Just Listen

We are encouraged to talk about mental health and I agree that it is good to talk but remember;

If you decide to talk, choose a listener you trust and try to tell them what you want out of your talk.

If someone opens up to you just listen and be there, don't try to fix things.

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.

Just Listen

Between two streams

overlooking the sea

surrounded by pips and chirps

as birds chitter chatter.

It's good to talk. 

A chill breeze cuts deep.

Sharp trills;

- it's good to talk,

yet sharing gives rise

to caring and sharing

and chitter chatter.

Sharp breeze cuts through

tries to take control,

to help me.

In my head

two streams guide me

to the depths ahead

they mock me.

Shh, be still, calm,

Help me,

just... listen

to the chitter chatter

until the cold breeze passes 

 John Carré Buchanan 

 29 November 2020

Forget The Small Change

 

Forget the Small Change 

What will it take for mankind to change? 

To stop the destruction, pollution and rage, 

to see the potential of sharing resource, 

to savor prompt action not lengthy discourse. 

What would it take to quell mankind's greed? 

to drop the ‘want’ and focus on ‘need’, 

to relish in beauty and strive to protect, 

not keep on consuming 'til everything’s wrecked. 

Is it to late to save mankind? 

Is our destiny already defined? 

We're in the midst of an extinction event, 

yet we charge forward with relentless intent. 

Perhaps we need to show more respect, 

focus on what humanity forgets. 

In a world without nature, we cannot thrive.

We must change focus if mankind’s to survive. 

John Carré Buchanan 

25 September 2020

Flattening The Curve

I’ve written a few poems likening mankind to a virus destroying the planet.
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.

Flattening The Curve

So the virus has a virus,
Mankind is not the boss.
The body we inhabit
is striking back at us.
Oh we’ll overcome it
but it'll never be the same,
a bit of social distance
may really change the game.
Perhaps we'll change behaviours
and flatten our own curve,
to help reduce the damage
we do to planet Earth.

John Carré Buchanan
29 March 2020

Graduation

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.

Graduation

I'm often called 'the wheelchair?
"Mind the wheelchair', not 'the man'!
Yet coming down the steps,
confronted by a string of hikers,
all I heard were calls of 'runner'.
I've graduated!
No longer 'the wheelchair,'
I'm 'the runner'.
Right now my leg screams
my wheelchair beckons
and in my head, I'm a runner.

John Carré Buchanan
09 October 2019

You can read my poem ‘The Wheelchair’ here;

Stark

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.

Stark

They harvested the maze
a week or so ago.
Now the field lies barren,
dried stalks flattened low

Amidst the mud and stubble
a pigeon lies in death,
its grey feathers ruffled
by the cruel wind's breath.

Atop a naked hedgerow
Corvids bicker and caw;
chill autumnal beauty
ahead of winter's maw.

John Carré Buchanan
05 October 2019

Dorothy’s Bench II

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.

Dorothy’s Bench II

It's noisy here today.
The streams, while recharged
are almost unheard.
Amidst the leaves birds vie for attention
like hawkers in a busy bazaar.
Gulls scream above the hubbub.
The roar of the waves is drowned out.
Eyes closed, cool breeze on my face
I focus on the beauty
and seek to escape
but the voices scream
and the waves overwhelm.

John Carré Buchanan
18 April 2019

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

The Wheelchair

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...

The Wheelchair

The accident damaged my legs
sometimes I use a chair
it's a tool, it gives freedom
but at a cost.
It costs my humanity.
No longer am I a man....
The mother to her child
"mind the wheelchair",
the flight attendant,
"we've got one wheelchair"
the police man,
"make way for the wheelchair,"
the youth in the pub
"mind your back wheelchair coming through".
Not the man - the wheelchair
The man is invisible,
society doesn't do disability.
it tries to ignore,
makes people vanish.
You get used to it, I'm almost immune;
almost!
but sometimes, I snap.
the polite "excuse me" deliberately ignored
leaves me trapped by a wall of legs.
The chair gets a mind of its own
control slackens from expert to disabled
the wheel 'accidentally' rolls over a foot
and in that instant I'm not a wheelchair
I'm the “bastard”
noticed, then grudgingly forgiven
because I'm just a wheelchair!

John Carré Buchanan
15 October 2017

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

Space Junk

​This poem was written following the prompt; 'Dark Moon, New Moon' set by Poets United.

Space Junk

Dark moon, the stars twinkle,
specks of cosmic dust
on an ink black backdrop.
A satellite traverses the sky,
reflects light to an upturned eye.
Yes we even pollute the heavens.

Up there in the moonless void;
a glove, spanners, paint flecks, a toothbrush,
frozen drops of toxic chemicals
and shards of shattered metal,
circle the planet in a swirling mass
of supersonic debris.

Kessler theorised a chain reaction
where colliding debris shatters
into ever smaller pieces
each collision making more
of the speeding shrapnel.

The satellites we rely on
for weather, communication,
agriculture, defence,
location and even time
run a gauntlet through this heavenly garbage patch.

Our modern way of life is threatened
for without satellites; communication's lost;
markets crash, supply chains fail,
there's no internet, phone, there's no email.
and yet; out there, far beyond our own sphere...

we fly-tip on a cosmic scale
crashing space craft into other worlds
and our Voyagers speed onward
across intergalactic space
as we seek enlightenment
and new moons.

John Carré Buchanan
15 October 2017

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



This poem is linked to Poets United.

Plastic

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.

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.

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.

Plastic

Polly bag, plastic tag,
Bic lighter, Huggies diaper,
flip flop, bottle top,
Lego block, zip lock,
fishing line, bailing twine,
piece of rope, Stethoscope,
six pack, plastic cap,
coffee sack, bubble wrap,
tape cassette, gill net,
Kinder egg, clothes peg,
plastic spork, builder's caulk,
cigarette butt, cat gut,
Styrofoam, garden gnome,
orange buoy, sex toy,
soda bottle, hose nozzle,
used syringe, broken hinge,
pregnancy test, high viz vest,
plastic duck, hockey puck,
doorbell , shower gel,
facial scrub, washtub,
zip tie, dolls eye,
makeup, plastic cup,
nurdles, girdles,
tooth paste.
All of this is plastic waste.

The oceans churn to break it down
but plastic’s made to last.
Chemicals leach and particles reach;
the turtle, starved or made infertile,
the albatross chick slowly fed to death,
fish poisoned and mutated,
Cetacea and seals, who drown slowly in nets.
And mankind? well we do the human thing;
dump eight million tonnes of plastic into their oceans each year.

John Carré Buchanan
13 October 2017

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

MIDWAY a Message from the Gyre : a short film by Chris Jordan from Midway on Vimeo.

This poem is linked to Poets United.

Autumn

​This poem was written following a prompt of "Autumn" from Poets United.

Autumn

The leaves are falling,
elephant, tiger, rhino, pangolin.
Look; the leaves are falling,
coral reef, shark, narwhal, dolphin.
Out there leaves are falling everywhere,
arctic fox, walrus and polar bear.
Yes it's a tragedy
but no one seems to care.
We reel in horror when it's a few of our own
but complacent we sit and watch
as the last leaves fall.
Golden frog, striped newt,
redwood, teak, mahogany,
dragon fly, carpet moth, honeybee…
Winter's coming
and this time; there’ll be no spring.

John Carré Buchanan
07 October 2017

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



This poem is linked to Poets United.