Fracking Hell

Fracking Hell

The search for cheap energy goes on,

A quest that’s certainly got my backing,

But now they’ve come up with a new wheeze,

That involves a fine process called fracking.

Now I’m not so sure this is a good ploy -

Bad consequences may come to pass,

As they begin to hack open the Earth,

In the relentless pursuit of cheap gas.

They dig down deep into the planet,

Seeking deposits that lie under the ground,

Pumping in chemicals under great pressure,

Forcing out the shale gas that they’ve found.

Now this scheme sounds too good to be true.

And there’s no environmental free ride -

There’s bound to be a cost to be paid somewhere,

And we should consider the possible down-side.

There’s arguments and evidence on both sides,

The scientists are not sure how they should guide us,

But the energy firms frack on regardless,

Of the strong feelings that divide us.

Cuadrilla seem to be riding rough-shod

Over protests, and giving no quarter,

But how do we know what goes on beneath?

And that they’re not polluting the water?

And what about earth-tremors we’re feeling?

Is it an earthquake they’ve left in their wake?

With their drilling, and splitting, and pumping,

Is it more than the geology can take?

And isn’t fossil fuels all over again?

Like the coal and oil story repeated,

Putting off the inevitable day,

When the resource will be finally depleted?

We can’t go on like this forever,

Stealing from future generations,

When the planet is finally exhausted,

And goes on to Emergency Stations.

  

No, I’m afraid that this fracking,

This cracking and hacking,

The future it’s hijacking,

And the gas that it’s ransacking,

Cannot continue.

It’s them, not the Earth, we should send packing,

The exploiters we should be sacking,

And looking what else we could do.

We must cease all the toil,

Going on under the soil,

Stop making the ground boil,

And the landscape to despoil.

This breaking and taking can’t last for ever:

Fracking’s just more exploitation.

I’m not sure what it’s doing to the planet,

But it’s clearly splitting the nation.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Afternoon in Imber

Afternoon In Imber

The path peters into nothing

Disappears into tangled undergrowth

Overgrown and testament to long neglect

Towards the shattered shells of houses

Their windows standing empty

Gouged eye-sockets stare unblinking

Towards the tiny church

Its dark, crumbling stones

Preserve still the fabric of a building

Its dark tower sheltering bells un-rung

No longer consecrated

Its congregation long departed

The sparseness of the village street

Deserted and unkempt

Eerily quiet in mid-afternoon

Once peopled long ago

Before the khaki-clad Army came

Ushering them quickly away

A forced evacuation

To leave a realistic playground

Where they could practice combat

Throw some ordnance around

Unopposed and unobserved

Deep within this hidden fold

Did we see the faces of the missing

Peering round the corner

Where the bakery used to stand?

And are there ghosts among the grass

Picking their way between the holes

Dug out by the detonations?

And are there any spirits here

Walking between the wire and the fences?

And are there any still alive

Of those displaced

Who remember Imber as it was

And might return one day

To dwell here once again?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Fatberg

Fatberg

We got the emergency call at night,

And we headed out there at first light

He’d said “there seems to be a blockage I think –

We were alerted by the terrible stink”.

Our brave men soon climbed under the ground,

And were frankly amazed at what they soon found:

The sewage had swelled up into a great ball,

Went right up to the ceiling and wall-to-wall.

It was the biggest obstruction we’d seen,

And to tackle it, nobody was keen.

It looked like the worst project from hell,

And that doesn’t even cover the smell.

We named it the fatberg – just for a joke -

But it weren’t funny when we started to poke,

To discover of what it was made,

And tried to dislodge it with a sharp spade.

It consisted of fat and congealed grease,

Then wetwipes and nappies were the next piece.

Sanitary towels was one of the thirds,

And the rest was an assortment of turds.

You see, people go to the loo in a rush,

And give not a care to whatever they flush.

It’s a general waste disposal can:

They tend to forget once it’s gone down the pan.

But I digress, for disposal was now the task.

How did we shift it? I’m hearing you ask.

Well, lend an ear and don’t be too gobby,

And I’ll tell you how we shifted that jobbie.

The thing was enormous that was for sure:

We had to get on top to effect a cure.

A man had to ascend, using crampons,

And ropes to clamber over the tampons.

We pulled and tugged it from the crown,

And even considered melting it down.

We used hammers and drills of all types,

And attacked it with axes and hosepipes.

The thing wouldn’t yield, resisted the assault.

We tried everything, but it wasn’t our fault,

And we realised the thing was stuck tight,

So then we resorted to dynamite.

  

It was only meant to be a small blast,

But once we’d started, the die it was cast.

We weren’t sure how far off we should walk,

But it was like a bottle blowing its cork.

You see the sewer’s narrow like a funnel,

So all of the debris shot down the tunnel.

We were in the way – that’s the truth of it;

Not surprising that we got covered in shit.

We were well messy, if you get my drift,

But at least it was in blocks we could shift.

As a workforce we looked sad and sorry,

But we loaded it all up on a lorry.

So next time you think you might go for a piss,

Listen closely and reflect upon this:

It’s a nice moral I think that you’ll find:

Out of sight ain’t the same as out of mind.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Zero Hour

Zero Hour

I’m the man that keeps the country going,

I’m a flexible little hero:

I work for every Corporation,

But my contract says only zero.

The company controls everything I do:

In fact they make my life impossibly hard.

I’d really like to argue with them,

But they’re holding every card.

They demand to command my loyalty,

And would like to have my gratitude,

But I need the minimum wage they’re paying,

If I’m to pay for fuel and food.

I stack your supermarket shelves,

With cornflakes, baked beans and cans of beer-o,

And many other things I can’t afford,

But they still treat me like a zero.

