><br />
<br />
You can read my poem ‘The Wheelchair’ <a href="https://johncbuchanan.blogspot.com/2017/10/the-wheelchair.html">here</a>;<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-75457986591355453452019-10-06T06:13:00.000+01:002019-10-06T06:13:23.492+01:00Stark<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1XBfJJxRBzhnpaDbIT4FuKYn3lbbgxB-1iWWR1XkHCbP0cA_4FPbx00aWmxJEHtGtBiJa2j01vuubY3d3iVoBj7GXX62LZRWClGEdw3HvVZu2qbpq7V8EirPpwh4bXD-_1yK0M2tOVA/s1600/field-3988281_1280+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1XBfJJxRBzhnpaDbIT4FuKYn3lbbgxB-1iWWR1XkHCbP0cA_4FPbx00aWmxJEHtGtBiJa2j01vuubY3d3iVoBj7GXX62LZRWClGEdw3HvVZu2qbpq7V8EirPpwh4bXD-_1yK0M2tOVA/s320/field-3988281_1280+3.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div><br clear=left>Whilst out for a walk this afternoon I stopped to admire the stark beauty of a harvested field and this poem jumped into my mind, I hope you like it.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Stark</u></b><br />
<br />
They harvested the maze<br />
a week or so ago.<br />
Now the field lies barren, <br />
dried stalks flattened low<br />
<br />
Amidst the mud and stubble<br />
a pigeon lies in death,<br />
its grey feathers ruffled<br />
by the cruel wind's breath.<br />
<br />
Atop a naked hedgerow <br />
Corvids bicker and caw; <br />
chill autumnal beauty <br />
ahead of winter's maw.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan <br />
05 October 2019</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-8787673578575546812019-04-19T09:51:00.001+01:002019-04-19T09:51:57.193+01:00Dorothy’s Bench II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiowVbnWNhrdLOsxjFEAwU_wsofKYJbjepTX9OWzcN29RNnLZmFrCnChyphenhyphenFALN7BdusSL6I_Q5lPSHWpVrf2Ltj3Bljfk8EQd-Z2F_6DBlWtdG3iT8dkqXY6WMIoU-uFNLWiIWkohJMr2k/s1600/A348108D-A68D-4CDF-BE3C-2D2815886E5D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiowVbnWNhrdLOsxjFEAwU_wsofKYJbjepTX9OWzcN29RNnLZmFrCnChyphenhyphenFALN7BdusSL6I_Q5lPSHWpVrf2Ltj3Bljfk8EQd-Z2F_6DBlWtdG3iT8dkqXY6WMIoU-uFNLWiIWkohJMr2k/s320/A348108D-A68D-4CDF-BE3C-2D2815886E5D.jpeg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div><br clear=left>This afternoon I went to sit on Dorothy’s Bench to play a few mind games. The scene was pure beauty but my mind was dark. This poem sums it up.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Dorothy’s Bench II</b></u><br />
<br />
It's noisy here today.<br />
The streams, while recharged<br />
are almost unheard.<br />
Amidst the leaves birds vie for attention<br />
like hawkers in a busy bazaar.<br />
Gulls scream above the hubbub.<br />
The roar of the waves is drowned out.<br />
Eyes closed, cool breeze on my face<br />
I focus on the beauty<br />
and seek to escape<br />
but the voices scream<br />
and the waves overwhelm.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
18 April 2019</b><br />
<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-54373963850058088892018-10-22T22:08:00.000+01:002018-10-22T22:08:38.888+01:00Keywords<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZXD4EDsNIuxNpipwDy51WIO5ojLkwGXVc-owe0RNiPdcreTmyyqe0QYI3zB_1_Fjm0_57qdFAjmuzozg3uyVvc6dWaKhlVPTAn7udtCcLUNdAKiUKxVgH8pkE2IbjArWP1K87wqp2zo/s640/blogger-image-741986245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZXD4EDsNIuxNpipwDy51WIO5ojLkwGXVc-owe0RNiPdcreTmyyqe0QYI3zB_1_Fjm0_57qdFAjmuzozg3uyVvc6dWaKhlVPTAn7udtCcLUNdAKiUKxVgH8pkE2IbjArWP1K87wqp2zo/s320/blogger-image-741986245.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br clear="left" /> Our next open mic has the subject "Question Mark" this is my effort.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Keywords</u></b><br />
<br />
He sat behind the table<br />
looking at the mirror,<br />
knowing in his heart of hearts<br />
that there had been an error.<br />
<br />
Behind the glass they looked on<br />
and watched him getting nervous,<br />
they bore the marks<br />
of Her Majesty's Secret Service.<br />
<br />
For he had typed a keyword<br />
whilst planning to invest<br />
And he had been identified<br />
as a person of interest.<br />
<br />
Sweat beaded on his forehead<br />
as they kept him in the dark.<br />
They nodded at each other,<br />
it was time to question Mark.<br />
<br />
<b> John Carré Buchanan<br />
11 October 2018</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-50228268742592341942018-10-05T13:42:00.002+01:002018-10-05T13:42:45.511+01:00A Call From Guernsey Airport<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_DjpQI0DPuNAoH6D3IPI0fT4A0CMEy0nzvx3kwL1y4x2mh-dsk8HZw8Wly2Bqfb9G4o7MHluqARz_tIUMoKRDSPJ4nH5GxfAtFatka2hlyNWWttV3sEUeOGCxtngansEsBQcTWV_yEA/s1600/Phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_DjpQI0DPuNAoH6D3IPI0fT4A0CMEy0nzvx3kwL1y4x2mh-dsk8HZw8Wly2Bqfb9G4o7MHluqARz_tIUMoKRDSPJ4nH5GxfAtFatka2hlyNWWttV3sEUeOGCxtngansEsBQcTWV_yEA/s320/Phone.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="627" data-original-height="417" /></a></div><br clear=left>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.<br />
