Mogadishu - 09 December 1992

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This poem is a different take on ‘the beach’ theme for the next open mic.

It is a sad fact of life that people have different objectives when undertaking a common venture. This was demonstrated on the 09 December 1992 when the US Navy Seals and Marines landed on a beach near the international airport at Mogadishu as part of Operation Restore Hope.

Prior to the landings the ‘powers that be’ briefed the world’s media and local warlords on the impending operation. This lead to an absurd situation; where highly skilled warriors attempted to make a covert landing on a beach under the glare of the lights and cameras of the world’s media.

It must have been extremely nerve-racking for the men involved.

Mogadishu - 09 December 1992

Silently they cross the sea’s gloss black surface.
The dinghy propelled swiftly through the darkness
towards the shore line.
Beyond the surf;
the matt blackness of the beach rises to dunes,
silhouetted against a moonlit sky.
His heart quickens, this is it,
His mind’s eye sees the next steps;
through the surf, the silent dash across the beach,
senses alert to the slightest sound or movement.
He grabs his gear, readies his weapon,
prepares to tow the boat through the surf,
eyes, ears, vigilant.
A glance left and right to ensure the team is ready
then break from the cover of the inky water
to cross the narrow stretch of sand.
Suddenly his world erupts in dazzling light.
Night vision destroyed, his ears tune in,
voices, running feet.
He prepares for a firefight but this is no enemy.
Questions shouted, cameras, lights.
He stumbles to his feet rushes up the beach
searches for cover.
The media horde chase – press in – shout questions.
Here in the darkness stealth comes to an end.
Here on a beach near Mogadishu
he digs in, his life risked;
for the sake of a photo opportunity.

John Carré Buchanan
20 July 2014

Framed

Autumn is on its way and the garden is beginning to shut down. Soon leaves will start to turn orange and red. I am told that the weather this year has been unusually good for photosynthesis and as such many plants are carrying high levels of sugar. This means we are likely to see a particularly colourful autumn this year. Add to that, the fact that some plants have been tricked into flowering again by a last minute Indian summer, and it is a truly amazing time to be looking at what is happening in the garden.

A few months ago when I was working I remember rushing out to the car sticks in hand bag falling off shoulder and running into a web that a spider had spun across the archway. I remember cursing the spider as I removed silk from my face and then, having had a pang of guilt recriminating myself for destroying his/her web. I ended up concluding that it was a stupid place for a spider to put a web. I then threw everything into the car and rushed off to work.

A couple of weeks ago I was again leaving the house, this time considerably slower and less cluttered. This time I had time to stop and admire the spider's work before ducking under it and heading off. The image of the beautiful web hanging in the Jasmine framed archway around our front door stuck in my mind. It is now two weeks later and I can still see how the sun glinted on the web which was set off by the greens of the jasmine leaves.

That day I learnt a valuable lesson; When you rush through life you may occasionally notice things, particularly if they slap you in the face, but the memories of them are indistinct and fade, smothered by the adverse feelings associated with rushing. But if you take time to live each moment of your life at the speed at which it was designed to be lived at, you will notice more, remember more and enjoy your life more.

Who knows if you then take the time to write about it, you may even be able to share the moment with others and make a moment in time seem like an age.

Here is my poem; not as grand as the spiders web and not as beautiful as the Jasmine, but enough for me to share the moment. I hope you enjoy it;

Framed

Broken sun light shines through the jasmine
which wrecks the symmetry of the stone arch.

The jumble of green leaves and white flowers,
burst from the frame, as if to claim nature has no order.

Yet at the apex of the curve, the light hints -
as it glints through drops on a line, that this is not so.

Here in this space, of scented chaos
hangs a pure symmetry of silken thread.

Did the spider know when it wove its web
of nature’s plan to frame it?

John Carré Buchanan
16 September 2011