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

Just Sitting

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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

Sarah Teelow - In Memoriam

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Sarah Teelow, The F2 Water-ski World Champion, came off her ski during the Bridge to Bridge Water Ski Classic on the Hawkesbury River in Australia on Sunday.

She sustained serious spinal and head injuries and was airlifted to hospital. Sadly she died on Monday evening.

My thoughts are with her family and friends.

Sarah Teelow - In Memoriam
Women's Waterski (Formula Two) World Champion

Wind in her face.
Plume from her ski.
Pure power.
Pure speed.
Pure, beauty.

No place she'd rather be
than out on the water, on a ski.
Pure power.
Pure speed.
Pure, beauty.

Wind in her face.
Plume from her ski.
Eternal still waters,
Australian beauty.

John Carré Buchanan
26 November 2013

Wipe Out

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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

Torn Trees

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I found this image on the internet a few months ago and it inspired me to write this poem;

Torn Trees

The silence - is deafening.
No birdsong,
no fish jumping,
not even a chirping cricket.

The ‘Great One’ stands defeated
It’s magnificent head severed
in a blinding flash
as Zeus vented his rage.

A few trees remain,
buttressed against the onslaught,
they stand tall,
discussing terms with the clouds.

Stunted stumps of others
cut down in their prime
Jut from the surface
as if hewn by a mighty scythe.

A long breath is drawn.
Water flows across the battlefield
Gently clearing away
evidence of the fray.

Reflections lie motionless
too exhausted to shimmer
on the still water’s surface.
Waiting for a different light.

John Carré Buchanan
20 May 2011