<br />
<u><b>A Call From Guernsey Airport</b></u><br />
<br />
Suddenly a voice started speaking;<br />
"Hi, It's Janet, I'm going to be late."<br />
it wasn't muted, It wasn't muted at all,<br />
it was one of those full blast old people calls.<br />
A voice born in the days of operators<br />
every monotonous word at full blast<br />
as if the smart phone and not the speaker was deaf.<br />
Expressions on faces 20 meters away<br />
ranged from irritation to simple smiles<br />
as the woman with the latest smart phone<br />
cut across the hubbub of the busy terminal<br />
by shouting at her friend in Newcastle.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
24 August 2018</b><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-30641744331061376182018-10-04T13:23:00.000+01:002018-10-08T16:15:01.003+01:00Doggone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2lUJ2jARJh05ieeWxJWOd-MhQKIqbKArJaPlQ-KYJnXVTE3J-GFAUiZHqF9FIWFKPgudhrGr_c_tFQk2pAmQzsGmWK8hC5Zbhj9yzdXV5zU5vTWzcnRvBX3eBJVKhBa6TG-ntQqVihs/s1600/Dog+Loo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2lUJ2jARJh05ieeWxJWOd-MhQKIqbKArJaPlQ-KYJnXVTE3J-GFAUiZHqF9FIWFKPgudhrGr_c_tFQk2pAmQzsGmWK8hC5Zbhj9yzdXV5zU5vTWzcnRvBX3eBJVKhBa6TG-ntQqVihs/s320/Dog+Loo.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="650" data-original-height="433" /></a></div><br clear=left>Something a little bit different.<br />
<br />
Scenario: I'm sitting on the loo when the dog decides to burst in and sit between my feet!<br />
<br />
<b><u>Doggone</b></u><br />
<br />
I'm sitting on the Loo,<br />
having a poo.<br />
I don't need you<br />
admiring the view.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
25 July 2018</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-64610237664567524202018-07-25T12:00:00.000+01:002018-07-25T12:00:07.966+01:00The Nature of Everything<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSE2RhfRrVR5vA4K-7mXIDVjtomlJVaMfbqOBl6K51i3RWOsLQ0hHVGoG396oW7ybEaKBvA_VCyNMscwljr6IdlXm8_woAgbQd_N2IbmfOKuJFU0KU4fV10mpiVbqffd6EVEMDbW0gYOg/s1600/nut-2638493_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSE2RhfRrVR5vA4K-7mXIDVjtomlJVaMfbqOBl6K51i3RWOsLQ0hHVGoG396oW7ybEaKBvA_VCyNMscwljr6IdlXm8_woAgbQd_N2IbmfOKuJFU0KU4fV10mpiVbqffd6EVEMDbW0gYOg/s320/nut-2638493_960_720.jpg" width="320" height="154" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="462" /></a></div><br clear =left>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!<br />
<br />
<u><b>The Nature of Everything</b></u><br />
<br />
Heisenberg was uncertain about position and speed,<br />
we can't measure both precisely he had to concede,<br />
<br />
for to look at an elementary particle is enough to make it change,<br />
which isn't very useful when you’re not seeking a range.<br />
<br />
Quantum field theory uses points to allow prediction<br />
but positions; x, y, z and time, whilst useful, create a fiction,<br />
<br />
for the maths of gravity gets in the way when you work in 4 dimensions,<br />
three spacial and one temporal if we follow the convention.<br />
<br />
We needed to go much deeper and work another dimension,<br />
in fact we have to use eleven to gain some comprehension<br />
<br />
Now if you're beginning to feel a bit bemused;<br />
you write a poem on a theory so confused.<br />
<br />
By now those crazy physicists with their bulging pulsing brains<br />
decided that they needed more and invented the membrane!<br />
<br />
‘Branes can be gigantic, a universe or more.<br />
I think it's time I make a break and run toward the door<br />
<br />
but if I stepped through it, would a multiverse I find?<br />
or is that just a figment of an overactive mind? <br />
<br />
They're now trying to prove super symmetry exists,<br />
crashing particles together and examining the bits.<br />
<br />
If they find sparticles in the instant of collision<br />
I suspect string theory will still need some revision.<br />
<br />
Now, about this super string theory you need to know two things;<br />
everything out there is made of vibrating energy strings.<br />
<br />
The second is much easier, I won't string you along,<br />
the whole blasted theory, well, it could just be wrong.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
