PRAYING FOR A BUS
by Alun Buffry (1985, India)
We left Delhi 4 P.M. today
To Kathmandu by bus
But midnight whilst still on the way
We stopped without a fuss.
It had been quite a bumpy ride
Through places without names
The seating wasn't very wide
No sleep, it was a shame.
Half day upon this bus we are
Frying in the heat,
This is no delux bus by far
It is a lying cheat.
Another bus soon coming here,
Well. that is what we're told,
Exactly when is not made clear,
No Indian is that bold.
Then still we're waiting on the bus,
Later on that day,
A Foreign girl invited us
To come along and pray.
"We'll do some prayers and puja chants
And maybe sing a song,
If that don't work we'll maybe dance
And bus will come along."
The bus to Kathmandu we think
Will much improve our mood,
And on the way, perhaps a drink,
And then a plate of food.
"Oh bus! Oh bus! Show us your magic!
Come and save this day,
For this trip we're on's become quite tragic..."
Oh! Now we're on our way!
Monday, 30 September 2019
Rajasthan Desert Song by Alun Buffry, 1985
Rajasthan Desert Song
by
Alun Buffry
Lesley and I went down to Rajasthan
Desert, with Salima, a camel riding man.
Through a morning trotting on,
Just the sound of Salima's songs.
Peahens, crows and tinkle bells,
Crowds of men at water wells,
Telling tales of who-knows-what
While we're wishing it not so hot.
Stop for lunch, a shady tree,
Eat some vegetable chapatti,
Drinking some chai, hot and sweet
Try to avoid the deadly heat.
All around us golden sand,
Shrubs and cacti about this land.
"Be careful please, where you sit,
"Cos desert's full of camel shit."
by
Alun Buffry
Lesley and I went down to Rajasthan
Desert, with Salima, a camel riding man.
Through a morning trotting on,
Just the sound of Salima's songs.
Peahens, crows and tinkle bells,
Crowds of men at water wells,
Telling tales of who-knows-what
While we're wishing it not so hot.
Stop for lunch, a shady tree,
Eat some vegetable chapatti,
Drinking some chai, hot and sweet
Try to avoid the deadly heat.
All around us golden sand,
Shrubs and cacti about this land.
"Be careful please, where you sit,
"Cos desert's full of camel shit."
DIVISION: a poem by Alun Buffry, 1977
DIVISION
by
Alun Buffry (1977)
In this world, division
Makes one desire decision,
As if one were almighty God
Seeing all through mindless fog,
As if the choice we make is ours
To pick or simply smell the flowers,
Whether left or right to turn,
Whether to sleep, rest, play or learn.
Why can't we see that we are His,
He breathes,
He thinks
He moves
He lives.
by
Alun Buffry (1977)
In this world, division
Makes one desire decision,
As if one were almighty God
Seeing all through mindless fog,
As if the choice we make is ours
To pick or simply smell the flowers,
Whether left or right to turn,
Whether to sleep, rest, play or learn.
Why can't we see that we are His,
He breathes,
He thinks
He moves
He lives.
TRYING TO FLY AND WONDERING WHY: a poem from Veranassi, 1985
TRYING TO FLY AND WONDERING WHY
by Alun Buffry (1985)
Varanasi airport is quite a dump.
It's run by a man who is quite a chump.
Now we cannot board the plane,
Later we will miss our train.
Money flowing down the drain,
India Airways fucked my brain.
Seems the way here is to cheat,
So the system you can beat,
Just don't let them squash your feet,
Push for schedules try to keep.
"Baksheesh - don't say that word here sir,
"We're all paid well by Indian Air
"And you don't know the system here."
"Well I think it fucking weird!"
In India, it's different, so we're told,
Totally corrupt since times of old.
No problem sir, your seats been sold,
Paid in Karma but now with gold.
by Alun Buffry (1985)
Varanasi airport is quite a dump.
It's run by a man who is quite a chump.
Now we cannot board the plane,
Later we will miss our train.
Money flowing down the drain,
India Airways fucked my brain.
