Masquerade

Masquerade

We may all be strangers here

But one can never know

The depths of dissimulation

A hint of assignation

The facial features behind the masks

The true expressions

The subtle nuance

The slight inflexions

Which may imply

A hidden meaning

To detect something real

Betrayed by flashing eyes

A curling of the lip

A movement of the mouth

Concealing private coldness

While expressing something warmer

In this all-too-public fancy dress

A costumed charade

A pretence of better feelings

But secrets held within

This phoney masquerade

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Elizabeth

Elizabeth

She walks and talks at the same time

usually muttering to herself

or shouting her opinions

at anyone who cares to listen

Her shambling gait

and aimless wandering

daily through the precinct

an habitual routine

a normal fixture

and commuter landmark

for regular travellers

Dirty and dishevelled

unkempt and unwashed

her florid face still lit with a smile

remnant of a faded beauty

Swaddled now in layers of clothing

thick coat and floppy hat

cardigans and jumpers

skirts and tights

gloved hands and fingers

gripping, grasping tightly

the string-crossed bags

which she carries with her

wherever she goes

She asks for nothing

demanding only time to listen

never seeking shelter

but slides off somewhere every night

living by her own her lights

by her logic and on her wits

A modern crazy lady

seemingly not unhappy

but sometimes over-loud

creating an awkward nuisance

which passers-by would ignore

if only she did not make them feel

so much more uncomfortable

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

High Wire

High Wire

To step out into the void

The wire shivering as it takes the strain

Of my weight upon it

Is to walk into an unknown

An empty darkness

The first few paces of the downward stretch

Towards the disappearing centre

High above the watchers who hold their breath

Their eyes pinned upon my every tremble

Until I establish balance

An equilibrium of mind and body

The deadly drop beneath my out-stretched arms

Fingers tautly pointing

With limbered legs

And the distance to the hardened Earth

Are of no immediate concern

Nor any aid to concentration

The only point of focus

Being one foot in front of another

Eyes upon the destination

Crowds and lights both disappear

Into a faded emptiness

Below my fragile body

As it seems to float along the rope

Blood pumping in my ears

The silence of air

The clarity of perfect quiet

Alone above the world

Determined not to tumble

Into the arms of death below

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Old Lady

Old Lady

Under shady branches

Gnarled and knuckled

Scabbed and twisting

Lie windfalls softly cradled

Grass-cushioned in the dew

Bruised and slowly browning

In the morning-hazy sunshine

Sweet juices fermenting

Into heady cider

Intoxicating the lazy wasps

And the bickering blackbirds

Which feed upon the crop

Sipping at this late abundant nectar

Like a hobbled old lady

She leans slightly to one side

Her trunk bent beneath the weight

Of aged limbs

Of twigs and leaves and fruits

Weathered, wind-buffeted

Her bark rough and leathery

Skin rotted and cankered

Her shape crooked and disfigured

Diseased, hard and broken

By the passing seasons

Yet still the sap must rise within her

Re-awakened every Spring

To produce abundant blossom

Pulling in the pollinators

To create a canopy-full

Fertile with hard and heavy fruits

Of such acid sharpness

Silhouetted in her twilight years

Still fiercely rooted

She stands defiantly alone

Never part of any orchard

Crabbed in her corner of the garden

But still verdant, fruitful, useful

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Icarus About to Fall

Icarus About To Fall

How is it possible to climb

So far, so high, so clear

Into this acid-blue, cloudless sky

And to feel the warmth

Upon naked back and limbs

After so many years

Of cold confinement

Down there in the dark

With dearest Daedelus?

Who would not wish to flee

From an unjust captivity

Subject to Minos’ punishment

For earth-bound earlier sins?

Or desire to end the pain of a father

Whose cautious warning

Betrays his fractious fearfulness?

And how may mere wax and feathers

Fashion human wings

That may lift a sluggish body

Prising it from the clutching fingers

And heavy prisoning grip of Earth

To let it soar and glide

And fly, dazzled, towards Helios?

And why not tempt the gods

By reaching the height of eagles

Stretching sinews

Facing the blinding glare

Of solar brightness?

Or glance down towards the sea

To gain a glimpse of Paros, Delos

And Samos far below?

How close might one fly

To the hot, burning disc

That radiates its vital force

Before being forced to turn away

To avoid tumbling from the heavens

Falling headlong to a certain death

And perishing beneath the ocean spray?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 3rd May 2015

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 3^rd May 2015

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

1.       Bromham was in lock-down for most of yesterday when the woman who lives at the Big House on the High Street was rushed nearly 400 yards to Bromham Cottage Hospital’s private Bimbo Wing in order to have a baby. Buses had to be re-routed via the top field for a while, but the butcher’s shop remained open throughout the day.  Pork sausages remain on special offer till next Tuesday.

2.       As the climax to the Parish Council election reaches its climax on Thursday, when at least eleven people are expected to turn out to vote, party leaders Dave Wentwrong, Ted Willybanned, Dick Legge and Wat Farrago all made their last bids to woo the electorate to vote for their various shambolic parties.  Most voters are sincerely hoping for a ‘hung’ council, but in the event that any of the candidates survive the attempted lynching, are now busy drawing red lines across the streets of the village, lines in the sand, and lines of coke in the back room 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

Mermaid In Heaven

Mermaid in Heaven

‘Twas upon a stormy day that I chanced,

To walk the shore in thought deeply enrapt,

When I heard a pitiful sound of woe,

And saw a poor girl on the rocks, entrapped.

It was her fishy tail and scaly flukes,

As the waves on the rocks crashed all around,

The fins and a strong smell of haddock,

That revealed her watery background.

Her flowing hair it shone like seaweed,

And around her naked shoulders all arrayed,

She wore a long necklace of pearly shells:

And at once I knew she must be a mermaid.

I helped her to wriggle herself free,

And pulled her out on to the wind-swept strand.

That’s when I realised, in a sudden flash,

That what was in it for me - was sand.

There and then I plighted my troth,

In love I’d fallen – I had no real choice -

She was young, and beautiful and sexy:

It wasn’t by mere chance, but on porpoise.

But she was demure, and she was shy -

She resisted, and questioned my taste.

She said “it’s all very well up here on top,

But it’s all different below the waist.”

I said that it was just a red herring,

And that we’d soon learn to get along.

In the name of all that was coley,

Together, with cod’s help, we’d be strong.

And so it was that we were married,

By the sea-shore, with gentle lighting.

Her uncle Turbot gave the bride away,

And the darling girl was dressed in whiting.

Our friends thought we were too different,

And they said so, right from the start.

And the cats were always a bit suspicious,

Sniffing around her nethermost part.

But we embarked upon our married life,

We set up home and, as is often the rule,

Soon our little herrings came along -

No trouble getting them into school!

Of course we had a few differences,

For she’d been born as a marine being:

She couldn’t dance, was hopeless at football,

And it was pointless taking her skiing.

 But there were a few positive things too:

She swam by the side when we went on a cruise,

You never needed more salt in your food,

And she never went shopping for shoes.

Naturally we had a plaice of our own,

And, at first, we had a whale of a time,

But she began to spend more time in the bath,

And to dream of the salty sea’s rime.

Of course, it was all doomed not to last -

She developed a slow swimming motion.

The Dolphin shower just wasn’t enough,

And she began to pine for the ocean.

I knew that I could never stop her,

I couldn’t be such a Pollack, or so fake:

I had to let her eel her way back home -

You could say I did it for her own hake.

And so it was that we finally parted,

And she went back to her home in the sea.

It’s all left me quite badly affected,

And I don’t fancy fish and chips for my tea.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015