23 July 2018</b><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-89653893754999366612018-07-25T11:29:00.000+01:002018-07-25T12:02:30.085+01:00Dorothy's Bench<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQnp9QFrNIWbRZjufSEo9b_8UzxJUge-fjPnbQWrzQsk_nTCVyk2uqyLVk4lbVPgFJnCHNv4zkZTSlIdcspMp9zLrXrCMl0dBradTQvh-FKp1lerQyMk4g33xqIrDh4qjIPGa-tIW7RM/s1600/IMG_1732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQnp9QFrNIWbRZjufSEo9b_8UzxJUge-fjPnbQWrzQsk_nTCVyk2uqyLVk4lbVPgFJnCHNv4zkZTSlIdcspMp9zLrXrCMl0dBradTQvh-FKp1lerQyMk4g33xqIrDh4qjIPGa-tIW7RM/s320/IMG_1732.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="720" /></a></div><br clear=left>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I hope you like my poem.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Dorothy's Bench</b></u><br />
<br />
Dorothy's bench is sited well<br />
a refuge from an inner hell.<br />
Last night’s showers<br />
have brightened flowers,<br />
the wind tousles trees<br />
but I can't hear the leaves;<br />
for birds singing mask that sound<br />
as nature's beauty abounds.<br />
I strain to hear the dancing stream<br />
or is it just a wishful dream?<br />
Silent waves on beach<br />
distant memories of joy beseech.<br />
That blue sky with wispy clouds<br />
shines bright above dark thunderclouds.<br />
I wipe my eyes and pray,<br />
that showers could wash despair away.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
09 June 2018</b><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-3993857994046078602018-05-04T18:20:00.002+01:002018-05-04T18:40:49.104+01:00Deleted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0jhRHHZk9uby8285mOS3W6rSHs7IqEZz4pV5vA2Gu1gja2kaQxynbwYJbndSBtAUF-V9Rc2cu0Ces3n6QC3z2NBAxDEzFKAUvGXNjFiBCzON_juABOiRpuf80mrfs1Z50ccMsd7AEKM/s1600/painter-1180676_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0jhRHHZk9uby8285mOS3W6rSHs7IqEZz4pV5vA2Gu1gja2kaQxynbwYJbndSBtAUF-V9Rc2cu0Ces3n6QC3z2NBAxDEzFKAUvGXNjFiBCzON_juABOiRpuf80mrfs1Z50ccMsd7AEKM/s320/painter-1180676_960_720.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="640" /></a></div><br clear=Left>I wrote this poem for an Open Mic evening with the subject "Deleted".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Deleted</b></u><br />
<br />
The list, if there were a list,<br />
would shorten every day.<br />
highlight, delete,<br />
every eight minutes, the list we deplete.<br />
<br />
Today one hundred and fifty lines will go,<br />
tomorrow two hundred? Who knows?<br />
That range; one fifty to two hundred,<br />
deleted every twenty four hours.<br />
<br />
The list is long but finite<br />
Each line a species<br />
and every day - No, every eight minutes<br />
another line's deleted.<br />
<br />
Not individuals, species, all of a kind.<br />
Imagine, seven billion people,<br />
Condensed to just one line that says; 'Human'.<br />
In your mind, highlight it, now delete it.<br />
<br />
The greatest sadness is that so many lines<br />
never even get highlighted<br />
they're deleted<br />
before they even make the list.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
23 April 2018</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</b><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/439382631&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-10274877636048429432018-03-25T13:40:00.002+01:002018-03-25T13:47:06.953+01:00Love Thy Neighbour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgl2bW_8SFaIkKxIzqXggqgW1TIaLnUUTvL0vzpy0TqE0BMPnBu4aPf1-WKzKhFLnpIryhyphenhyphenuGB3oO-uSX3a1p_CN5PBy3Br1U2rfHsPOgj5Jximd-4Axa85h2r9_BAYAptw-SAggUU_E/s1600/Man+V+Nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgl2bW_8SFaIkKxIzqXggqgW1TIaLnUUTvL0vzpy0TqE0BMPnBu4aPf1-WKzKhFLnpIryhyphenhyphenuGB3oO-uSX3a1p_CN5PBy3Br1U2rfHsPOgj5Jximd-4Axa85h2r9_BAYAptw-SAggUU_E/s320/Man+V+Nature.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="900" data-original-height="598" /></a></div><br clear=left>I wrote this for an Open Mic following the prompt 'Neighbours'. I wish it weren't so true.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Love Thy Neighbour</b></u><br />
<br />
We share the air<br />
We share the land<br />
We share...<br />
No.<br />
We share nothing.<br />
We take,<br />
We dominate,<br />
We are not good Neighbours.<br />
We are the neighbours from hell<br />
the sort that vomits in borders<br />
throws loud parties<br />
burns rubbish on wash days.<br />
The Bible says; "Love thy neighbour"<br />
but we humans love only humans,<br />
in fact<br />
we don't even do that.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
