Beaches

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I wrote this for an open mic with the theme; 'The Beach'. I believe it is self explanatory.

Beaches

Suddenly the trees parted
the road just stopped.
Lying there in front of me
a pristine curve of golden sand,
turquoise water fringed with lace,
lapping gently under graceful arches
topped with palm fronds.
Paradise.
But look closer.
Look amidst the tide line.
Amidst the Raffia, drift wood, coconuts, shells,
fishing net, buoys, lighters, syringes,
a lone, tar covered, flip flop.
Look closer.
Small clusters of bone and feathers
grouped around piles of plastic.
The rotting carcass of a hawksbill turtle
head and fins entangled in faded blue nylon.
Look closer still.
Tiny coloured grains pollute the sand
kill tiny creatures
PCB's, dioxins, benzine,
leach into the sand, the water
poison micro organisms
which underpin the food chain.
Poison plankton, poison fry, poison tuna,
poison man;
and the TV ad asks us to fund cancer research.
How perverse.

John Carré Buchanan
19 July 2014

Tide Line

I took another trip to Moulin Huet today (yes I am that mad). Looking out across the bay it was impossible to miss the tide line on the granite cliffs, created by the rise and fall of the tides over millennia. This led me to write a poem, I hope you like it.

Tide Line

The granite bears a tide line,
black as black can be,
as if some dirty giant
took a bath in the sea
and left a scummy tide line
on the lichen covered rocks.
But, if you look closely,
take off your shoes and socks
and scramble on the foreshore
you're in for quite a shock.
For here in this narrow band
twixt lichen and the sea
limpets and anemones cling
like jewels for all to see,
and in the little rock pools
amidst the coloured weed
guppies, shrimps and little crabs
take shelter from the sea.
Yes the granite bears a tide line
as black as black can be,
a line which hides great beauty
the treasures of the sea.

John Carré Buchanan
27 June 2014

Saviours

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I make no secret about the fact that I support Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. They describe themselves as; ‘an international non-profit, marine wildlife conservation organization. [Whose] mission is to end the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world's oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.’ In order to achieve this they use; ‘innovative direct-action tactics to investigate, document, and take action when necessary to expose and confront illegal activities on the high seas.’ The words ‘direct action’ mean that they are prepared to put their lives on the line. For More information please visit their website here; http://www.seashepherd.org/.

During the last couple of months they have been protecting the whales in the Southern Ocean from the Japanese whaling fleet who have been illegally hunting in a sanctuary. The Japanese were aiming to kill 950 whales, but thanks to the efforts of Sea Shepherd they have taken less than 70.

Sea Shepherd has achieved this by cutting the Japanese fleet off from it’s fuel tanker which has been attempting to refuel the fleet within the sanctuary, (an action which in itself is illegal given the fact that it is within the sanctuary). They have also made it extremely difficult for the harpoon ships to transfer the dead and dying whales to the factory ship by sitting directly behind the vessels ramp, and of course they have used their RHIBs and helicopter to prevent the harpoon operators from getting a clear shot.

I wrote the following poem as mark of my respect for the brave men and women of Sea Shepherd, and I thank them for what they do to protect the wildlife in the world's oceans.

Saviours

The fluke rises and falls effortlessly
as it propels her through the friged polar water.
The graceful motion conserves the energy
She has stored as fat during her time
in the krill rich Southern Ocean.

The cooling water has signalled
it is time to move North towards Australia.
Here, in the warmer tropical waters
the changes she feels within her streamlined frame
will come to fruition, and her calf will be born.

A brass propeller roils the water
leaving a broad streak of foaming bubbles
in the churning wake of the ugly predator.
High on the elevated bow a harpoon gun gazes down,
primed to deliver its grotesque load.

The hunter does not work alone,
other vessels ply this stretch of ocean
with the same murderous intent.
They work together to harpoon and butcher
graceful cetaceans for a fast buck.

A cloud of vapour rises ten feet
from the surface, as she takes a mighty breath.
Off in the distance excited figures point
And the harpoon ship turns menacingly towards her
its crew preparing for the slaughter.

As the ship closes, the whale,
aware of its presence, picks up her pace.
Mile after mile the chase continues.
Gradually the whale tires and her dives shorten.
The hunt is drawing to a close.