Seems the way here is to cheat,
So the system you can beat,
Just don't let them squash your feet,
Push for schedules try to keep.
"Baksheesh - don't say that word here sir,
"We're all paid well by Indian Air
"And you don't know the system here."
"Well I think it fucking weird!"
In India, it's different, so we're told,
Totally corrupt since times of old.
No problem sir, your seats been sold,
Paid in Karma but now with gold.
Annapurna For Sale, a poem from Nepal 1985
Annapurna For Sale
by Alun Buffry (Nepal, 1985)
The calm serenity of Annapurna
Sweeps lazily over the town Pokhara;
People here have more time to smile,
Occasionally to come chat a while.
"Namaste, hello, good morning" they say
Then to business or change money.
Still, at least themselves they try to keep,
Yet their starting price is steep
"American, French, where you from?"
Like the opening line of a Nepalese song,
Which they teach in their local schools,
To say to tourists who like fools,
Are parted from their cash to soon,
As "Better prices before afternoon,
Or "First business I make today with you,
"So if you like one, why not buy two?"
Whether beggars or hallsres or honest men,
Want dollars, pounds or even yen.
As much as mountains beautiful
WE all need a living our stomachs to fill.
"Here we are, no problem way of life,
"Is she your friend or is she wife?
"You want charas or marid-u-are-na,
"Opium, mushroom or brown sugar?"
"What you want buy?", so often heard,
As if just looking is absurd.
It would be good to walk one day,
Without these offers filling our way,
To absorb life's energy so obviously close,
But then that's part of it, I s'pose.
by Alun Buffry (Nepal, 1985)
The calm serenity of Annapurna
Sweeps lazily over the town Pokhara;
People here have more time to smile,
Occasionally to come chat a while.
"Namaste, hello, good morning" they say
Then to business or change money.
Still, at least themselves they try to keep,
Yet their starting price is steep
"American, French, where you from?"
Like the opening line of a Nepalese song,
Which they teach in their local schools,
To say to tourists who like fools,
Are parted from their cash to soon,
As "Better prices before afternoon,
Or "First business I make today with you,
"So if you like one, why not buy two?"
Whether beggars or hallsres or honest men,
Want dollars, pounds or even yen.
As much as mountains beautiful
WE all need a living our stomachs to fill.
"Here we are, no problem way of life,
"Is she your friend or is she wife?
"You want charas or marid-u-are-na,
"Opium, mushroom or brown sugar?"
"What you want buy?", so often heard,
As if just looking is absurd.
It would be good to walk one day,
Without these offers filling our way,
To absorb life's energy so obviously close,
But then that's part of it, I s'pose.
Monday, 16 September 2019
WAKING IN NEPAL a poem by Alun Buffry (1985)
WAKING IN NEPAL
by
Alun Buffry (1985)
Outside
Is a cloudy sky, bright sun between, a slight breeze,
The sound of one man chanting.
And all elsewhere a few notes on some type of magic flute -
A strange cacophony of bells and horns and clattering.
No two horns seem to sound the same.
A mother engine? sounds like a tractor - probably a bus!
Beep, beep, beep.
If I look out of the window I see tin rooftops,
Blimsen Tower, a glorious white standing before the blue;
And there - a temple, a pagoda, a woman sitting with washing lay out to dry,
Pigeons coo-ing, crows a-crowing, gardens growing,
Potted plants that people tend,
A bicycle rickshaw, a cow, a man with a bundle of wood on his head!
A cockerel crows as another motorbike passes 3 men trying to move a fridge,
Young girl, proud, staring into space,
Three boys rolling rubber wheels of glee amidst the rubble,
Whilst more look on admiringly.
Yet another dog - a tempo (three-wheeler) barking as two boys, hand-in-hand,
Laugh at a goat.
Cock crows, horns, far away mountainous silences
Surround the Monkey Temple,
Like a golden palace on the hill.
Behind - another hill.
Shame about the dusty haze.
by
Alun Buffry (1985)
Outside
Is a cloudy sky, bright sun between, a slight breeze,
The sound of one man chanting.
