A Geoprosco Log
Posted: 29 Nov 2017, 18:11
The king’s palace shimmers in moonlight
on the escarpment at Kufra
holy place of the Senussi
A cooling wind drifts over the rig
it grumbles and shakes with each mournful rotation
drilling deep for meteoric water
Gaddafi plots his rebellion against Idris
fainéant ruler of his harem, date palms
and the succulence of Al Jawfa
I kill the drive motor, tie down the brake
and call my errant crew who loll and yawn
around camel-dung fires, sipping coffee
served from ornate pewter pots.
They respond slowly, annoyingly - stretch
before ambling over for the pipe-change.
Irritable, they display dissonance at news
of the American moon landing.
Earlier that day we watched as small
dots on the horizon grow by end of day
into men, Nubians from the Sudan
I release the brake, let the string fall
into the sandstone aquifer.
The water-brake slows the eighty ton string into
a steady descent. I thrill to the roar – the gush
of water shooting out to the cooling pond
My time is up, three months, enough.
I plan my trip home, longing to see wife
and little boy. Juniehs rattle into my account
like triple seven's on a slot machine.
End
*****
Cut out below
Harry, our camp boss, has fallen in love
with a Bedu boy, the cook’s assistant
But Cook, in licentious madness, drugs
and sodomises that sweet and charming Arab boy.
Traumatised, Harry, rightly, calls in the police
they take Cook away, beat him unmercifully
before allowing his return to cooking duties
He is a distressing sight, face coloured
with rainbow hues. He affects a grimace through
split lips,
You wanta drink Mr. Frank? Contrite he tries to
re-establish rapport, but we rather liked the
pretty Arab boy.
Harry’s woes increase
Bruno attacks a Bedu, he screams hysterically
I smile – such drama. The toolpusher get annoyed with me
It’s not funny, that’s the third this month!
The toolpusher loves the dog, although no one
owns Bruno, he arrived as a pup fifteen years ago
with some forgotten toolpusher. The dog identifies
with the rig, the caravans and its expatriate workforce
Bruno, cannot adjust to the new circumstances
he doesn’t understand he has new masters
Harry buys Bruno out of trouble
Harry’s troubles increase. My crew refuse to work
this morning no breakfast, rotten eggs. Harry
has been seduced by a supplier. A large bony man
excitable when pressed too far, he kicks the door open
when I tell him to get it sorted. Later he tries to sweeten
me up,
Move in with us, he tells me, such fun!
The police visit again, Harry is heard pleading
for the Nubians, he has taken to them. Seven foot
tall and wearing the loose colourful bisht - satisfies his
pantomime dreams. He pleads in vain. The police round
them up and dump on the invisible border. Harry presses
silver coins into their outstreched hands, a practice of the
British in India
Harry is in a state, the police have taken
Cook away, deported to the care of the Benghazi
garrison. Harry refuses to cook, our toolpusher gets
nasty, Harry obdurate
The geologist, a young man that Harry
took a dislike to and hounded for weeks
leaps at the chance to get even,
Sack the useless bastard! he shouts with rather too much pleasure
The toolpusher cocks-up the casing cementation.
Defective casing that leaks, we lose back pressure.
Cement descends to the bottom of the casing and
levels off. A sixty foot cement-seal instead of two
hundred - the strata are open to permeation
that may taint a thousand years of pure water
A large American oil company is paying for this
venture out of their Libyan profits, for drilling
water wells, that will feed the alfalfa fields.
We are warned to say nowt.
on the escarpment at Kufra
holy place of the Senussi
A cooling wind drifts over the rig
it grumbles and shakes with each mournful rotation
drilling deep for meteoric water
Gaddafi plots his rebellion against Idris
fainéant ruler of his harem, date palms
and the succulence of Al Jawfa
I kill the drive motor, tie down the brake
and call my errant crew who loll and yawn
around camel-dung fires, sipping coffee
served from ornate pewter pots.
They respond slowly, annoyingly - stretch
before ambling over for the pipe-change.
Irritable, they display dissonance at news
of the American moon landing.
Earlier that day we watched as small
dots on the horizon grow by end of day
into men, Nubians from the Sudan
I release the brake, let the string fall
into the sandstone aquifer.
The water-brake slows the eighty ton string into
a steady descent. I thrill to the roar – the gush
of water shooting out to the cooling pond
My time is up, three months, enough.
I plan my trip home, longing to see wife
and little boy. Juniehs rattle into my account
like triple seven's on a slot machine.
End
*****
Cut out below
Harry, our camp boss, has fallen in love
with a Bedu boy, the cook’s assistant
But Cook, in licentious madness, drugs
and sodomises that sweet and charming Arab boy.
Traumatised, Harry, rightly, calls in the police
they take Cook away, beat him unmercifully
before allowing his return to cooking duties
He is a distressing sight, face coloured
with rainbow hues. He affects a grimace through
split lips,
You wanta drink Mr. Frank? Contrite he tries to
re-establish rapport, but we rather liked the
pretty Arab boy.
Harry’s woes increase
Bruno attacks a Bedu, he screams hysterically
I smile – such drama. The toolpusher get annoyed with me
It’s not funny, that’s the third this month!
The toolpusher loves the dog, although no one
owns Bruno, he arrived as a pup fifteen years ago
with some forgotten toolpusher. The dog identifies
with the rig, the caravans and its expatriate workforce
Bruno, cannot adjust to the new circumstances
he doesn’t understand he has new masters
Harry buys Bruno out of trouble
Harry’s troubles increase. My crew refuse to work
this morning no breakfast, rotten eggs. Harry
has been seduced by a supplier. A large bony man
excitable when pressed too far, he kicks the door open
when I tell him to get it sorted. Later he tries to sweeten
me up,
Move in with us, he tells me, such fun!
The police visit again, Harry is heard pleading
for the Nubians, he has taken to them. Seven foot
tall and wearing the loose colourful bisht - satisfies his
pantomime dreams. He pleads in vain. The police round
them up and dump on the invisible border. Harry presses
silver coins into their outstreched hands, a practice of the
British in India
Harry is in a state, the police have taken
Cook away, deported to the care of the Benghazi
garrison. Harry refuses to cook, our toolpusher gets
nasty, Harry obdurate
The geologist, a young man that Harry
took a dislike to and hounded for weeks
leaps at the chance to get even,
Sack the useless bastard! he shouts with rather too much pleasure
The toolpusher cocks-up the casing cementation.
Defective casing that leaks, we lose back pressure.
Cement descends to the bottom of the casing and
levels off. A sixty foot cement-seal instead of two
hundred - the strata are open to permeation
that may taint a thousand years of pure water
A large American oil company is paying for this
venture out of their Libyan profits, for drilling
water wells, that will feed the alfalfa fields.
We are warned to say nowt.