The Checkpoint - Some D of E Poetry Nonsense

A bit of poetry nonsense from a day in the life of a Duke of Edinburgh’s Award expedition trainer. I’m sure a few folk can relate to some of the scenarios...

Checkpoint Charlie - He sits.... He Waits....

The Checkpoint - Expedition Hunting

Are they lost? Got blistered feet?

They’re not here; where we said we’d meet.

They’re out there somewhere, roaming free,

On expedition; D of E.

At least they’ve got their wits and brains,

And waterproofs, in case it rains.

60 litres on their back, I saw them last on the right track,

But somewhere up on moor and dale; suspect a navigation fail.

The checkpoint time has now expired, 

Perhaps they’re slow, and feeling tired?

Maybe, they took another path, or stopped to play and have a laugh?

I’m sat left here, all alone; check reception on my phone,

Look at map, to estimate, how long to let them choose their fate?

Did they carry on, through field and farm, which led them into untold harm?

Imagination free to roam, why are there ‘no bars’ on my phone?

Perhaps, I’ll get a little text - grid reference, if you please?

To help me work out where they are, and set my mind at ease.

I’d better go and search them out; I can’t sit here forever,

They’ve no doubt set off, on some sort, of short-cutting endeavour.

They’re all well trained to navigate, 

And know the rules for shutting gate.

In theory, yes, they’ll all be grand, 

And soon appear across the land.

If not I’ll have to search for views,

Via minibus and running shoes.

And point them towards tonight’s camp,

With muddy feet and socks all damp.

Then campsite must be risk assessed,

For untold hidden dangers;

Lighters, knives and hygiene things or lurking creepy strangers.

The culinary skill display, is something quite fantastic; 

Who knew a fork would melt so quick, especially as it’s plastic?

Can they light a stove? Oh yes they can,

Then burn the pasta to the pan,

‘I think it’s cooked?’ An obvious question, 

But at least the charcoal aids digestion

A meal of sorts is served up quick; of dubious nutrition,

And polished off while vaguely warm, and without hesitation. 

Then off to bed; exhaustion hits (and I’m talking, about me),

The group can party on till late, feeling worry free!

Good night campers....

I.Martin.
On patrol at Checkpoint 3...