Night Flight

Night flight...

Luna’s shadow glides over the globe, silent and black as a phantom panther. The silver bird thunders along the runway and leaps, roaring, at the glow where conquering night swallows embers of the deposed sun.

Engines scream as the jet spins, full throttle, into the Great Circle, ripping up charted miles in a desperate dash to escape the terrors of the night. Darkness, black as Satan’s lum, rolls over the wild Atlantic, enshrouding all in a raven cloak. The plane, racing for the retreating light, forever butts into the relentless headwind.

The old man in 3c ponders, dozing, over his brief-role in the unending earthly drama. Sensing the unstoppable shadow speeding over the vast Americas, casting its sleep-spell over the wilting ground, he shivers at the chill of the unknown.

Suddenly the man is aware of a dazzling light stirring the hordes of Asia, infusing all with energy and life. Brilliant brightness illuminates the earth, searing away the tar-black stain and banishing the fears of night.

At peace now, the man drifts, smiling, into slumber...

 

                        Empires

Triremes of Claudius go speeding out of Gaul,
charged with taming Albion, enigmatic queen,
then civilise and modernise
with unity and roads,
to leave a lasting legacy where Rome has been.

Bold privateers of Devon, harnessing the wind:
Buccaneers with cutlasses plunder Spanish pelf
then bequeath the world a language,
democracy and law,
bonding scattered people in a vast Commonwealth.

Bureaucrats of Brussels, inept scions of Rome,
with bloated pay and pension cosseting a life
of bumbledom and jargon
in quangos that cascade
unedifying orders, sowing seeds of strife.

Charlie Gregory
Cardiff 2014

January Blues

Christmas is over and done.

The past belongs to the dead.

A bright new age has begun.

Fresh plans evolve in my head.

Do what the hell I may choose –

then... damn! January blues.

The wind blows chill off the sea.

So what? For the year is mine.

Mud in the pool on the lea...

gold in the dream down the line.

Solace is found in the muse,

then... damn! January blues.

News is all chaos and hell,

buffeting gale in the streets,

winter is casting a spell,

rain covers the town in sheets.

But hey, I’ll go on a cruise,

then... damn! January blues.

Next year, things could be better,

future is bright, so they say.

Plan, then play by the letter.

Like wise men, live for the day.

Positive folk never lose,

then... damn! January blues.

Memories of an old army friend, recently called to the Last Post

Gary and Me

There’s marching and shouting and crunching of boots,
with men slapping rifles and cursing recruits;
we’re running and drilling from morning ‘til night,
go like a mad goat and get fit for the fight.
Now down to the pub for a laugh and a shout,
for a lark with your mates is what it’s about.
We soldier together, do Gary and me.

They teach us to shoot and to eavesdrop and spy,
and then send us abroad to give it a try.
They shut us in camp for long months at a time,
attempts at escape are a locking-up crime.
We crawl through the wire in the black of the night,
and leg into town for the Turkish delight.
We buck it together, do Gary and me.

Now, sleepless and angry, the boss does his rounds.
A voice in his head tells him, “Two out of bounds!”
But we’ve shuffled our beds with some of the crew...
He sees someone there but he doesn’t know who.
Come fire or come water, we both find a way
of having a laugh at the end of the day.
Always one-step ahead, that’s Gary and me.

EOKA and Suez drift in with the tide,
but Gary and me take it all in our stride.
For I-corps and Signals and GCHQ,
we track Arab kings and the Gypo aircrew;
get a grunt from the boss and, “Thank you,” from Ike,
who waves a big stick from an invalid trike.
We work hard and play hard, do Gary and me.

No matter how precious, all stories must end,
but the gift in the theme is finding a friend.
Now Gary’s moved on to the misty Last Post
I’ll bring up the rear while he’s clearing the coast.
Then, heads put together, we’ll suss the place out;
if we don’t like the vibes, then be in no doubt,
we’ll just crawl through the wire, will Gary and me.

Charlie Gregory
December 2013