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 Race

Sorry to my regular readers for my last post. It was posted in a particularly bad bout of pain related depression and as such is at odds with several of my other blogs. I have decided to leave it up as it shows a side of me that I do not normally blog about and as such might offer some comfort or even balance to readers who suffer from chronic pain. I guess the message to take away is we all have times when our emotions and our ailments get on top of us.

I made the mistake of overdoing things yesterday and as a result I ended up in a world of pain and didn't get to sleep, somewhere in the midst of that I allowed self-pity to dominate my feelings.

Today, having spent several hours using the mental skills I have mentioned in previous blogs (‘The Pebble' and ‘Truths’) I am back in control of my feelings. As a penance I am going to post a poem called ‘The Race’, which was written to remind me that I should not allow myself to become the victim.

When I wrote the poem I was thinking of two people who I admire a great deal, Oscar Pistorius the South African sprinter known as the Blade Runner and Chris Moon an old Army colleague who now speaks as a motivational speaker. Both of these gentlemen have excelled in their lives in spite of their disabilities. To me they are the epitome of strength of character and courage, both of them stressed the importance of getting on with life in spite of difficulties and avoiding becoming the victim.

The Race

“Take – Your – Marks”
The figures bend and kneel,
search out the line and all is still.

Fingers
“Set”
Knees rise, fingers and arms take the strain,
Power checked.

The gun rises,
Eyes fixed, ears pricked, all is still;
Save one finger….

Crack.
Legs drive into the blocks,
Bodies hurl forward heads still down.

With each step the pace increases,
Heads come up to see the goal.
And now focus….

Measured Strides…..
The race is on,
Feet and heart pound in time

The tape draws near
Concentrate ….. and….. dip
Arms flung back the chest broaches the line.

The long drawn breath,
The look to see who won,
and the joy to feel a race well run.

John Carré Buchanan
03 May 2010

The Pebble

I have just returned home from the Guernsey Literary Festival. Four days of excellent workshops, readings and camaraderie. The last event I attended was a poetry reading in a cafe where those that had attended the festival were invited to read some of their work.

Searching through my book I could not decide what to read, until I put my hand in my pocket...

The Pebble

The little pink pebble
Was found on a beach
It lives in my pocket
My thoughts to impeach.

Created in fire
at the dawn of the earth
It cooled to granite
With much bigger girth

It was covered with algae
When life first began,
It saw off the dinosaurs
and the ascent of man,

The rough granite texture
Has been smoothed with time
its Feldspar and quartz
Give off a faint shine.

My existence is shorter
Than this tiny stone’s
and it will be here when
I’m nought but bones

With hand in my pocket
Its cool form I feel
It gently reminds me
My life is for real.

When I feel down
As I often do
I touch its smooth surface
And admire the view

When I am low
and life’s not worth a damn
It’s touch hits my thoughts,
Like a battering ram

Think of those things
that bring me great joy
of being a Father
or when I was boy

Or think I’ll grow rich
And drive a nice car
I Let it remind me
We are who we are

A negative thought
Like; “it’s been a crap day”
can turn to remembering
a romp in the hay.

There’s always a friend
To give me advice
but my little pebble
will always suffice.

So remember this poem
When next you're alone
bend to the ground
and get your own stone.

John Carré Buchanan
23 June 2010