Wargames

 Wargames

Heads bowed forward

to concentrate upon the task

clean-shaven faces

beneath the headsets

reflect the screen-glow

amid an arcade of work-stations

computers and communications

racks and tangled cables

hands upon the joysticks

making careful corrections

to course and altitude

fingers flicking nervously

around the bomb-buttons

as the targets come into focus

 

An aerial view of desert landscape

criss-crossed with beaten tracks

unfolds slowly far below

small settlements of human habitation

at the correct co-ordinates

and the sought-after compounds

encompassed by perimeter walls

home to suspected fighters

insurgent enemies

in a distant combat zone

 

The transmission time-delay

of remote telemetry

muffles the stark reality

of sound and vision

of the over-flying drone

dealing out its deadly cargo

of silent sky-borne death

whilst the pilots sit secure

removed from any jeopardy

detached and unconnected

bunkered beneath the ground

in a rural homeland

amid cool and air-conditioned calm

within the secure perimeter

behind the blast-door

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

 

Outrage

 Outrage

The explosion comes

Always without warning

The ear-drum splitting noise

The force of the blast

And the percussive shock-wave

Of shrapnel as it flies in all directions

Screams of terror fill the air

And dust-clouds billow

As if to coat the bloody bodies

And hide them from inspection

 

The crack of concrete

And the crunch of shattered glass

An uneven layer of dusty debris

Deal out death and indiscriminate injury

Damaged bodies and severed limbs

Casualties littered across the street

 

The wail of urgent sirens

Heralds the arrival of police and paramedics

Who crawl across the wreckage

To pull out maimed and mangled bodies

In unseen heroic acts

But who later on are more visible

Standing outside the hospitals

And before the cameras

Giving details of the deceased

And estimate the numbers

 

And yet these official figures

Take on very different meanings

Whether in Beirut, Boston or Baghdad

In London or Afghanistan

Where the value of a Western life

Becomes inflated by the media

And where a Middle Eastern soul

Who was someone’s husband

Mother, father, brother

A lately-living person

Is reduced to just a cipher

Just a nameless victim

And somehow worth a little less

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

 

Safari, So Good

 

Safari, So Good – a poem un-inspired by a visit to Longleat in the rain

It might be a strange thing to want to do,

But I had a craving to go to the park,

Not to that flat thing at the end of the road,

But to see the creatures saved from the Ark.

 

I wanted to see animals all exotic,

From Asia and Africa and such.

(I know that I’m living in Wiltshire,

But surely, it’s not asking too much?)

 

So we drove off down to Longleat,

And followed the signs right up the path,

Where they’ve got all sorts of creatures,

Including the latest Marquess of Bath.

 

Now I know it probably costs a few bob,

To build a few enclosures and cages,

But I didn’t think it’d cost me so much:

To get in was at least a week’s wages!

 

And we should have picked better weather,

Cause the day was all cloudy and wet,

And I think it were on a cold Monday,

The most miserable day you could get.

 

The animals were getting over their week-end,

Sunday must have been better, I’ve no doubt,

So they were all sleeping it off,

And none of them wanted to come out.

 

We couldn’t choose, to go on a Jungle Cruise,

For the boats were all moored up that day.

We had a short phase, lost in the Monkey Maze,

But even the meerkats slept – what can I say?

 

We repaired to the Capybara Café,

But they didn’t have anything we’d want,

Nor did we stay, in the Hippo Hideaway,

And ended up in the Rhino Restaurant.

 

My Safari Burger had made me feel bad,

So I had no wish to go on the Funfair,

What I needed were the great open spaces,

The Africa Drive-Thru and get some fresh air.

 

This’ll be good, we thought as we drove,

We’ll see the wide open Savannah at least,

With buffaloes, giraffes and some zebra,

And great herds of wildebeest.

 

Alas the experience was somewhat different,

Past warning notices and thence,

Two sets of gates and piles of barbed wire,

Warders in Jeeps, and a security fence.

 

Security cameras watched our every move

To ensure that we weren’t in any danger,

You weren’t allowed out of the car,

And we were watched every few yards by a ranger.

 

It was a bit like being in Parkhurst,

Not that I’ve been there, you know,

Except there was nothing for the captives to do,

Not even some mail-bags to sew.

 

The lions were bored and sat under the trees,

Like listless teen-agers kicking their heels;

Eyeing all the tasty-looking people in cars:

To them we must’ve looked like Meals on Wheels.

 

Then out of the final enclosure,

The short line of cars and vans waggled,

A quick trip to the Tiger Toilets,

And then homeward, weary and bedraggled.

 

So if you’re looking for a wildlife experience,

Whilst you’re dreaming, or lying in bed,

Take a word of advice from someone who knows,

Save up, and go to Africa instead.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 9th August 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 9^th August 2020

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

                                              

1.      Citizens in D-Town have been left wandering the streets in a dishevelled and homeless condition after a massive explosion in the Gents’ toilets at the rear of the Neverspoons pub in Long Street.  It is thought that the long pub close-down of licensed premises during the Covid-19 Lockdown led to a build-up of noxious and explosive gas.  This was then ignited by one of The Brainless choosing to ignore the non-smoking rules of the establishment and lighting up a spliff of the famous Wiltshire Golden Brown.  Almost £27-worth of damage was done.

