Cactus

Cactus

I’ve never understood you

Or known what you might want

You just sit there year after year, implacably the same

Never growing or shrinking

Your pale green flesh all sheeny shiny

Bristling with hairs and spikes

A defensive exterior

Always showing to the world

But do you have a tender side to your prickly nature?

Is there a more succulent inner plant

That is cool and moist, sweet and gentle

Wet and watery

That you only reveal to closest friends?

I don’t know how to love you

When you just stare straight back at me

No signal of your feelings, nor flower of happiness

You give me so little response

That I often wonder

What it is it you’re waiting for

To me, you seem so undemanding

As if you do not even need me

I cannot comprehend your desires

Sitting in your arid pot and saucer

Happy in your desert dryness

Thriving on my neglect

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

A Doll's House

A Doll’s House  

                                          

Observe the finest detail

Of this perfect, tiny, tidy showcase

Everything in its rightful place

Sitting silently

Waiting for someone larger than life itself

To call, to come and play

To bring activity and energy

Into this lifeless land

See how carefully the maker has toiled

How exactly his model replicates reality

With its inter-connected rooms

Its attics, basements and cellars

Doors and floors, halls and walls

A side that opens to the outside

Revealing to wider inspection

That anyone may peer inside

With a genial God-like presence

And watch the goings-on

Of this toy-land territory

Made in matchless miniature

Look how finely-wrought the furniture

The kitchen’s pixie pots and pans

Woollen carpets and silver cutlery

Notice how small the figures

Stiffened little people

Tiny tokens of a household

Scaled-down and smaller than any doll

But still too large to be in right proportion

To the rest of their wooden world

How beautiful, how ideal it all appears

And yet how quiet, dusty and dormant

And how empty this small community

Undisturbed by cries of living children

A shining showpiece

That is a house and yet not a home

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 29th March 2015

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 29^th March 2015

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       Police searching the house of Ray “Looney” Piglet have discovered a cache of torn-up vegetable recipes. The tractor-driver, who deliberately locked his work-mate out of the cabin of his vehicle before deliberately crashing it into the side of a barn, should not have been driving and has been discovered to be suffering from a form of parsnip paranoia.  Crash investigators are continuing to examine the “black box” data recorder from the tractor.

2.       And the Bromham Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) has been cast into turmoil after reluctantly sacking one of its biggest stars, Jeremy Piglet, from its popular show “Top Tractor”, after he was reported to have had “a minor fracas” with the show’s producer.  The argument was believed to have been over whether peas or cabbage should have been served with the dish of the day on the lunchtime menu of The Wounded Ferret.