And all elsewhere a few notes on some type of magic flute -
A strange cacophony of bells and horns and clattering.
No two horns seem to sound the same.
A mother engine? sounds like a tractor - probably a bus!
Beep, beep, beep.
If I look out of the window I see tin rooftops,
Blimsen Tower, a glorious white standing before the blue;
And there - a temple, a pagoda, a woman sitting with washing lay out to dry,
Pigeons coo-ing, crows a-crowing, gardens growing,
Potted plants that people tend,
A bicycle rickshaw, a cow, a man with a bundle of wood on his head!
A cockerel crows as another motorbike passes 3 men trying to move a fridge,
Young girl, proud, staring into space,
Three boys rolling rubber wheels of glee amidst the rubble,
Whilst more look on admiringly.
Yet another dog - a tempo (three-wheeler) barking as two boys, hand-in-hand,
Laugh at a goat.
Cock crows, horns, far away mountainous silences
Surround the Monkey Temple,
Like a golden palace on the hill.
Behind - another hill.
Shame about the dusty haze.
Sunday, 15 September 2019
The Cell, a poem by Alun Buffry, Cardiff Prison 1991
The Cell
by Alun Buffry
The cell was cold, dark, empty and bare.
The walls screamed to themselves - there was nobody there.
The bars in the window stood firmly and strongly.
The cell was alone, rightly or wrongly.
The door to the cell was locked up tight.
It stayed that way all day and all night.
No-one came in to this lonely cell,
To make sure the walls and the windows were well.
The cell, itself, was just doing it's time.
It could have been your cell, or even mine.
It waited the years just doing it's best,
Wanting for little, but a prisoner guest.
One day, the door was opened, by a man with a key.
Even then this one cell never really felt free.
The warder looked in, said "Is all OK?",
Slammed the door shut and just went away.
But this cell was so lucky, if only it knew,
For amongst so many it was one of a few.
For thousands of others were imprisoning men,
Bleeding their hearts out, again and again
The cell next door, which was much the same,
One man inside it, I forget his name.
One night the cell door was finally banged.
Next morning the man was found to be hanged.
Cardiff Prison, 1991.
Time for Cannabis The Prison Years 1991 to 1995
by Alun Buffry
The cell was cold, dark, empty and bare.
The bars in the window stood firmly and strongly.
The cell was alone, rightly or wrongly.
The door to the cell was locked up tight.
It stayed that way all day and all night.
No-one came in to this lonely cell,
To make sure the walls and the windows were well.
The cell, itself, was just doing it's time.
It could have been your cell, or even mine.
It waited the years just doing it's best,
Wanting for little, but a prisoner guest.
One day, the door was opened, by a man with a key.
Even then this one cell never really felt free.
The warder looked in, said "Is all OK?",
Slammed the door shut and just went away.
But this cell was so lucky, if only it knew,
For amongst so many it was one of a few.
For thousands of others were imprisoning men,
Bleeding their hearts out, again and again
The cell next door, which was much the same,
One man inside it, I forget his name.
One night the cell door was finally banged.
Next morning the man was found to be hanged.
Cardiff Prison, 1991.
Time for Cannabis The Prison Years 1991 to 1995
Saturday, 14 September 2019
Join the legal fight for British patients to access medicinal cannabis
Lezley Gibson wrote:
I'm a long-term Multiple Sclerosis sufferer who successfully uses cannabis manage my condition. Yet, like thousands of other British patients, I've been unable to access medicinal cannabis through the NHS, even though it is legal and doctors agree it helps control my condition.
Now my family and I are being prosecuted for growing cannabis to manage my MS. This case isn't just about me. It's about fighting for better access to medicinal cannabis for all British patients who can benefit. Please join my legal challenge by contributing now and sharing this page with your friends, family and on social media.
Although struggling with poor health, I am determined to fight against this prosecution using a medical necessity defence and drive forward changes that will open up access to medicinal cannabis for British patients.
Case Background
In January 2019, Cumbria Police raided our house and seized 10 baby plants. I was charged with the possession and production of a class B drug. If found guilty I could face up to 14 years in prison – despite the fact that I have a UK prescription for medical cannabis to treat my MS.