2.      And the first week of Dishy Rishi’s discount deals (“Eat Out & Get Fat”) proved to be a hit with the various eateries in the town, with some reporting an increase of customers from one to two on both Monday and Tuesday.  Only “Two For The Price Of One” deals caused confusion, with one establishment offering “Two Meals For The Price Of A Half”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

I saw her again the other day

For the first time out in sunshine

Smiling, bright and happy

Laughing with the other guests

At some dreary garden party

And I admired her whitened skin

Pearlescent clear

Smooth and unblemished

Her long elegant arms

And her perfect figure

Exquisitely displayed

In her low-cut summer dress

And as she turned away

To talk to someone else

Revealing the perfect curve of her back

I could see the merest whipline

A long extended tongue

Curling from out the mouth

Of the dragon hidden there

Emerging from beneath

The taut and silken edge

Of the light material

Where it entwined itself

And inter-mingled

With the crouching tiger

Peeking out from just below

And I thought of the ferocity

Of these two snarling beasts

Which invaded the empty canvas of her skin

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Early Season Cricket

Yes I know it's August, not April, but the cricket's only just started for this year hasn't it?  Thought it would be worth re-invoking that April feeling, even though it's a bit warmer now.

Early Season Cricket

Oh! To be in England now that April’s here,

Dust off the bats, clean up the wicket:

Time to get back to our great Summer game -

Forget about football – it’s time for some cricket!

It’s the start of another great season,

Which we always do at this time in April,

But the Sun’s not shining high in the sky,

And out in the County, the air remains chill.

As tens of fans huddle in the grand-stands,

And light braziers to keep themselves warm,

The players don extra layers of clothing,

Which is considered terribly bad form.

They’re all dressed in layers of thick jumpers,

With thermals and long-johns beneath,

And you can’t hear the whack of the bat on the ball,

For the sound of their chattering teeth.

The pads and the gloves aren’t helping much,

And the fielders gather together in huddles,

You can’t hit the ball straight through the covers,

Cos it just gets stuck there in the puddles.

There’s icicles hanging on the sight-screen,

The grounds-man’s not even managed to mow,

But there wouldn’t really be much of a point,

As the outfield’s still covered in snow.

The ground’s all lumpy out there in the middle,

There’s big worm-holes quite close to the stumps,

And the ball is bouncing all over the shop,

As it sticks in the mud, or skids off the bumps.

The new batsman can’t stop shivering,

His County cap’s all covered in mould,

He can’t be at peace, standing there at the crease,

When he’s shaking and trembling with cold.

There’s no incentive to make a big score,

Stuck in the middle, out there in the field.

It’s more perishing than brass monkeys,

Stand still too long, and your blood has congealed.

Everyone’s running around like a mad-man,

It’s just the same with the fast bowler.

They’re all doing their best to keep warm,

But it’s hard when the weather is polar.

  

The wind is howling, it’s likely to rain,

At the moment it’s always bad light,

And the only thing you’re likely to catch

Is a bad case of terminal frost-bite!

They’re turning vermillion in the pavilion,

Despite wearing a great-coat and scarf,

And the very idea of having a cold beer -

It’s freezing – are you having a laugh?

The boundary-line looks like a ditch,

The green sward is like a paddock of mud,

The line of the pitch plays like a bitch,

Playing today surely can’t do any good?

Whatever happened to Summer’s warmth?

Now large hailstones is about all you can see,

And you can’t wait to be back in the Club-house,

With a cup of hot Bovril for tea.

So if this ain’t the right time for cricket,

Then I’d like to ask the question – when is?

Never mind – soon time for strawberries & cream:

It’s never like this for the tennis!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Trout With Herbs & Lemon

TROUT with HERBS & LEMON

Ingredients:

• Two or four trout fillets
• 2 oz butter
• Handful mixed fresh herbs (parsley, chives, thyme, tarragon – whatever is to hand)
• One lemon
• Salt & freshly-ground pepper
• Little olive oil

 Method:

1. Heat the oven to 190C/ 175C fan.
2. If the fish is/ are whole, remove heads, tails & main backbone (or get fishmonger to do it for you).  You want two/ four neat fillets so that the fish can be flattened
3. Oil a large baking sheet
4. Put the fish on the baking sheet, skin-side down
5. In a bowl, mix together the finely-chopped herbs with the butter & salt/ pepper
6. Liberally spread the mixture over the fillets
7. Squeeze the lemon over a small sieve to catch the pips, to let the juice run all over the fish
8. Bake in the oven for about 20/ 25 minutes depending on size/ thickness of fillets

 What else you need to know:

1. Serve with a simple fresh green salad and some crusty bread to mop up any juices