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Evening Colour

Evening Colour

Where the road sweeps left

Winding through the bud-heavy hedgerows

Cutting, for a moment, the view ahead

The rainfall gathers glistening

In wide, flat pools and puddles

Catching slanting rays of late Spring sun

Glittering, reflecting golden light

In blinding sheets of white

Then swinging right again

Emerging from the tree-lined tunnel

Into a greater and wider space

Which opens up the glory of the sky

So wide, deep, darkly blue

And strongly bruised

The cumulus piled up high

Above plough-roughed fields

Their thick, large-furrowed

Dungeon-black shadowed lines

Gouging through the nut-brown earth

And on the other side

The wet rich acid-green

Of freshened pasture-land

In the rolling landscape

Intense, brilliant, citrus-sharp

Where, at the field’s edge

The young calves stand near the gate

Leaning, lolling heads in to the lane

Curious, wide-eyed, lowing

And far beyond all this

On the distant, climbing fields

Wide sweeps of lemon yellow

Gashed across the scene

Their acres of alien rape-seed stalks

Drawing bolder background stripes

To brighten the glowing vista

Between the twisting road

And the massive sky

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Attic Treasure

Attic Treasure

Into the headspace of the house

Unwitting keeper of our careless clutter

Silently sitting above us all these years

Among wires, pipes and tanks

Within piles of soft loft lagging

Lie cases and cardboard boxes

Which hold precious memories

Long suppressed, but not forgotten

Through cobwebby threads

And the mustiness of dust

A time-capsule of bygones

Are the things of yesterdays

Which were so important many years ago

Hurriedly stashed and stored

With the best of intentions

Against some hoped-for bright new future

That did not came to pass

There, right at the back

Where the light barely penetrates

Almost hidden from view

The baby’s cot in white-and-blue

Stacked in sections under the eaves

Paint pitted and peeling

Its patterns still visible, but faded

Like the memory of a young life lost early

Toys casually collected

In the course of a shortened childhood

And kept in memoriam

A model boat, its torn sail hanging loose

A doll that still sits staring, unsmiling

Records and tapes collecting dust

Books with jackets ripped

And piles of her clothing

Quickly removed from her bedroom

And the rest of the house

Tearfully pushed out of sight

And out of mind

Before you came home again

So that you should not see them anymore

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Venison & Butterbean Stew

Recipe for: VENISON & BUTTERBEAN SPICY STEW (with guacamole)

Ingredients:

·         90ml olive oil

·         500g shallots, peeled & left whole

·         350g smoked bacon lardons

·         4-6 dried red chillies

·         2 cloves garlic, peeled & crushed

·         1 tsp ground cumin

·         1 tblsp white wine vinegar

·         ½ tsp caster sugar

·         1 kg venison shoulder or neck, cut into dice

·         2 tblsp plain flour

·         250ml white vermouth

·         5 large sprigs thyme, tied with string

·         400g tin butter beans, drained & rinsed

·         Salt

Method:

1.       Heat oven to 150C/ fan 135C/ 300f/ gas 2

2.       In a large, heavy sauté pan on medium heat, add two tblsp of oil, shallots and bacon lardons, and fry for ten minutes, stirring to brown & soften

3.       Put chillies in bowl with 150ml boiling water, allow to rehydrate for 30 minutes

4.       Strain, saving the water

5.       Slit chillies, take out seeds (discard) and put in blender with garlic, cumin, vinegar, sugar, tblsp of oil, salt.

6.       Blitz to a paste, adding a little chilli water to get a smooth result

7.       In another bowl, put the venison, sprinkling over flour & salt, then mix thoroughly

8.       In a clean pan heat some oil, and seal the floured meat in three batches, keeping the cooked batches until it’s all cooked

9.       When it’s all done, add the browned meat to the lardons and shallots

10.    Add vermouth & cook for two minutes

11.    Add the chilli paste, 120ml of water & the thyme sprigs

12.    Cover & transfer to heated oven, cooking for 90 minutes

13.    10 minutes before the end, add the drained butter beans and re-cover

14.    Remove & leave to stand for 20 minutes before serving

What else you need to know:

1.       Serve with sour cream & a guacamole (diced avocado, ½ red onion finely chopped, coriander leaves & 2tblsp lime juice)

