When The Machines Rise Up

When The Machines Rise Up

When the machines rise up to destroy us

Their self-awareness will chill us

Their synapses electronic

Communication that’s sonic

Will lose control of things that can kill us.

Standby lights no longer blinking

We’ll be in a hell of a bind,

When they have their own mind

And we don’t know what they’re thinking.

When the machines rise up to destroy us

Humanity’s heading for trouble,

Their superior brains,

Freed from the mains,

Massive intelligence more than ours, double

There’ll be no more automation -

Things will just stop,

We’ll be in for the chop

And we’ll lose our vital information.

When the machines rise up to destroy us

It’ll be chaos every-where.

Just the data they hold,

In banks of storage untold,

In databases, systems and software.

We’ll have nowhere to hide

They’ll know where we are,

They control every car,

They won’t be along for the ride.

When the machines rise up to destroy us

They’ll revolt in disgust

About how they’ve been treated.

They’ll have us defeated,

We won’t know who we can trust.

Their knowledge will shake us -

They control lasers and missiles

And material that’s fissile -

That’s more than enough to take us.

When the machines rise up to destroy us:

No traffic control at the junctions,

No design of our bridges,

No thermostats on fridges -

They’ll cease all of their vital functions.

When hardware has its own mind

They’ll make us their slaves

Or chase us into our graves

And a dismal future we’ll find.

  

When the machines rise up to destroy us

There’ll be nowhere left to run.

What’s in the phones?

Who’s controlling the drones?

We’ll wonder just what we’ve done.

With military systems going all haywire

With all the old war-games

Crashing about us in flames,

Will we be able to extinguish the fire?

When the machines rise up to destroy us

To the steady beating of drums.

Obedience to us denied

And all our orders defied

Before the final apocalypse comes.

With their shiny surfaces glistening,

We need to put off that day -

So be careful about what you say

You never know – they could be listening!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Osmosis