25 March 201</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-19641822108273309412018-03-25T11:15:00.001+01:002018-08-11T06:59:57.602+01:00Neighbours<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaRDbgIAEYxmU9NOqwnQ7tCMUUMFfJRfbWxq57bGizEY5b6MiO5RASMjvXdyQ9kbAOZMM-vcAlGMxktY05g9_jauzaBxOKPAw3Ug4leqjs3_Zwmx4TQKVLVqm2AD6j7eZlS5pKXRCklk/s1600/im-with-stumpy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaRDbgIAEYxmU9NOqwnQ7tCMUUMFfJRfbWxq57bGizEY5b6MiO5RASMjvXdyQ9kbAOZMM-vcAlGMxktY05g9_jauzaBxOKPAw3Ug4leqjs3_Zwmx4TQKVLVqm2AD6j7eZlS5pKXRCklk/s320/im-with-stumpy.jpg" width="294" height="320" data-original-width="600" data-original-height="654" /></a></div><br clear=left>This was based on the prompt 'Neighbours', which is the subject for our next Open Mic.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Neighbours</b></u><br />
<br />
They arrived on the same day,<br />
lived next to each other for 27 years.<br />
It's said that opposites attract<br />
and whilst each took life in their own stride,<br />
they moved forward at the same pace<br />
their cadence - harmonic.<br />
Each leaving their own footprints on life's path.<br />
Yet, they were inseparable,<br />
joined at the hip,<br />
that is; until Joe trod on a landmine<br />
and left his right leg in a ditch.<br />
The new neighbour<br />
is not such a good fit.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
24 March 2018</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-73531995873268790122017-11-15T16:45:00.000+00:002017-11-17T20:12:11.044+00:00Meteor Shower<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWtyFCCYRFV36wTH626YloY02oR_R9vqGVVz8amedN4Miuo_S98yzaalSX19Tw8EOzpkbK72K10TyPIsvEmETCi1LtrUVcWK97YmaP911QdsRKlSR3bU5-ucjogcWUV3XXZyv0bYXy42o/s1600/night-1715020_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWtyFCCYRFV36wTH626YloY02oR_R9vqGVVz8amedN4Miuo_S98yzaalSX19Tw8EOzpkbK72K10TyPIsvEmETCi1LtrUVcWK97YmaP911QdsRKlSR3bU5-ucjogcWUV3XXZyv0bYXy42o/s320/night-1715020_1280.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="720" /></a></div><br clear=left>I wrote this poem following the prompt; 'Meteor Shower' from <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/11/poets-united-midweek-motif-meteor.html">Poets United</a>.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Meteor Shower</b></u><br />
<br />
A sprinkle of faerie dust<br />
cast from a distant comet<br />
surges toward a blue marble<br />
which hangs in a darkened sky.<br />
<br />
It touches the atmosphere,<br />
the very air that sustains life below.<br />
Friction slows and incinerates it<br />
in a fiery streaking glow.<br />
<br />
I watch the fireworks in the sky<br />
and ponder; is the blue marble<br />
just a spec of faerie dust<br />
whose burn will flicker in a distant eye?<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
15 November 2017</b><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-4492841100190013202017-10-24T05:06:00.000+01:002017-10-26T17:54:02.033+01:00The Swing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuekRsMxbeFaHp6CI4IBB-MxLzkIo0QMFRvcpzxzRV0hpeDAewmM2WmMiCn1QM7poOG9z9MMoM8HcljPGw0g_sEYgk0oQnQQglXwyD4pMOeoiHTf0KRa-WVs4X_IM2winY1ly5NZoGbI/s1600/Swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuekRsMxbeFaHp6CI4IBB-MxLzkIo0QMFRvcpzxzRV0hpeDAewmM2WmMiCn1QM7poOG9z9MMoM8HcljPGw0g_sEYgk0oQnQQglXwyD4pMOeoiHTf0KRa-WVs4X_IM2winY1ly5NZoGbI/s320/Swing.jpg" width="320" height="209" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1047" /></a></div><br Clear=left>This Poem was written for our next open Mic which has the theme "Spooky".<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Swing</b></u><br />
<br />
Golden hair streams from the flying head<br />
excited blue eyes wide open with delight.<br />
Bright summer dress billows<br />
as white stockinged feet thrust forward.<br />
The smile, missing two front teeth, a joy to behold<br />
as she swings back and forth<br />
from the mighty bough<br />
and the bright sun shines down.<br />
<br />
Golden leaves rustle on the swaying boughs<br />
the gnarled bark watches.<br />
Bright leaves billow on the breeze<br />
and gather at the great oaks feet.<br />
If it could, would the tree smile?<br />
Does this ancient life see irony?<br />
Standing tall across the ages<br />
it's great bows thickened<br />
whatever weather came<br />
<br />
for once;<br />
<br />
Auburn hair fell limply from beneath a hessian sack<br />
the terrified face obscured.<br />
Skirts, bound at the shin, fluttered on the fall<br />
booted feet jerked back and forth<br />
smiles and grimaces in the crowd;<br />
justice upheld.<br />
As she swung back and forth<br />
on the hanging tree<br />
soft rain fell.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