A frustrated operator is ready to fire.
The harpoon, tipped with an exploding head
which will rip into the whale and embed a hawser
with which to recover the wounded beast, is ready to fire.
But he has not got a shot.

For there protecting the tiring, frightened whale,
Is a Sea Shepherd RHIB manned by four brave souls.
Hour upon hour they position themselves between the
predator and its prey. This time, with their help,
the whale manages to slip away.

John Carré Buchanan
26 February 2013

Sea Shepherd



To Learn More About Sea Shepherd: Click Here

I unashamedly support Sea Shepherd.

Their mission is: To end the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world's oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.

Sea Shepherd uses innovative direct-action tactics to investigate, document, and take action when necessary to expose and confront illegal activities on the high seas. By safeguarding the biodiversity of our delicately-balanced ocean ecosystems, Sea Shepherd works to ensure their survival for future generations.

The following poem (believed to be written by Captain Paul Watson) outlines the situation Captain Watson is currently in and the reasons for it, The poem speaks for itself, which is something the oceans' ecosystems are unable to do without the help of organisations such as Sea Shepherd.

Please take the time to read it and to visit their website by clicking on the image and/or caption above:

Sharkwater

In the cold hard face of adversity,
Strength is often found in diversity,
Passionate pens unleashed, our voices raised,
Of this global response I am amazed.

I appreciate the many letters,
Requesting that they remove my fetters,
My awful crime was I that stopped a crime,
I intervened against shark killing slime.

A decade ago I saved hundreds of lives,
I took away their evil finning knives,
No injuries caused and no damage done,
We stopped their slaughter and their savage fun.

My “crime” was it cost the poachers money,
The powers that be did not think it funny,
Favours are paid, politicians have their price,
Knives remove the fins in a single slice.

A decade passed before the gavel fell,
Why now? No one yet can explain or tell,
Without a notification given,
A bogus charge politically driven.

They tossed me into a tough German jail,
To prevent me from saving shark and whale,
The whalers smile and the finners smirk,
Feeling free to go insanely berserk.

They did not expect the massive response,
Nor such a compassionate renaissance.
They did not think that the people would care,
If the sharks die, who will care or despair?

This lord of the sea is viciously slain,
A massacre ecologically insane,
Tons of shark fins from Costa Rica`s shores,
Buys tons of corrupt political whores.

Costa Rica screams for righteous revenge,
The “rights” of fishermen they would avenge,
Justice screams out for the sharks and the sea,
No fair trial for the sharks or for me.

Gojira invited me to the stage,
Rock, the medium to express our rage,
The voice it builds and ascends,
Who knew that the sharks have so many friends?

From around the world many voices came,
Has the “green” German government no shame?
Costa Rica what are you thinking?
The world`s shark population is shrinking.

And yet they do the shark poachers bidding,
Who the hell do they think they are kidding?
Costa Rica is not so green and pure,
Truth can`t be found in a tourist brochure.

Truth is found on the Puntareanas dock,
A hundred thousand shark fins dried in stock.
For decades the law has turned a blind eye,
It seems everyone wants a piece of the pie.

A poacher complains, the courts mobilized,
A warrant for Watson is globalized,
Despite Interpol negating the request,
I am now a reluctant German guest.

The German people see that this is wrong,
Their support for my case is very strong,
The government claims they can`t interfere,
So this could drag on for more than a year.

A political prisoner I have become,
And to defeat I shall never succumb,
Thus opportunity presents a chance,
For this great cause for the sharks to advance.

Pamela Anderson sets the tone,
With her famous voice raised, to make it known,
Michelle Rodriguez speaks from Southern France,
Condemning Costa Rica with a glance.

Brigitte Bardot`s strong voice rises from France,
Greens Bove, Cohen Bendit take a stance.
The Five Nations Mohawks lend their wise voice,
We will make our stand, we have made our choice.

Brazil`s Senate speaks up in my defense,
The voices rising ever more intense,
The Senate of France states their support,
This illegal extradition to abort.

The shark finners placed a bounty on my head,
They want me returned and they want me dead.
I shan`t give them any satisfaction,
This case is a global call to action.

With Germany as our new working base,
We `ll expose this nature raping disgrace,
My trial will be Costa Rica`s trial,
For their foul crimes against Cocos Isle.