When medicinal cannabis was legalised in Germany, patients there experienced similar barriers to obtaining cannabis-based medicines. Legal battles on home cultivation were key to transforming this situation - the court cases resulted in Germany's Medical Cannabis Law being passed in 2017, allowing all doctors to prescribe cannabis-based medicines and making it affordable through their healthcare system.
This court case has the potential to improve access to medicinal cannabis for British patients – but only if we can raise money enough for the legal costs.
Legal Challenge
I urgently needs to instruct a criminal defence and human rights legal team to help change the law and policy on medicinal use of cannabis.
I've got one chance to beat my prosecution. During my trial I am going to prove to the court that my use of cannabis was for medicinal reasons and that it was necessary for me to use cannabis in this way.
The law is not very sympathetic to my situation, but I hope to change the way that the law deals with medicinal use of cannabis through this trial. I believe this case has the potential to help lead to widespread patient access to medicinal cannabis in the UK and to the decimalisation of its medicinal use.
Polling shows that the public has no interest in criminalising and prosecuting patients who have been forced to resort to obtaining their medicine through illegal routes, because they are unable to legally fill their prescriptions in the UK.
Should we really be criminalising people for wanting to be well?
My prosecution represents a failure of the British political and healthcare system, rather than criminal behaviour on my part.
It highlights the logical incoherence and lack of compassion within current British law and practice on medicinal cannabis. Doctors, science, and British law recognise that medicinal cannabis can be helpful in managing and alleviating symptoms for Multiple Sclerosis sufferers, epilepsy, and other conditions such as chronic pain and nausea arising from chemotherapy.
I have a legal UK prescription for medicinal cannabis yet, along with thousands more British patients, I can't access my medicine via the NHS, or afford a private prescription costing over £1000 a month.
Ordinary British patients and families deserve fair and affordable access to medicines that allow them to best manage long-term health conditions and improve their quality of life.
How much am I raising and why?
My legal costs will cost a minimum of £30,000. If you care about fair access to lifechanging medicines in the UK, please donate what you can to fund an expert legal team in what could be a landmark court case for improving medicinal cannabis access for British patients.
I am back in court in early December and my trial begins shortly after, so we need to move fast.
Please contribute to help Lezley pay for the legal costs of fighting against criminalisation of the medicinal use of cannabis and for fair, affordable access to life-changing cannabis-based medicines in the UK for all British patients.
Thank you for you support.
RIVER ALIVE, a poem by Alun Buffry, Kashmir 1981
Whether we laugh, or whether we cry,
the river of life goes rushing by,
down the hills and mountain sides,
into valleys, long and wide,
towards the ocean that is its goal,
its journey travelled by our soul.
When I was but little boy,
the river rippled and dashed with joy,
and as I grew and longed to learn,
the river for the ocean yearned.
As young man travelled round the world,
the river twisted, turned and twirled,
eager to find its resting place,
eager to travel in time and space.
And as the seeking man grew older,
the river found the bigger boulders,
but on it travelled without care,
it knew its destiny's not there.
The rushing water's now quite slow,
the river old has nothing to show,
it's happiness is calm and deep,
as old man takes his final sleep.
The ocean that is never ending,
is to the sky its waters lending,
to rain again on mountain top,
to make sure life's rivers never stop.
The rivers message lies in this
Ocean of Mercy, Peace and Bliss
POSITIVITY, a poem by Alun Buffry, 2015
Always to be found in this the same place,
Throughout our universe of time and space,
On I will travel, at my own pace,
Can you now see it, in my face?
Never to question how or why,
Upon this earth I find I,
Content and amazed beneath earth's sky,
Yet soaring above white clouds on high.
Hidden within us there is a clue.
It looks like I, it looks like you
For once we were one and that is true,
Now one of so many amongst quite a few.
There is a Love, there is a Light,
Forget any guilt, ignore any fright,
Focus within on a wondrous sight,
The future is now and it's ever so Bright.
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