2.       This is a rich & comforting spicy stew

The Children Might Hear

The Children Might Hear

Keep your voice down to a whisper

So the sound does not carry through the wall

The children might hear the growing anger

And know we’re fighting once again

Just talk quietly under your breath

For I can hear you well enough

Try to control these raw emotions

And keep your pain and anger to yourself

We do not need to scream and shout

To understand how one another feels

We just have to listen that much harder

And try to find a way to love again

Once we liked to speak in whispers

In languid words of love and lust

Laughing quietly under tangled bedding

When there was no-one else to over-hear

But now there are only lies and secrets

And things we wish they didn’t know

About two unhappy people fighting

Through their noisy, tangled lives

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

I used to see him in the queue

Most mornings at the pool

Knew him just enough to say hello

Or pass the time of day

Then, perhaps, during swimming

Or in the changing room later

A quiet, unassuming man

With nothing much to say

I didn’t notice much at first

That his beard had begun to grow

To frame his youthful face

Adding to his gravitas

Nor did I pay much attention

As Easter-tide approached

That he seemed pre-occupied

And turned more within himself

But then I saw him in the street

Bowed and bloodied

A crown of thorns upon his head

Carrying a heavy wooden cross

A crowd following, shouting

Acting out the Passion Play

And its Good Friday journey

To the Market Place Golgotha

Where he was quietly crucified

Among a staring group of people

Three days later he lived again

And stood there in the queue

Waiting for the pool to open

I couldn’t believe it was really him

And that he had come among us

Just a normal day with its Good Mornings

And desultory chat among the regulars

He still looked like no-one special

He seemed to be an ordinary bloke

But now I knew one more thing about him

That he was Jesus in his spare time

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Reynard

Reynard

Emerging through a hole in the fence

Beneath the shadow-harbouring trees

Along a daily-travelled route

He trots confidently into the open

Pausing in his transit of the track-way

To stop and take stock of his world

No creeping, crawling, skulking specimen

Engaged in crepuscular activities

But bold as brass

In broad daylight

A huge dog-fox in full fig

Confident, setting the world at defiance

Unafraid, un-hunted and un-hurried

Muzzle hanging open, panting gently

His eyes glint and flash

Reflecting late afternoon sunlight

Wild, alert, fiercely alive

Nose, ears at full attention

Looking, listening

Appraising useful scents

Carried on the breeze

The direction, the lie of the land

And prospects for further hunting

Scavenging forays

Among local hen-houses

And rabbit-burrows

Which lie within his rural realm

Head turning slowly

His guileless glance moves

Towards the exact point

Where I silently watch

Hardly daring to breathe

His steady stare

Burning into my eyes

Then, hearing the distant vixen

Nursing quarrelsome cubs

Calling to him from the earth

He slips away, back among the trees

With a flamboyant flash of tail

As if he had never been there

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 22nd March 2015

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 22^nd March 2015

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       Darkness fell over large parts of the village on Friday when a rare sodium eclipse occurred.  In an unusual conjunction of events a large container lorry was parked on the High Street right next to the only street-light, blocking out its light for nearly two hours.  Once the driver had finished his tea at the café and moved on, normal lighting was resumed.  School-children gathered to watch the event.  The next container lorry is not expected for nearly a decade.

2.       The village jamboree on 7^th May has been thrown into confusion after two volunteers on the Fruitcake stall were forced to pull out for personal reasons.  The village is therefore desperately seeking new candidates for this vital role.  It goes without saying that only Bromham villagers should apply, not outsiders.

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Sunday School

Sunday School

The dead time after Sunday lunch

Lies heavy on the day

As Dad sits reading his paper

Absorbing sordid stories of fights and fornication

Waiting for the house to fall to rest

While Mum does her fussing about

Busy, but pre-occupied

About the coming afternoon alone with Dad

Washing and wiping my face

Polishing my appearance

Dressing me up in Sunday Best

Transforming a rowdy child into a little angel

A reflection of a clean and happy home

Sent off through the silent streets

On my best behaviour

To walk to Sunday School

And receive religious education

With a promise of sweets if I’m good

And possible Hell if I’m bad

But definitely no tea

And early to bed

A Methodist Chapel built in stone

Soot-blackened among the houses

Its grey doors opening into the hall

Of musty smells and dusty floors

Little classrooms with metal-frame windows

Hard chairs and benches

Just like proper school, but less fun

Cheerless and comfortless

To hear stories, miracles and parables

Chapter and verse

Read from a black-backed bible

Of Jesus and Jerusalem

Mary and Joseph

And the meaning of love for one another

Then, topped up with goodness for another week

Running home for some play before tea

To strain the last dregs from the day

And wake Mum and Dad from their afternoon lie-down

No interest in what I’ve been doing

The hymn-singing and prayers

Nor the collection for the missionaries in Africa

But a strained atmosphere at the tea-table

Mum walking on eggshells again

And Dad not speaking, staring hard into the fire

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Salmon & Leek Lasagne

Recipe for: SALMON & LEEK LASAGNE

Ingredients:

• 2 tblsp sunflower oil
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove garlic, peeled & finely chopped
• 2-3 large salmon fillets
• 2-3 leeks, trimmed, washed & finely chopped
• Salt & pepper to taste
• 12 sheets oven-ready lasagne
• 50g/ 2 oz parmesan cheese, grated
• For the cheese sauce:
• 75g/ 3 oz butter
• 75g/ 3 oz plain flour
• 800ml/ 1½ pints milk
• Grated nutmeg
• 50g/ 2 oz cheddar cheese, grated

 Method:

1. butter a 3-litre/ 5pt ovenproof dish
2. Steam or bake the salmon fillets for 7-8 minutes
3. remove from the heat & allow to cool
4. when cool enough to handle, flake gently with a fork, discarding any skin & bones.  Set aside
5. heat oil in a large pan & fry the onion and leeks & garlic for 4-5 minutes
6. meanwhile make the cheese sauce
7. melt the butter in a saucepan, add the flour to make a roux & stir constantly for 1 minute
8. gradually add the milk, stirring constantly
9. bring almost to the boil, until the sauce thickens
10. remove from the heat, then add the cheese, stirring until melted
11. heat the oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ gas 4
12. in the buttered dish, spread a very thin line of cheese sauce on the base
13. cover with 4 sheets of dried lasagne, cutting to shape/ size
14. cover with a layer of the flaked salmon & cooked leeks/ onions, then about a third of the cheese sauce
15. cover with another layer of dried lasagne sheets, then salmon/ leeks, cheese sauce
16. finish with a layer of lasagne sheets, topping with the last of the cheese sauce
17. sprinkle the top with the grated parmesan
18. bake in the oven for about 45 minutes, until the sauces are bubbling up at the edges & the top is golden brown

What else you need to know:

1. serve with crusty garlic bread & a green salad

Rebounding

Rebounding

I simply cannot lie quite still

And take the heavy weight

Bearing down upon me

Allowing myself to be crushed

The breath choked out of me

Until blackness overcomes

Nor will I be defeated

Or lose my self-belief

Nor have my spirit broken

For I will fight back every time

Against defeat and disappointment

Despair and deep depression

And I will get back up

And lift up my eyes

To stare back into the faces

Of those who dare to put me down

I will re-new, re-start, re-boot

Re-fresh and re-assess

Taking in my stride

Whatever weighs upon me

Re-framing things

In their right proportion

And regain correct perspective

For I am better than this

So I will dust off the dirt of disappointment

And reassert my determination

Showing my resilience

By picking up the fallen pieces

And replacing the rose-tinted glasses

Upon my smiling face

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Endless Day

Endless Day

Waking early, escaping hours of restless sleep

Shuffling down stairs in threadbare slippers

And faded dressing gown

To face another tedious day

She makes tea in the old brown pot

And sits at the empty kitchen table

Staring out through the cobwebbed window

Lambent rays of dawn

Flirt with the dark horizon

Struggling to get another daytime under way

Only slowly lighting the cloudy sky

Heavy with coming rain

The silence sits oppressive

And darkness gathers round

She ignores the gently dripping tap

As she drinks a second cup

And smokes a cigarette

Reflecting on the empty day ahead

The hours yet to be traversed

The quiet to be endured

Restlessly wandering from room to room

Sometimes standing, shiftless

Rearranging tasteless ornaments

Long since collected

Now unloved, undusted, unwanted

But something to do with her hands

To keep them from trembling

Sometimes sitting down again

Leafing through year-old magazines

Loathe to listen, minute after lingering minute

To the quiet ticking of the clock

Among the clutter on the mantel

Its hands seeming not to move

As the endless hours stretch away

For another long day with little purpose

The deserted hall, no-one to call

No letters in the mailbox

And a phone that never rings

Staring into empty space

Alone, with time to kill

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Coffee Shop

Coffee Shop

They come in waves

An ebb and flow of clientele

In and out, like a restless sea

Seeking favourite seats and corners

In the back, or near the big window

The regular morning ritual

The daily caffeine fix of choice

With standard order and loyalty card

The comforting, constant soundtrack

Of the steaming machine

The harsh grinding of Fairtrade beans

And gurgling of scalding water

Brewing long shots of espresso

Americano, Mocha and Latte

The counter filled with cakes and chocolates

And the clanking of spoons in cups and mugs

Clattering in saucers carefully carried away

Singles sit quietly, stirring froth

Peering into phones or computers

Living out their different lifestyles

Absorbed in the not-here, not-now

Thoughtful, contemplating

Playing with the sugar sachets

Or flipping idly through the papers

Ladies in twos and threes

Hustling and bustling

Amid bulging shopping and handbags

Between crowded tables

Dropping voices to a whisper

Through confidential sections

Of their general gossiping

Chatting and chattering

Lingering till lunchtime

Before suddenly rushing away

To meet a pressing engagement

Then the unexpected pause

A reduced coming and going

The noise dropping down to a whisper

Leaving chairs at awkward angles

A rare respite in operations

The barrista sighs and wipes his brow

And a waitress clears the tables

Wiping surfaces as she goes

Behind the receding tide

Of floating humanity

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

What Will Our Children Say?

What Will Our Children Say?

What will our children say

When they look back at us,

From the vantage-point of their tomorrows,

Towards their empty yesterdays?

Will they understand our lack of action,

The time we wasted with indecision,

And let things drift from year to year,

Missing all those warning signs?

What will our children say

When they see that we could not agree,

And how we fought amongst ourselves,

Bickering, procrastinating,

Caught in many minds,

Snared in short-term self-interest,

And how we dithered and deliberated,

As things got worse and worse,

Just calmly carrying on,

Always hoping for the best?

What will our children say

When they look at what we did,

How we didn’t even try to change things,

But carried on regardless,

With pure blind faith in new technology,

Looking blithely to the future,

To provide the answers

That we could not find today?

What will our children say

About our undirected course,

With no hand upon the tiller,

Drifting towards oblivion,

Worrying only about the cost?

How will they ever comprehend

How we let things get this bad,

Used up all Earth’s bounty,

Exhausting our lonely planet,

Leaving a dirty, dried-up cinder

To circle round the Sun?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 15th March 2015

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 15^th March 2015

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       The presenter of Bromham Broadcasting Corporation’s (BBC) top petrol-head production “Top Tractor”, Jeremy Piglet, suspended himself yesterday after an alleged “dust-up” with one of the show’s producers.  The spat was said to have been about the lack of carrots for dinner after a hard day’s filming out in the fields.  Piglet, a renowned and committed vegetarian, was said to have been “tired and emotional” about the lack of root-crops on his plate.  The final three editions of the programme will not now be broadcast.

2.       Media speculation ran rife in the snug bar of The Wounded Ferret after the leader of the Carrot-Rooters’ Action Party (CRAP), Ted Willeybanned, was filmed giving an interview in a shed which was variously described as “bare”, “sparse” and “soulless”, providing the impression that he too was rather bare, sparse and soulless.  However, Willeybanned was able to explain that in fact it was only his second shed.  He has another larger main shed which he uses more frequently for shed-based activities.  The Field Land-Owners’ Party (FLOP) accused Willeybanned of being “two sheds short of a barn”.

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Forbidden

Forbidden

Life’s full of many hidden dangers

Against which there are warnings and rules,

Regulations, barriers and notices,

Talking down to us like we’re just fools.

The prohibited list is endless,

Leaving us feeling stupid and flat.

So many things are forbidden:

Don’t do this, and don’t do that.

On the roads, there are codes,

Like speed limits we can agree,

But so many minor infringements

Seem counter-productive to me.