This sad requiem for the Tiburon,
Orchestrated from Frankfurt and Bonn,
Music reaching the world`s collective ear,
It`s not the shark, humanity must fear.

We fight to bring down the pirates of greed,
Our passion is what the ocean does need,
So we will fight this judicial assault,
With this strange case there is so much to fault.

If I am to be martyred to the courts,
The facts shall be in the daily reports,
This incident was captured in the doc,
We have evidence, they have only talk.

No injuries caused and no damage done,
Yet to my head they want to place a gun,
In a nation where dirty money rules,
The system is controlled by bought off fools.

Will Germany send me to the unknown?
Assassins may await where I`ll be thrown?
Should I be martyred for the shark and whale,
Berlin will have allowed greed to prevail.

Will the shark`s red blood stain the German flag?
With tons of fins shipped to Asia in bags,
Will Germany betray our noble cause?
For nothing more than Chinchilla`s applause.

How many sharks slain by humanity?
We must end this deadly insanity.
By challenging the fierce powers that be,
In our fight to save sharks in the deep blue sea.

Paul Watson
June 2010

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

Saints Bay

I live a few hundred meters from a beautiful secluded bay called Saints Bay. The steep descent to the bay and the lack of parking mean that whilst it is one of the best beaches in Guernsey it is never too crowded. Unfortunately it also means that on most days I am unable to get down on to the beach too, but I hold the memories of the bay in my mind. I thought I would share these memories with you;

Saint’s Bay

The stone tower overlooks the bay,
round, grey and austere
it’s slotted windows ever watchful.

Down below two granite slipways
slide from land to sea,
red carpets of welcome.

Grey stones give way to golden sand
exposed by the retreating tide,
silver pools glinting here and there.

Around the bay tall cliffs
stand like sentinels,
clothed in vibrant green.

Waves rush ashore and withdraw,
their white petticoats
flowing over the sand.

Beyond the breakers
pink and orange buoys bob happily
waiting for boats to return.

Lying on the stones, eyes closed,
I listen to birdsong, wave rushed pebbles
and the chatter of children.

The heady scent of honeysuckle
and the fresh sea air
assail my senses.

The pebbles I lie on are hard,
but their smooth surfaces have been warmed
By the sun’s loving gaze.

Here in the bay of the saints,
eyes closed in glorious worship,
I am at home – Heaven.

John Carré Buchanan
12 July 2010

The Watchers

I spent the afternoon watching my son surf on Vazon beach. Whilst I watched I wrote two poems. The first I called;

The Watchers

Waves roll in from the West
their green backs rise and morph
to tumbling white spume
just before the flat expanse
of golden sand.

Beyond the breakers
a line of silhouettes sit
watching, waiting
rising and falling as rollers
power shoreward beneath them.

Beyond them a kite surfer
prowls the shore line
occasionally leaping skyward
to sour on the wind
like a graceful albatross.

The watchers sit up
some turn toward shore
the green wall bears down
tt stands tall but does not break
and surfers begin to paddle.

Gracefully they spring to kneel
and then stand
their boards turn and glide
ahead of the foaming mass
as the ocean carries them in.

John Carré Buchanan
28 August 2011

Where The Sea Meets The Clouds - (Turmoil)

Having been through a rough patch recently the last few days have been brighter.

I was thinking about this earlier, trying to establish what had changed. Initially I assumed that having left the rat race I am now devoting more time to pain management and consequently living with pain is becoming easier.

I pondered this for a while, aware that it was true, but there was something missing. It was then that I remembered a poem I wrote in 2003 and I found my answer.

Where The Sea Meets The Clouds
(Turmoil)

Wind tears at my coat as I stand on the cliff top watching the clouds advance,
the swirling grey mass, now no higher than the cliff itself, draws the steel grey sea upward,
upward until it merges with the sky in a seething mass of grey.
Closer at hand rain squalls lash the boiling sea, which shatters on the jagged rocks below.

The wind hurls its sodden load in my face and I turn for home.
Hearing a cry from above, I look up to where a gull battles the wind,
as I watch it struggle it’s obscured by the deepening gloom,
Head down, I press on.

The cold grey wall draws nearer, obscuring everything,
Stop….. look….. No, not everything,
out there on the left, a silver light dancing on the sea,
and beyond it, the horizon is clear, for those who wish to see it.

John Carré Buchanan
November 2003