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

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.

Socks

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;
​
Socks

I remember the day I found you
lying crumpled on the verge,
I'd been looking for your sister
when I somehow felt an urge...

There you lay twisted and broken
your life hanging by a thread;
I prayed that I'd not lose you too,
as I gently held your head.

They took your leg to save you.
As I watched you overcome
I marvelled as you learnt to walk,
then jump, hunt and run.

After I was struck down
you tucked in close beside
silently gave me the courage
my demons to deride.

You've been a good friend to me;
as I struggle to overcome
you've shared with me the strength
to survive and not succumb.

My fingers massage your scars
beneath your silky fur
and you sooth mine
with your reassuring purr.

John Carré Buchanan
20 August 2017

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

A Full Life

Two years ago a doctor told me that it was unrealistic for me, a fifty year old man, to want to live the sort of active life that I lived before my accident and that I should accept my lot.

To me his suggestion was like telling a lion to eat grass, it wasn't going to happen. I decided then and there that I had had enough of doctors and their drugs. Two years on I have just completed my first major goal.

I hope this poem might inspire someone else to grab the bull by the horns and find the courage to go for it.

A Full Life

They said;
"After this you'll be able to live a full life."
But what did they really mean?
How did these overweight, red faced,
middle age men define "live"?
I'd never run again.
I'd never climb, or swim or jump
Or live....
but in their view,
why would a fifty year old want to run, climb or jump?
They had consigned me to their bin
their 'has been' bin.
Leave life to the young,
accept the constraints of a failing body,
fade into the mass.
So I said "NO".
I threw away their drugs,
dug deep and fought to live life again.
Baby steps at first
then as meters turned to K's
I felt the real me rise again.
Quiet determination at first
and then a blazing;
"I CAN"
"I WILL"
as the pain burned deeper
the fire within grew
and the "I CAN"
became "I DID"
and now I am ready;
To LIVE.

John Carré Buchanan
02 September 2015

Just Sitting

Image Source:

Whilst sitting at a the Moulin Huet Tea Rooms listening to some excellent live music, I looked out over the bay below and saw a lone skier.

I had been trying to write a poem about the music, but ended up with this one instead. I hope you like it.

Just Sitting

The bay laid out below
Rhibs, gin palaces, dinghies
their blue and white hulls
a uniform, reflected in the still water.
Further out a wakeboarder
wipes out, again.
I feel their frustration,
I know that frustration,
and knowing...

For there was a time...

There was a time
when I would cut the wake,
my rooster tail danced
from side to side,
a curtain of diamonds
which chased me
and Illuminated my life.

The boat curves gently
it's serpentine wake
envelops the skier,
returns the rope;
and building speed
the dance begins again,

and I,

I watch from my chair
with a tear in my eye.

John Carré Buchanan
21 June 2014

Flare Up

The poem below describes what it is like to experience and overcome a flare up in pain. When a flare up lasts for more than two days it is known as a set back. This week has been dominated by a set back. Flare up or set back, neither are pleasant and I thought I would re-post this to help raise awareness of Chronic pain.

If you are a sufferer my thoughts are with you.

Flare Up

The tormenting ache is obscured
replaced by searing agony.
I feel the flesh melt,
Imagine the blisters as they bubble,
blacken and crisp over.
The edges split and retract
to reveal red tissue below.
It blackens and the cycle starts again.

My mind tells me it’s not true,
burnt nerves can’t feel.
but this is no ordinary fire
no water can quench these flames.
Born deep within neural pathways
they burn as intense as
the a charcoal maker’s kiln
consuming all reason and sanity.

Bed covers lie thrown back
the soft linen had burnt;
as its folds crept like molten lava,
and scorched everything in their path.
The mind fights for control
looking to stem the flow
as if closing the sluice on a stream
but the gate valve is stuck

Thoughts are marshalled,
challenged and found wanting.
Well-rehearsed counter points are delivered.
Slowly control is regained.
Unhelpful thoughts rally for a final push
but once again the mind delivers a ‘coup de grace’,
another battle is won
and the leg will bare weight today.

John Carré Buchanan
19th August 2011

Wipe Out

Image Source:

I loved water-skiing and it is one of the biggest frustrations about my new life that I will not be able to do it again. It was the one activity I could spend a whole day doing and not have a single memory of what I had thought of during the whole day. In short it was my favourite way to switch off and enjoy for the sake of enjoying,

Wipe Out

Reflections dance on the glassy surface.
Autumnal colours of lake side trees
set against a perfect dawn sky
all held in my mind's eye, a memory.
I glide, wind rushes, hair flies,
a trail of diamonds glints in the sky.
My empty mind, lives for the sheer joy of that moment
every move an instinct, no thought dares intrude,
just pure, perfect, unlimited joy.
A screech of breaks shattered that reality.
Now all that's left is a memory of what was,
of what will be no more.
That dreadful moment when all joy was crushed;
when my spirit was wiped out.

John Carré Buchanan
12 November 2013

Gladiators

Image Source

Channel 4 have been running a superb advertisement for the 2012 London Paralympics which start tomorrow. The advertisement is based upon the fact that the British Paralympic athletes are superhuman. Think about it; just for a few seconds please stop reading and think about it;

These people have a struggle to do things many take for granted, things such as; getting dressed, traveling to and from work, even mundane things like having a bath or going to the loo and that is before they start training. Each of them has adapted to, and overcome their personal difficulties and then gone further and learnt to compete at the very top of their chosen sports. This takes guts, determination and a singular focus on their goals.

These people are truly inspirational. In my eyes, the eyes of someone who finds just getting to tomorrow a struggle, they are magnificent, and yes they are in every sense of the word, Superhuman. My poem is dedicated to all of the Paralympians representing Great Britain, Go Team GB.

Gladiators

They stand proud.
Clothed in national colours
they form one body,
and that body exudes confidence.
The smiles on their faces betray them!
For these are smiles that know;
‘I can – I will’ and ‘I have’.

This knowledge;
born of unfathomable hardship
underpins all.
True - carbon fibre, plastics and alloys,
support bone, flesh and blood
but all are useless
without the knowledge.

So believe, British Gladiators,
believe and be proud.
And I will stand behind you
with a Nation that believes in -
and is proud of - you.

John Carré Buchanan
28 August 2012