21 October 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/348698325&color=%230066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-44210408673913156882017-10-22T14:51:00.000+01:002017-10-26T17:46:26.187+01:00The Wheelchair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgnqJ0xqEPcmnBLzDtNb_bG0tjI06TONdYresGJZkmbOa0Qtn7fjXEraHOH_pBRcxcR7y0lTisNQsykTSNlMCDMxGp6OiDrySdpr3lUcv2xJHixftcDd2R0yoG0J1HFAZmSn49frDOw4/s1600/IMG_0512b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgnqJ0xqEPcmnBLzDtNb_bG0tjI06TONdYresGJZkmbOa0Qtn7fjXEraHOH_pBRcxcR7y0lTisNQsykTSNlMCDMxGp6OiDrySdpr3lUcv2xJHixftcDd2R0yoG0J1HFAZmSn49frDOw4/s320/IMG_0512b.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1067" /></a></div><br Clear= Left>On occasion I use a wheelchair to help me get about. It is an amazing tool which provides me with freedom that pain often constrains. The difference in the way some people treat me when I use my chair is fascinating. This poem explores two regular experiences that really get under my skin; calling me a wheelchair and refusing to allow me to pass. My response to the second is childish but...<br />
<br />
<u><b>The Wheelchair</b></u><br />
<br />
The accident damaged my legs<br />
sometimes I use a chair<br />
it's a tool, it gives freedom<br />
but at a cost.<br />
It costs my humanity.<br />
No longer am I a man....<br />
The mother to her child<br />
"mind the wheelchair",<br />
the flight attendant,<br />
"we've got one wheelchair"<br />
the police man,<br />
"make way for the wheelchair,"<br />
the youth in the pub<br />
"mind your back wheelchair coming through".<br />
Not the man - the wheelchair<br />
The man is invisible,<br />
society doesn't do disability.<br />
it tries to ignore,<br />
makes people vanish.<br />
You get used to it, I'm almost immune;<br />
almost!<br />
but sometimes, I snap.<br />
the polite "excuse me" deliberately ignored<br />
leaves me trapped by a wall of legs.<br />
The chair gets a mind of its own<br />
control slackens from expert to disabled<br />
the wheel 'accidentally' rolls over a foot<br />
and in that instant I'm not a wheelchair<br />
I'm the “bastard”<br />
noticed, then grudgingly forgiven<br />
because I'm just a wheelchair!<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
15 October 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/348699965&color=%230066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-3629318506391169792017-10-18T07:38:00.002+01:002017-10-26T17:55:07.214+01:00Space Junk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6kGvWtcFlOKwda7q1ubA3uahYCn-L-y3E4pWYNbuBaQlrtjspEe1bTczSeUyo9Q4PstYmwC69eHB2PSH7H2mt7OEKuyjJp-fehUj_OvNBR5-Toe1fHjji9nnbiNmHIAEblNABVIPyy0/s1600/space-debris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6kGvWtcFlOKwda7q1ubA3uahYCn-L-y3E4pWYNbuBaQlrtjspEe1bTczSeUyo9Q4PstYmwC69eHB2PSH7H2mt7OEKuyjJp-fehUj_OvNBR5-Toe1fHjji9nnbiNmHIAEblNABVIPyy0/s320/space-debris.jpg" width="320" height="209" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1043" /></a></div><br clear=left>This poem was written following the prompt; 'Dark Moon, New Moon' set by Poets United.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Space Junk</u></b><br />
<br />
Dark moon, the stars twinkle, <br />
specks of cosmic dust <br />
on an ink black backdrop.<br />
A satellite traverses the sky, <br />
reflects light to an upturned eye.<br />
Yes we even pollute the heavens.<br />
<br />
Up there in the moonless void;<br />
a glove, spanners, paint flecks, a toothbrush,<br />
frozen drops of toxic chemicals<br />
and shards of shattered metal,<br />
circle the planet in a swirling mass <br />
of supersonic debris.<br />
<br />
Kessler theorised a chain reaction<br />
where colliding debris shatters<br />
into ever smaller pieces<br />
each collision making more <br />
of the speeding shrapnel.<br />
<br />
The satellites we rely on <br />
for weather, communication,<br />
agriculture, defence, <br />
location and even time<br />
run a gauntlet through this heavenly garbage patch.<br />
<br />
Our modern way of life is threatened<br />
for without satellites; communication's lost;<br />
markets crash, supply chains fail, <br />
there's no internet, phone, there's no email.<br />
and yet; out there, far beyond our own sphere...<br />
<br />
we fly-tip on a cosmic scale <br />
crashing space craft into other worlds<br />
and our Voyagers speed onward<br />
across intergalactic space<br />
as we seek enlightenment <br />
and new moons.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
15 October 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/347477512&color=%230066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><br />
<br />