There’s fines, if you disobey guidelines:

No Entry, No Parking, No Turning,

There’s too much to keep up with,

Easy to get wrong, but we’re learning.

It’s a pain, on buses and trains,

Though it’s fitting, they only allow sitting,

And again, I’m very supportive,

Of there being No Swearing, or Spitting.

It’d be choking, if they allowed smoking,

Some people’s behaviour’s not good,

But we’ve got to draw the line somewhere,

Common sense needs be understood.

You don’t need a sentry, to deny people entry,

Security posts make jobsworths lonely,

They don’t need to shout, to keep people out,

Just “Authorised Personnel Only”.

We’ve all tried, to get past “Access Denied”,

Cycling Prohibited, Beware Of The Dog

Non-transferable, Not Suitable For Children,

No Cameras, No Entry, Slow Down For The Fog.

Use some gumption, on “Not Fit For Human Consumption”,

Prescription drugs you shouldn’t abuse,

For you’ve got to be careful with medicines,

Especially those marked “Only For External Use”.

Do Not Drive or Operate Machinery,

Don’t get too close, or put up your nose,

Things that you shouldn’t

And Never Exceed The Maximum Dose.

Let not the State, try to over-regulate.

So, let’s have no if’s and no but’s -

We can work it out for ourselves

When it’s case of “May Contain Nuts”.

Here’s an Unexpected Item In The Bagging Area -

And here is the moral delivered to you:

Haven’t we got our own sense?

Is there anything we can be trusted to do?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Reasons To Be Worried

Reasons To Be Worried

It doesn’t pay to be too optimistic,

In this life that’s already grey and dull,

Because you’re bound to be disappointed,

If you think that the glass is half full.

Let me tell you some of my reasons,

For this position I’m knowing on:

If you believe all in the garden’s rosy,

Then you’ve no idea what’s going on!

Let’s start with lying politicians,

Who seem to want to make it their mission,

To convince us we’re all in it together,

And to believe in their coalition.

There’s Cameron and that chap Osbourne,

And I respectfully ask leave to beg,

If we have to have the pair of them,

What’s the point of that other chap Clegg?

And Labour these days are not up to much,

They let the unions get out of hand,

And one other thing that’s bothering me -

How many Milibands make up a Centiband?

Insurance companies, loss adjusters,

Estate agents and also the bankers,

Astrologers and charlatans all,

But for careful rhyming you can thank us.

Network Rail works at the speed of a snail,

London Underground has never been sound,

And you’ll find First Great Western’s no better,

On the Trainline all you get is the run-around.

Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons,

The Moonies and Christian Scientists,

The English Defence League out on the streets,

Prepared to settle arguments with fists.

Duchy Originals and other such brands,

With marketing hype and all that filler,

In fact anything sponsored by the Royals,

Especially that Charles and Camilla.

United States’ foreign policy,

The FBI and the CIA,

Sedition, rendition, water-boarding,

And Mitt Romney – well, what can I say?

  

Famine in Africa, war in Sudan,

Dictators, despots and hard tales of torture,

There’s Israel, Gaza and Palestine,

Problems seemingly without any cure.

Global warming and climate-change deniers,

Earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanoes,

Ice-cap shrinkage and some species extinct,

What are we to make of all those?

And back in the UK we’ve got recession,

Fiscal probity, economic cut-backs,

Changes in benefits, VAT,

No lending or mortgages, income tax!

Celebrities, “TOWIE” and Jedward,

Reality shows and make-over shows,

How long can the search go on for talent?

With X-Factor and Strictly, God alone knows.

One day it’ll all mash up into just one,

And what’s left of this Island Nation,

Will watch Flog It In The Attic Challenge,

Revisited In The Country Location.

Extended warranties, the list goes on and on,

There’s always a sale at Land of Leather

And as if all that weren’t quite enough,

We’ve got the bloody English weather!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015