Transit Of Venus

Transit of Venus

He waits and watches carefully

Afraid to gaze too directly

At what he wishes most to see

For seeming hours-long periods which last but minutes

Terrified that he may miss the moment

When the smallest crescent of black

Floods the lens and resolves itself

Into the compact complete spot

The dot of a distant planet at the very edge of vision

Left to right slow moving

Forging a steady path

Traversing the fiercely-blazing

Massive backdrop of the blinding solar orb

Light-pulsing energy

A hot star burning persistent

At astronomic distance from his naked eye

It is only a matter of seconds

Through a particular conjunction

Of elliptical trajectories

And specific circumstances

That she arrives where she does

At these exact co-ordinates

So that he might have the chance

To stare openly at her distant unclothed body

Across the cold expanse of dark empty sky

Although his voyeuristic act of observation

Means nothing to her

And is of no consequence

And as he bends again towards the eyepiece

Of the solar-focused telescope

To follow the heavenly path

And marvel at the beauty of her namesake

His earth-bound Venus

Walks behind and slowly past him

Hidden in the darkness of sun-cast shadows

Making a transit of her own, unseen

Across the space that divides them

Her movement attracting no attention

And within seconds the moment is over

And she is gone again

Her tiny body lost to sight

Pursuing an orbit of her own

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016

Cream of Spring Onion Soup

Recipe for: (CREAM OF) SPRING ONION SOUP

Ingredients:

·         1oz butter

·         1 small onion, finely chopped

·         150-200gms spring onions, cleaned & chopped, including green parts

·         225g potato, peeled & finely diced

·         600ml/ 1pt vegetable stock

·         350ml/ 12 fl oz single cream or crème fraiche

·         Salt & freshly-ground pepper

·         Chopped fresh chives (to garnish)

Method:

1.       Melt the butter in large saucepan

2.       Add all onions & potato and sauté gently for about ten minutes until soft

3.       Add stock & bring to the boil

4.       Lower heat and simmer gently for about 30 minutes

5.       Puree the soup with a blender

6.       Add cream & stir in

7.       Add salt & pepper to taste

What else you need to know:

1.       Can be served hot or chilled

2.       Garnish with a swirl of cream or crème fraiche and a few snips  of chive

Dear Diary

Dear Diary

Between the clasped covers

Lie the clean, unsullied sheets of white

To be carefully written upon

In the quiet times at night

When she can sit alone, unwatched

To confide the shapeless thoughts

That float around inside her head

And translate them into the solidity of words

Until they crystallise upon the page

Yesterday there were brief anxieties

Worries to be picked over

Like the entrails of the day

And a breaking heart to be repaired

If such a thing were possible

And in deepest desperation

She trusted in the blank discretion

Of her silent companion

Never to reveal her inner pain

Nor the nagging ache of love and loss

Then today there are things that must be said

Confided to her intimate, her familiar

That she cannot tell another living soul

For the fear that secrets will escape

Whispered out into the world

And that others may untimely know

Of her guarded hopes and dreams

And tomorrow there will be anger

Resolution and determination

A brutally honest appraisal

Of her future prospects

Confessed in some enigmatic code

To her friend, her willing witness

The pen fierce upon the page

Pressed without restraint

Biting through the paper

The contents then quickly shuttered

And hidden under lock and key

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016

Wren

Wren

How is it possible

that such a tiny frame

can hold a fast-beating heart

the shape-quivering lungs

and all the needed body parts

sufficient to survive

and to endure the crack-hard cold of winter?

And what is the source

                of electrical energy

that drives the courage of this little creature

a pert and perky thing

that cannot weigh an ounce

and yet has wits enough

to defy the cruel odds

of an enormous world?

And how quick must one be

to see the flash

of bright and beady eyes

aside a head so small

that twitches on alert?

or the feathers and feet

that flit and flicker

in a sudden blur of movement

before taking wing

to a safer place?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016

Fifty Sheds of Grey

Fifty Sheds Of Grey

A man has to have some hobbies in life,

Something  to make him leap out of bed,

And when he arrives at a certain age,

That something tends to be a grey shed.

It’s funny - it never appeals in anyone’s youth,

When things tend to happen all in a deluge,

But once you’ve been married for a few years,

A shed can become a man’s haven, or refuge.

It doesn’t take much – a shed can be quite modest,

A roof, a window, and four wooden walls:

Just somewhere homely to escape to,

Whenever some unwelcome chore calls.

It’s a manly or masculine thing,

Just to get yourself behind a closed door,

To rummage around in the darkness,

Or to spread your things out on the floor.

For in this exclusive men-only club,

You need never ask anyone’s pardon,

Just to disappear down the primrose path,

To your shed, at the end of the garden.

Yes, a shed can be a man’s very own kingdom,

The realm where what he says is what goes:

A place to play with his bits and pieces,

And what he does inside – nobody knows.

And he can make the place quite homely,

Then spread out as much as he dare,

By getting a radio, perhaps, and some carpet,

And, if there’s room, a comfortable chair.

A bottle or two and a few glasses,

And an optic can easily form up a bar.

Then you can get all your mates round,

And be the gardeners’ idea of a star.

You see it becomes more than a shelter -

It’s not just for keeping out of the rain -

It’s a sanctuary that’s out of the house,

A place that might keep you sane.

So, don’t denigrate such constructions,

And pay heed to what I’ve just said,

For a man’s the king of his castle,

When he’s finally alone, in his shed.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 4th December 2016

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 4^th December 2016

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

                                                        

1.       The model nativity scene has gone up in the lock-up, a spindly Christmas tree is strapped to the flagpole, and the one official string of bunting has been stretched across the High Street.  In yet another no-expenses-spared display of generosity, Bromham does Christmas once again.  However, the village shop is already stocking crème eggs, so roll on Easter.

2.       In a shock development  this week, only five days after winning the annual carrot-wrangling championships, Nicker Top-Berk has announced his retirement from competitive vegetable contact sports.  He said that he no longer wished to dedicate long nights to training, to observing the intricate technical rules of the sport, and to coming home each day smelling of sprouts.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016

Enough

Enough

How long can this go on?

You came, unbidden, two weeks ago

Without welcome

And stayed to torment me

Day after miserable day

Always making out

That you were ready to go

At any moment

To let me breathe again

And give me back my energy

And let things be

The way they were before

And yet you’re still here!

Can’t you see I’m sick of you?

You’re bringing me down

And choking me

Can’t eat, can’t sleep

Whilst you hang around

My head is thick and throbbing

And my chest wheezes

Every limb aching

As my body uses every cell

To fight back

And requests you, firmly, to leave

The medicine cabinet’s empty

Since I rifled the cures and the drugs

Seeking for any relief

From your unpleasant effects

Now I can’t think straight

And everything’s too hard

To manage any more

Enough is enough!

Be gone, foul visitor

Your departure’s overdue!

Go find someone else to impose on

And leave me to crawl back to bed

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016