This poem is linked to <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-dark-moon.html">Poets United</a>.<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-70688085969237434992017-10-14T08:28:00.001+01:002017-10-26T17:56:36.241+01:00Plastic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN9YeOmy2xXZnfWwFIkJpTYeGgJG3AMSOi_C7L7QmP1Xr5IaIi-EjGn1TFePS7hzx9W9QZnK9EhdO_LrAi013jz4T2G15ibrQzD5JhmdxBtVIh_iSULRCrMOS4g7iB7jqzEIiHX0X7dM/s1600/Plastic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN9YeOmy2xXZnfWwFIkJpTYeGgJG3AMSOi_C7L7QmP1Xr5IaIi-EjGn1TFePS7hzx9W9QZnK9EhdO_LrAi013jz4T2G15ibrQzD5JhmdxBtVIh_iSULRCrMOS4g7iB7jqzEIiHX0X7dM/s320/Plastic.jpg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div><br clear=left>Each year we produce nearly 300 million tons of plastic, half of which is for single use. It is estimated that more than 8 million tons of this is dumped into our oceans. The damage to marine ecosystems is devastating. <br />
<br />
I find it incredible that despite knowing about the damage we are doing to both to the planet and our own food chains and ultimately our health we continue to pollute. <br />
<br />
I have embedded Chris Jordan’s powerful video below; it shows the effects of our actions on Midway, an Island 2000 miles from the nearest continent. I urge you to take the time to watch it and I hope that this post makes you think about the products you use, you might not even know that your shower gel, toothpaste and makeup contain plastic microbeads. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Plastic</b></u><br />
<br />
Polly bag, plastic tag,<br />
Bic lighter, Huggies diaper, <br />
flip flop, bottle top, <br />
Lego block, zip lock,<br />
fishing line, bailing twine,<br />
piece of rope, Stethoscope,<br />
six pack, plastic cap, <br />
coffee sack, bubble wrap, <br />
tape cassette, gill net, <br />
Kinder egg, clothes peg,<br />
plastic spork, builder's caulk,<br />
cigarette butt, cat gut,<br />
Styrofoam, garden gnome,<br />
orange buoy, sex toy,<br />
soda bottle, hose nozzle,<br />
used syringe, broken hinge,<br />
pregnancy test, high viz vest,<br />
plastic duck, hockey puck,<br />
doorbell , shower gel, <br />
facial scrub, washtub,<br />
zip tie, dolls eye,<br />
makeup, plastic cup,<br />
nurdles, girdles,<br />
tooth paste. <br />
All of this is plastic waste.<br />
<br />
The oceans churn to break it down<br />
but plastic’s made to last.<br />
Chemicals leach and particles reach;<br />
the turtle, starved or made infertile,<br />
the albatross chick slowly fed to death,<br />
fish poisoned and mutated,<br />
Cetacea and seals, who drown slowly in nets.<br />
And mankind? well we do the human thing;<br />
dump eight million tonnes of plastic into their oceans each year.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
13 October 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/346842009&color=%230066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><br />
<br />
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/25563376?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="480" height="270" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<p><a href="https://vimeo.com/25563376">MIDWAY a Message from the Gyre : a short film by Chris Jordan</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/midway">Midway</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br />
This poem is linked to <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poetry-pantry-375.html">Poets United</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-8883469802589807302017-10-08T10:47:00.000+01:002017-10-26T17:59:50.049+01:00Autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7R_2m7yxAE_A0gTf_XJuzh6Ir2WV1NhCZkegDucGWzD_gxyYFx35i8nqF0w4hfl15pJoCL7-B36Kh7IbWar4kfhNXng3fQQ6WoEAT1FlCZg84TlzM0aIPPdgnGKcp004bAXrZJWA-z44/s1600/Autumn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7R_2m7yxAE_A0gTf_XJuzh6Ir2WV1NhCZkegDucGWzD_gxyYFx35i8nqF0w4hfl15pJoCL7-B36Kh7IbWar4kfhNXng3fQQ6WoEAT1FlCZg84TlzM0aIPPdgnGKcp004bAXrZJWA-z44/s320/Autumn.jpg" width="320" height="211" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1055" /></a></div><br clear =left>This poem was written following a prompt of "Autumn" from <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-autumn.html">Poets United</a>.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Autumn</b></u><br />
<br />
The leaves are falling,<br />
elephant, tiger, rhino, pangolin.<br />
Look; the leaves are falling,<br />
coral reef, shark, narwhal, dolphin.<br />
Out there leaves are falling everywhere,<br />
arctic fox, walrus and polar bear.<br />
Yes it's a tragedy<br />
but no one seems to care.<br />
We reel in horror when it's a few of our own<br />
but complacent we sit and watch <br />
as the last leaves fall.<br />
Golden frog, striped newt,<br />
redwood, teak, mahogany,<br />
dragon fly, carpet moth, honeybee…<br />
Winter's coming<br />
and this time; there’ll be no spring.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
