Hare

Hare

Tramping through the muddy field

Cropped corn-stalks crackle underfoot

Scrape and scratch the boots of many walkers

An advancing army of legs

And pounding tired feet

Which threaten a heavy beating

Of the shallow cover where he lies hidden

Still hoping to evade detection

When, at the very last second

His guile gives way to fear

And in a sudden scrambling and scrabbling

A blur of flashing, dashing action

A scurry of noise and commotion

And flurry of brown and grey and white

An exploding ball of energy

He darts away in unheeding panic

Springing, leaping, bounding from his hide

Escaping into the wide-open spaces

And the freedom of the field’s-length

At full speed, ears pinned back

And in seconds is a furlong far away

Where he can stop to pant

Rest his bursting lungs

And pounding tiny heart

Turning to regard us, wild-eyed

From the safety

Of his distant vantage point

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Loose Ends

Loose Ends

I followed where you led me

and read through many chapters

towards the intended ending

which you had prepared so carefully for me

All those significant hints

and deliberately-dropped clues

pointing towards an obvious conclusion

But there was no proper resolution

nor any final denouement

and when the central character

who had held my attention

for hundreds of pages

suddenly disappeared

without warning or any explanation

And the circumstances of the story petered out

it meant leaving many lines of dialogue unspoken

actions un-done, starts un-finished

and what had been built up so far

as merely an un-completed novella

You left the plot-lines unresolved

and the warmest trails to cool

and a door not quite closed, but left ajar

where someone just went out

but never came back in again

You raised my expectations

but did not meet them

you let my hopes come to nothing

for there was to be no neat ending

and what had seemed important once

became a mess of un-connected details

which made no sense at all

The ship did not come in

The wrong people won

There were no just desserts

Just an empty feeling

open, vague, unclear

of waiting, wondering

what might have happened

to tie up all those loose ends

If only the last few pages of our story

had not been missing

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

A Man No Longer Walking

A Man No Longer Walking

Always there, come rain or shine

Rambling in all weathers

Part of the weekly group

And known to all

Sometimes at the front

Foraging through the footpaths

Sometimes at the rear

Making heavy work

Of climbing over stiles

Or pulling up the final hill

But doing very well

For a man of advanced years

And a long list of medical problems

Appearing hale and hearty

Yet the oldest in the group

Ready to lead or to follow

Boots cleaned anew every time

Gnarled stick in hand

Water bottle in the rucksack

He has no need of maps

Having lived here all his life

And knowing all the pathways

Like the back of his veiny hand

Suddenly a change

And he’s no longer here

Missing at short notice

And a space develops

Between the conversations

Taken away at midnight

A man no longer walking

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 8th January 2017

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 8^th January 2017

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

                                                        

1.       Awkward news for the Parish Council this week when Bromham’s representative at the Wiltshire Council resigned, firing off a critical public memo as he left his post.  He accused the Parish Council of not having a clear plan for leaving Wiltshire (Wexit), and warned his staff to continue to challenge “woolly thinking”, particularly when it came to sheep quotas.

2.       Industrial (in)action came to Bromham this week in the shape of a transport strike.  Members of the Association of Rural Steam Enterprises (ARSE) have decided to work to rule over a safety dispute.  This involves a row over whether the driver or his mate should be the one to close the tractor cabin door before ploughing starts.  This means that fields will not be ploughed except on alternate days in January. Intervention by the Bromham Union of Mechanics (BUM) has not assisted resolution of the dispute.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

The Battle Ahead

The Battle Ahead

Yet another day to get through:

It’s the only way they can be sure -

There’s always more equipment,

And relentless training to endure.

They look around and watch the other men,

See determination in their eyes.

They’re focused on what they’re doing,

Just a bunch of regular guys.

The trainers shout encouragement,

There’s no let-up in the toil and sweat.

They’ve got to keep on making progress,

For there’s the daily targets to be met.

Every man here has his reasons,

Knows he’s got to do what’s right,

For he’s got to be prepared,

And ready for the coming fight.

Out there, it’s going to be relentless:

No-one will have time to wait for you.

They’ll have to be fit and healthy,

If they’re to have any chance to pull through.

There’ll come a time when they are on their own,

Even though their body’s wracked with pain.

They’ll need to look out for what’s coming,

And pick themselves up, time and time again.

For the battle has moved along now:

And it’s not in foreign fields they roam,

But right back here in Britain,

In the place that will soon be home.

The enemy has changed in nature:

It’s not unseen men with explosives.

The fight’s all about understanding,

Against an apathy that’s become corrosive.