Shifts are week-to-week and month-to-month:

I never know when there’ll be some work -

I’ve no sick-time off and there’s a pay-freeze:

In fact they treat me like a jerk.

Some folks call it exploitation -

That’s only one expression I’ve heard.

They have all the powers over my hours,

So slavery’s probably a better word.

I get no holidays that are paid for,

But I’m meant to be of good cheer-o.

My open contract means I can be sacked:

I’m not a person, merely a zero.

I serve out your burgers and your fries,

Yet I’m usually totally ignored:

The smell of the grease will never cease -

All this for so little reward.

I can’t complain or blow the whistle,

They’d just turn round and laugh,

And next week there’d be no hours to work

I’d no longer be part of the staff.

I clean your offices all through the night,

Using chemicals – I’ve got all the gear-o:

That’s how I labour, me and my neighbour:

I’m just a resource, I’m just a zero.

   

There’s nowt I can do – it’s Catch-22,

And it eats away at your soul:

You just can’t beat The Company,

They’ve got me completely under control.

I’m no longer a person, I’m a mere cipher,

They’ve made my life a complete bitch:

They only call me when they want me,

As if I’ve got some sort of on/off switch.

It’s a bind or a devil’s bargain,

And I’m reduced to living in fear-o:

This is the curse of modern commerce -

No longer a human, but a mere zero.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Burger Anyone?

Burger Anyone?

Roll up, roll up, come see what they’ve got,

Come to the front and take up your seat -

It’s time for a taste of their new burger,

And to see if it’s anything like meat!

They’ve used the best of technology

To create this small in vitro patty.

Research in advanced forms of biology,

And the result, they think, looks quite natty.

It was all grown in the test-tube,

From a culture of harvested stem-cells.

They had a great pile, and kept them all sterile,

In a mix of antibiotics and gels.

And when they had enough to get hold of,

They added flavourings to give it some taste,

And colourings and other additives,

To produce a pink, soft-textured paste.

They moulded it and pressed it into its shape,

Until it was ready for them to bake:

Just the one, single burger, you know,

That cost two hundred thousand to make.

The problem is - it don’t seem too appetizing,

Which could be a bit of an issue -

They need to add some fat and some blood,

And a bit more connective tissue.

Nor does it look very attractive,

Despite all the science that’s occurred:

It’s small, and wrinkled and brown,

With every appearance of a small turd.

But they have to get over that drawback,

To produce something less dingy and curled,

And think of the nutritional benefits ,

If we are ever going to feed the World.

We’ve moved from science-fiction to fact,

But we have to think through its release,

Cos tho’ half the planet seems to be starving,

The other half seems to be obese.

Is technology really the answer here?

Don’t we need nation to speak unto nation?

To sort out production and distribution,

More than this Frankenstein creation?

  

Do we really want food that’s grown in a lab?

Is that really what we would wish?

By men in white coats with their clipboards,

Staring intently at a Petrie dish?

So next time you’re pining for protein,

And you’re panting for something that’s bovine,

Don’t be wishing away animals and farms -

Just think about how you’d like to dine.

Of course you can take a different track,

By doing something that’s novel and edgy:

Just give up eating meat altogether,

And accept it’s time to turn veggie.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Half-way There

Half-way There

I confess it brought me up short

When I was forced to stop

And think hard about it

But I suppose I should not have been surprised

That even at my modest middle age

I was more than half-way along

Beyond some unnoticed landmark

Some signpost in the fog

Already past the highest peak

And The Great Divide

How many more heartbeats

To pump the blood along?

How many more times to fill the lungs

Or exhale once again?

To blink, to dream, to sleep?

And is the onward journey

The steps that still remain

On a gentle downhill slope

Towards a comfortable night

Where I can take my rest?

Or more a rapid tumble downwards

A sudden undignified descent

Of a craggy hillside full of stones

Falling, tumbling ever-faster

Towards a sudden painful end?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

When I'm Runnin' Windows

When I’m Running Windows

Now I go runnin’ Windows

To earn an honest bob
For a home-based worker

It helps me in my job

Now it's a job that just suits me
But you’d be just as mad as me
If you could see what I can see
When I'm runnin’ Windows

The software runs at quite a dash
And it costs me lots of cash
But it always seems to crash
When I'm runnin' Windows

In my profession I'll work hard
And I'll never stop
I'll beat this blinkin’ system
Even if I have to drop

I’ve got my office up in the loft
It’s not the dust that makes me cough
It’s just me cursin’ Microsoft
When I'm runnin Windows

There’s some functions that I lack
Seems I need an upgrade pack
Think I’ll get myself a Mac
When I'm runnin’ Windows

The Operatin’ System’s poor
I’d like to show it to the door
Stop me rollin’ on the floor
When I'm runnin’ Windows

In my profession I'll work hard
And I'll never stop
I'll beat this blinkin’ system
Even if I have to drop

These programs I simply hates
And now I’ve lost all my mates
It’s all because of that Bill Gates
When I'm runnin' Windows

------ banjo ------

Outlook is built to tire us
No-one would ever hire us
Best way to spread a virus
When I'm runnin' Windows

Excel’s a bugger to run
It takes away all the fun
And the sums are never done
When I'm runnin' Windows

In my profession I'll work hard

And I'll never stop
I'll beat this blinkin’ system
Even if I have to drop

The software’s slow and not brisk
Why would I want to take the risk?
It might mangle my hard disk
When I'm runnin’ Windows

Now they’re sellin’ Windows Eight

It’s put me into quite a state

It’s the version I love to hate

When I’m runnin’ Windows!

When I'm runnin’ Windows

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017