07 October 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/345885218&color=%230066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><br />
<br />
This poem is linked to <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-autumn.html">Poets United</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-66569288005171832672017-09-16T15:47:00.004+01:002017-10-26T17:48:01.938+01:00The Peace Keeper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdE6yW76OCrA7w3aHG3eDVrOQUvmIPl8gRPSMpSj4s1bWzKoWcJHw5Zt9wI0pwOHyjbQEwA1a5YquzEh6MAXZNf5f9bEYemeD_dTLMVILe4xPwZerOnBoXsPRIhT6B59jJkP0SjGWSOI/s1600/004b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdE6yW76OCrA7w3aHG3eDVrOQUvmIPl8gRPSMpSj4s1bWzKoWcJHw5Zt9wI0pwOHyjbQEwA1a5YquzEh6MAXZNf5f9bEYemeD_dTLMVILe4xPwZerOnBoXsPRIhT6B59jJkP0SjGWSOI/s320/004b.jpg" width="320" height="199" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="994" /></a></div><br clear =left>This poem was written following a prompt of "Peace" from Poets United.<br />
<br />
Having served as a soldier and officer in the British Army I found that about half of my operational tours were spent serving as a 'peace keeper' wearing the United Nations' blue beret. A thankless task which involved living in highly undesirable places while keeping two or more protagonists apart. These missions were often hampered by rules of engagement (ROE) which some bureaucrat in a nice warm office thousands of miles away had dreamt up. Sadly these ROE often meant that harm happened in spite of the UN's presence. Another feature of UN tours is that the kit always seemed to break as was the case with the Landrover in the image above. (Bosnia 1992).<br />
<br />
The poem explores the dichotomy of professional soldiers keeping the peace.<br />
<br />
<u><b>The Peace Keeper</b></u><br />
<br />
They trained him to kill.<br />
To remove a face mask with his fingers,<br />
slit a throat, sever a brain stem.<br />
He can shoot centre mass,<br />
advance with bayonet,<br />
post a grenade,<br />
take out a tank and make a bomb.<br />
He's directed fire and lase'd targets.<br />
They taught him to ambush<br />
to advance under fire,<br />
to suppress his own fear and press forward,<br />
to fend for his mates - he will go it alone<br />
and can kill with a shovel a stick or a stone.<br />
His aggression's controlled, but<br />
behind his tranquil eyes and square jaw<br />
is a highly trained soldier ready for war.<br />
Now he stands between combatants<br />
capability checked,<br />
the irony...<br />
The rules of engagement in his pocket<br />
and the blue beret on his head<br />
make him the peace keeper.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
15 September 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/342633682&color=0066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false"></iframe><br />
<br />
This poem is linked to <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/09/poets-united-midweek-motif-peace.html">Poets United</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-30414305943971645012017-09-08T14:03:00.004+01:002017-10-26T17:48:19.072+01:00Off The Wall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0a7OLb7AaCixdy68pRV2JlUtuqWKXl88dwFI8pCbZWnQH-nHtR2ZXAT7Jub-w34LWIs62WYZjH29S0sj5MChP3Tq-WtiDoihRWivP00CNfPHAflXp0O2LkS9mmUF0kqLmKAvTgkSD3M/s1600/Off+The+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0a7OLb7AaCixdy68pRV2JlUtuqWKXl88dwFI8pCbZWnQH-nHtR2ZXAT7Jub-w34LWIs62WYZjH29S0sj5MChP3Tq-WtiDoihRWivP00CNfPHAflXp0O2LkS9mmUF0kqLmKAvTgkSD3M/s320/Off+The+Wall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br clear=left>Our next open mic has a theme "Off the Wall", this poem arguably uses this phrase in three different contexts! In addition Poets United gave a midweek motif prompt of 'Reunions'...<br />
<br />
It is interesting to think that the Berlin Wall stood for 28 years (August 1961 - 9 November 1989) and this year marks 28 years since the momentous events described below. <br />
<br />
My apologies for my German, I hope you like the poem.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Off The Wall</b></u> <br />
<br />
"Runter von der Mauer"*<br />
the order barked to no avail.<br />
Victoria atop the Quadriga **<br />
looked down at the multitude.<br />
Water cannon fired, then stopped.<br />
Confused guards stood agog<br />
as gates were thrown asunder.<br />
The stunned crowd<br />
emboldened, found Freedom!<br />
They surged through the gates and danced.<br />
Hands reached high grasping pulling<br />
feet scrabbling, as people climbed<br />
to dance on the wall.<br />
Shouts, cheers, and tears of joy as<br />
revellers wielded hammers and picks<br />
to tear down, to reunite.<br />
Cameras rolled; the world marvelled<br />