Overcoming injury and debility,

Working circuits round the floor,

The rehabilitation seems endless:

A soldier’s never-ending war.

Life will surely change for the worse -

Even getting around is far from fun.

Missing limbs and other wounds,

Means carrying a stick, no longer a gun.

Discomfort, agony and pain,

The wounds, the stitches and the cuts –

It’ll take bravery and persistence,

And more than a fair share of guts.

Medical staff are the ones giving the orders,

They’re the guys to be obeyed.

Though “Operating Theatre” means something else,

There’s still good reasons to be afraid.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

God Throws In The Towel

God Throws In The Towel

Come and listen to me, you sinners,

And I’ll tell you this for beginners -

Here’s a situation without any winners.

You lot never listen, so here’s a prod -

I’m getting fed-up of sitting here on me tod,

So I’ve decided to jack it all in as Lord God.

It’s a big vacancy that I’ll be freeing,

Cause it’s ever so tiring being all-seeing,

To say nothing of acting the Supreme Being.

I was a Creator once, at a previous stage,

But now I’m approaching an advanced age,

And it’s unrewarding, never receiving a wage.

For all eternity I’ve been celibate:

It’s been lonely up here with no mate,

Apart from that slip-up with Mary on our last date.

The Devil’s buggered off, now Ratzinger’s gone:

There’s no interest in what I get up to – none!

So just what’s the point of carrying on?

You might think it’s a doddle being divine,

But it’s boring, and not everything’s fine,

And that’s why I’ve decided to resign.

I’m leaving Heaven, I’m deserting that town,

So there’s no use wearing that frown:

From the end of next month I’m stepping down.

Creation all started off so well, I guess,

Then it all went badly downhill, I confess,

Now look at it all – what a bloody mess!

It’s all falling apart – the centre cannot hold:

It needs someone younger, a divinity more bold,

Or maybe I’m just getting too old?

I’m the Ancient Of Days, and I’m tired,

And, though I know I can never be fired,

I think a new guy should be interviewed and hired.

Anyway, I think it would be for the best,

Cos by now you’ve probably guessed,

Frankly – I’ve completely lost interest!

So it’s all over, and enough is enough.

Finding a new Father might be quite rough,

But that’s your bloody problem now – tough!

I hate to be leaving you all in the lurch,

But I’m totally hacked off with the Church,

So for a successor you’ll need to get on with the search.

Just one piece of advice, I say with a great howl:

I know that I’m the one throwing in the towel,

But for My sake, please don’t get Simon Cowell!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Passed Over Again

Passed Over Again

I’ve waited in all day, pacing up and down,

Hoping that the telephone would ring,

That some flunkey from Buckingham palace

Some long-expected news would bring.

I’d counted on a proper letter at first,

Coming through Her Majesty’s Royal Mail:

Cream envelope, thick embossed writing -

But that route appears to have failed.

Morning after morning, nothing on the mat,

Time getting short as we come up to the date,

Perhaps lost in the post or delivered elsewhere,

I’m on tenterhooks to discover my fate.

After all - I am a firm monarchist,

A believer in our great constitution,

And I’ve been a good chap now for long enough,

So it’s time to recognise my contribution.

For outstanding services to my country,

I’m wondering what my honour will be:

So many types and levels to choose from -

Might it be an OBE or MBE?

I can just see my name up on the list,

You see, I’ve always fancied a knight-hood:

Some sort of title would distinguish me -

“Sir Andy Fawthrop” will look pretty good.

But there is no point printing new stationery,

Nor ordering any new business cards,

Until we’ve settled on the right handle,

Then I’ll be a knight amongst bards!

I can see me going to the palace,

For my investiture with the Queen,

Then photos outside with the medal,

My face all over the press will be seen.

I’ll be gently famous and renowned,

I’ll sign autographs whenever I‘m able,

And merely mentioning my name,

Will secure any restaurant table.

And people will whisper reverently,

When my personage is passing them by,

Speaking of my modest achievements,

And asking themselves the main question: Why?

  

I mean, obviously, why not them?

Well – honours are reserved for the cream!

If they just gave them to everyone,

How do you think that that would seem?

…..But hang on a second – what’s just happened?

The full list’s been announced on the BBC!

There’s nothing in there for services to poetry -

There’s to be no Honour for me!

Surely there’s been some mistake?

It seems, yet again, I’ve been overlooked,

I’ve been looking forward all over Christmas,

But now it seems my goose has been cooked.

Of course I’m not bitter – how could I be?

It’s an anachronistic system of State,

Discredited rewards for old cronies!

I wouldn’t want one of those, mate!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017