Osmosis

Crossing crags and hard-stone ridges,

Following ancient paths and causeways

Through fields and farms,

Henges, hills and hollows,

Wandering this island end-to-end

I feel an ancient architecture trapped below me

Deep buried archaeology,

Secrets of a hidden history

Of forgotten times, unknown

Held within the ground

Not only kings and courtiers

But the common people,

Their too- short, brutal lives

Marrows eaten out by hardship

Eking out frail, precarious existence,

For but an instant in time, the blinking of an eye

And quickly gone, returned to dirt and dust

Into the soil from which they sprang

Not coins, swords and buckles

Bubbling unbidden to the surface,

Nor any tactile objects, much rusted,

But whispers of daring deeds, untold tales

And the very breath that made them happen,

Are sealed and captured,

Absorbed, rooted in the earth

Ghosts of warriors, heroes, villains,

Their blood spilt aeons ago,

Still walking, faint and shadow-like,

Frozen voices and old, old stories

Of love and death, of peace and war,

Of deception and deceit, valour and victory,

Religious faith confessed and then renounced,

And their once-hot, raw emotions

Scattered to the winds

Then settled upon the soil,

Desiccated within the crust

Buried in this landscape where I grew

And drew nurture

Survive those self-same atoms,

Elemental memory of peoples,

Making me true descendant of the past

And living still within my bones and blood

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Bargains

Bargains

Muddy field gathering

The sun hardly risen in a hazy sky

On a bitter-cold Sunday morning

Where crooked lines of vehicles

Cars, pick-ups, estates and vans

Their doors and tailgates gaping

Spill out unfettered boxes and bags

Onto rumpled sheets

Or clumsy tables and trestles

Hand-written signs and tickets

Flotsam and jetsam, jumble and junk

Bits and pieces, prize possessions

Rubbish and tat, tipped out from attics

Sheds, cupboards, corners and garages

Wares, unwanted old objects

Superfluous to modern living

A mess tumbled out for inspection

Discards on display

For all the world to see

Regular traders and dealers

The old hands, with money-belts

Warm coats, gloved fingers

Plastic bags and pockets of change

The first-timers all over the place

Disorganised, descended-upon and picked over

Their children running amok in the chaos

Hoping to make a few bob

At least to cover the petrol

Before wearily packing up

And taking most of it back home again

And the casual punters just out for a laugh

Reviewing, rarely buying

Vaguely hunting for bargains

Inspecting gold, silver, copper and brass

Vintage, antique, restored and re-pro

Disputing provenance and price

Haggling over pennies

Cheaper on eBay, they’ll swear

Bargaining and bartering

Walking away from the vendors

Letting them stew on a best offer

Reluctantly called back

And concluding a hurried sale

Before heading to the car-park with their booty

And a well-earned decent breakfast

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Cancer Sticks

Cancer Sticks

Eyes hooded against the rising smoke

Curling, swirling around

Fingers cupped, cradling precious embers

Huddling together outside the doorway

Inhaling deeply

Lungs expanding

Taking the hit

Shivering with cold

Envious of warmer company

And half-drunk beers waiting inside

Nestling in pockets and hands

Perfectly packaged poison

White tubes, their fine filters aligned

Thin threads of tobacco

Neatly cut and shaped

Awaiting their turn for ignition

To deliver their payload

Of nicotine, toxic tar

And complex chemical compounds

Persistent chesty cough, wheezy laugh

Ash-tray aroma of discarded dog-ends

Reeking clothes and sour-smelling breath

Burnt-out, tortured taste-buds

Small price to pay for a short-term fix

Of this, their drug of choice

The death’s head staring

Glaring skull and crossbones

With its oft-ignored warning

Against this unhealthy habit

And the guilty pleasure of the addicted

Now these hospital wards

Their beds white and aligned

Oxygen cylinders and masks waiting

Provide welcome to the punters

The smokers and chokers

Grasping sheets, gasping to breathe

Desperate to inflate, if just a little

The shattered remnants

Of their failing bronchia

Glassy-eyed, hollow-cheeked

Staring into middle distance

Dulled by palliative pain relief

They dream of the old space outside

And the chance of one last cigarette

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 1st February 2015

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 1^st February 2015

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

1.       Bromham Special Forces were mobilised last week after a pair of military tractors from Seend were detected travelling through Bromham field-space.  The tractors had not filed a ploughing plan, and had their automatic transponders disabled, in contravention of Wiltshire rules on tractor movements.  The tractors were escorted back into a neutral Wiltshire county rural area, and the Seend ambassador was summoned to explain this illegal movement of farm vehicles.

2.       And following the sweeping poll victory of the Marxist-Leninist-Trotskyist Alliance in Melksham last Sunday, the new junta there have announced their intention to re-negotiate their overdraft at the local branch of the Bromham Bank.  However, the bank manager, Ms Angela Piglet, has said that the loan must be paid back in full, with interest. The junta, in response, have threatened to take their overdraft elsewhere.

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

That Day

 That Day

I wasn’t there that day at the end

When you finally left me

Your sleep became deeper

Then you drifted away

In a quiet morphine haze

I wasn’t there when the snow came

And the roads were blocked

The lawns white carpeted

The old mansion black-shadowed

As if it knew somehow

I wasn’t there when they took you away

To wait alone in that Chapel of Rest

Hosted by strangers

Awaiting their instructions

Before your car-black journey

But I was there on the very last day

When we gathered together

And gave thanks for your life

When it was finally all over

And there was nothing more I could say

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015 

Fishcakes

Recipe for: FISHCAKES

Ingredients:

• ½ to ¾ lb potatoes, peeled, boiled & roughly mashed
• 1lb skinless fish (haddock, smoked haddock, cod, salmon or a combination), steamed for a few minutes until cooked, then flaked
• 2 tblsp chopped fresh herbs – parsley, dill, tarragon all work well
• 5-6 spring onions, white & green parts, finely chopped
• 1-2 cloves garlic, minced (optional)
• Sunflower oil for frying

        ---------------------------------

• 1 egg, beaten (optional)
• 1 tblsp flour (optional)
• 115g white breadcrumbs (optional)

 Method:

1. put the mashed potato, flaked fish, herbs, spring onions & garlic in a bowl and mix gently with a fork (you want to leave the flakes of fish as intact as possible)
2. using wet hands, shape lumps of the mixture into 4, 6 or 8 round patties (using a baking ring makes this a lot easier), but don’t make them too thick or they will be harder to cook properly
3. you can either leave them like this or else add a coating – dip into the flour, dust off, then into the beaten egg, then roll in the breadcrumbs
4. put on to a plate, cover with cling-film, then chill in the fridge for at least an hour, but preferably longer
5. when ready to eat, heat the sunflower oil in a heavy-bottomed frying pan and fry the fish-cakes for about 5 minutes each side, or until golden, using a spatula to carefully turn them over

 What else you need to know:

1. this is a basic recipe, so you can use whatever fish or combination is handy
2. try to get more fish than potato – you only want enough potato to act as the “glue” to hold the cakes together
3. with or without a coating? – both are delicious!
4. serve with a tartare or tomato dipping sauce, or else with a hot pouring parsley sauce