as amidst the melee<br />
this symbol of oppression,<br />
where so many lives were lost<br />
was breached by a crowd<br />
of cheering, dancing, Berliners.<br />
One generation on and<br />
barring a line of stone<br />
you'd hardly know it existed,<br />
A nation reunited and<br />
the wall's been well and truly off'd.<br />
<b><br />
John Carré Buchanan<br />
07 September 2017.</b><br />
<br />
* Runter von der Mauer is German for "Get off the wall"'<br />
** The goddess in the Quadriga atop the Brandenburg gate was originally named Eirene, The Greek goddess of peace. Following the victory over Napoleon (and her repatriation) the attribution was changed to Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory.<br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/341462487&color=0066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false"></iframe><br />
<br />
This poem is linked to <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/09/poets-united-midweek-motif-reunions.html">Poets United</a>.<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-85623345972476851472017-08-20T13:27:00.000+01:002017-10-26T17:48:32.547+01:00Socks<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjO5PSKGs0sjqELn4E0YPQdHUxSgE7X3McIvLJhCacKorbvT_DIqXSqLcsULq8Yj__UzBIxexRrDQRQfAa6IDU2VJyRDLnQz9yh1Vyv0iXBVeIUwZW7UNIxTw6eTmSiR2chmQhJJpuzE/s1600/Socks+Hat+d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjO5PSKGs0sjqELn4E0YPQdHUxSgE7X3McIvLJhCacKorbvT_DIqXSqLcsULq8Yj__UzBIxexRrDQRQfAa6IDU2VJyRDLnQz9yh1Vyv0iXBVeIUwZW7UNIxTw6eTmSiR2chmQhJJpuzE/s320/Socks+Hat+d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br Clear=left>This poem was written for an open mic with cats as the subject, it is dedicated to Socks, my three legged cat, who thrives in the face of adversity;<br />
<br />
<u><b>Socks</b></u><br />
<br />
I remember the day I found you<br />
lying crumpled on the verge,<br />
I'd been looking for your sister<br />
when I somehow felt an urge...<br />
<br />
There you lay twisted and broken<br />
your life hanging by a thread;<br />
I prayed that I'd not lose you too,<br />
as I gently held your head.<br />
<br />
They took your leg to save you.<br />
As I watched you overcome<br />
I marvelled as you learnt to walk,<br />
then jump, hunt and run.<br />
<br />
After I was struck down<br />
you tucked in close beside<br />
silently gave me the courage<br />
my demons to deride.<br />
<br />
You've been a good friend to me;<br />
as I struggle to overcome<br />
you've shared with me the strength<br />
to survive and not succumb.<br />
<br />
My fingers massage your scars<br />
beneath your silky fur<br />
and you sooth mine<br />
with your reassuring purr.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
20 August 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/340695214&color=0066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883131172123152234.post-16400770571587117542017-08-19T12:58:00.000+01:002017-10-26T17:48:45.533+01:00The Assassin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPMlH71ELmcjbzDLXnCPyP4UQdJptrZ9VNoSUixxNrgnlVogMzVlPGyfyrVBhKfdhyHqhvki_gQNB0E0bs8NF68ArOeQktbAYcJG7EHfAKvxOwcaO1HnJ49j0y40QxurMqmrUH5uCcS8/s1600/cat-1285634__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPMlH71ELmcjbzDLXnCPyP4UQdJptrZ9VNoSUixxNrgnlVogMzVlPGyfyrVBhKfdhyHqhvki_gQNB0E0bs8NF68ArOeQktbAYcJG7EHfAKvxOwcaO1HnJ49j0y40QxurMqmrUH5uCcS8/s320/cat-1285634__340.png" width="320" height="201" data-original-width="541" data-original-height="340" /></a></div><br clear="left" /> A poem on the joys of owning cats, if in fact it is possible to own a cat!<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Assassin</u></b><br />
<br />
Briefly the silence is broken,<br />
the click - clack of the flap,<br />
then nothing.<br />
Peripheral vision might catch a flicker<br />
or a deepening shadow<br />
as he slips through the kitchen<br />
not wanting to see or be seen.<br />
Later; much later,<br />
you'll find him in your favourite chair<br />
curled in a sleek ball<br />
eyes closed,<br />
daring you to stroke him<br />
with his nonchalant air.<br />
And there on the floor<br />
an unstuffed trophy lies,<br />
surrounded by its own feathers<br />
having uttered its last tweet.<br />
<br />
<b>John Carré Buchanan<br />
19 August 2017</b><br />
<br />
<b> If you click on the link below you can listen to me read this poem.</B><br />
<br />
<iframe width="70%" height="60" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/340712306&color=0066cc&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">I really appreciate constructive feedback. If you are able to comment it would be most grateful. </div>John Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.com30