Double Maths

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​The subject for this month's open mic is 'rubber'. This poem is my take on the topic, I hope you like it.

Double Maths

The black gown swept in,
flecked in dandruff and chalk
and the dance began again.
Function, cosine, blah blah blah.
The chalk bounced on the blackboard
its staccato bursts leaving
a nonsensical trail of symbols
hurriedly transcribed to paper
by confused students
before a felt lined wooden block
turned it to a cloud of dust.
The protestation from the back;
a voice asking 'what...'
cut off by a barked 'SHUT UP'
and a flying blackboard rubber.

John Carré Buchanan
09 June 2017

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



This poem is linked to Poets United.

The Broom Cupboard

When I joined the Army in the early 80's many of the directing staff (DS) at Depot Para were Falklands veterans. They had experienced war at it's most primal level and were determined to ensure that the soldiers they trained were, to use the Regiment's motto, 'ready for anything'. By coincidence the platoon was destined to return to the same battalion as the DS, which naturally drove them to push harder and ensure that their protégés did them justice.

In this incredibly hard environment there was a need for recruits to vent and the DS used an unconventional (and very unofficial) mechanism for allowing us to do so. As such the broom cupboard became a place where differences could be settled and respect could be earned away from prying eyes.

It was also a place where I learnt that friendships forged in fire last forever.

The Broom Cupboard

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
Behind the closed door
differences were settled.
The bully, strong, confident,
bought crashing to the floor
by his victim
and yet, no face was lost.

Amidst the brooms and polish
fists flew, differences were sorted;
the result stayed silent,
save for the unspoken respect
forged in the dim confines
of a place where rank
meant nothing.

John Carré Buchanan
10 May 2014

Early Memories - Guernsey VI A Lighter Side

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One teacher we had was a tiny man, dwarfed by the tallest first years, he seemed to have one of those characters that are associated with small people. He was a bully, who liked to shout and would often start a lesson by giving the whole class detention.

This man was clearly not cut out to be a teacher and I seem to remember that he did not last a full year at the school.

The poem below describes students bullying a teacher which seemed funny at the time, but looking back at it was not so laudable. That said the point I am trying to make in the poem is that sometimes when you fully expect the whole world to come crashing down on you, as by rights the two lads and those who were laughing at the teachers misery should have done, the unexpected can happen. I guess that morning the deputy head was thinking the teacher would benefit from some of his own medicine, and he did the bare minimum to stop what was happening.

I have always wondered what happened in the staff room when he was next in there?

Early Memories - Guernsey VI - A Lighter Side

The teacher was but four foot six
the juniors towered over him,
he’d scream and shout all day long,
and the boys just ignored him.

He was a vicious little man.
His pupils grew to hate him.
The other teachers tried their best
but they obviously found him grating.

One day as I walked along behind him,
two boys picked him up!
They walked along; his little body
dangling between them.

Then around the corner came Vernon,
he was the deputy head.
Strict and fair and very scary;
I thought they’d soon be dead.

He yelled; “Put that teacher down!”
and the two lads dropped him smartly.
Strangely Vernon carried on,
He did not stop to scold them.

Once they’d passed, I saw his face
light up in silent laughter;
and in that instant, I understood
how human was this master.

John Carré Buchanan
24 March 2012

The Oak Tree

During recent weeks I have read a number of blogs which tackle the subject of bullying, most recently one by on Sammie's blog Sammie Writes . This has inspired me to post a poem I wrote a while back on the same subject.

My view is that bullying, whether emotional or physical, personal or national, should always be condemned.

The Oak Tree

I lay awake and waited,
I knew that they would come,
I lay awake and waited.

They came at me,
Like an Oak I stood,
They came at me.

Their torrents raged,
With stick and boot,
Their torrents raged.

I took their beatings silently,
They could not make me cry,
I took their beatings silently.

I dared not cry,
I knew that’s what they wanted,
I did not cry.

It weren’t much fun,
For me – or them,
It weren’t much fun.

They moved right on,
Coz it weren’t much fun,
They moved right on.

Years later on I met their type,
On battlefield with gun,
Years later on I met their type.

This time I stood before the young,
My body as a shield,
This time I stood before the young,

And it weren’t much fun.

John Carré Buchanan
14th June 2010