Gladiators - John Carré Buchanan

Channel 4 have been running a superb advertisement for the 2012 London Paralympics which start tomorrow. The advertisement is based upon the fact that the British Paralympic athletes are superhuman. Think about it; just for a few seconds please stop reading and think about it;

These people have a struggle to do things many take for granted, things such as; getting dressed, traveling to and from work, even mundane things like having a bath or going to the loo and that is before they start training. Each of them has adapted to, and overcome their personal difficulties and then gone further and learnt to compete at the very top of their chosen sports. This takes guts, determination and a singular focus on their goals.

These people are truly inspirational. In my eyes, the eyes of someone who finds just getting to tomorrow a struggle, they are magnificent, and yes they are in every sense of the word, Superhuman. My poem is dedicated to all of the Paralympians representing Great Britain, Go Team GB.

Gladiators - John Carré Buchanan

They stand proud.
Clothed in national colours
they form one body,
and that body exudes confidence.
The smiles on their faces betray them!
For these are smiles that know;
‘I can – I will’ and ‘I have’.

This knowledge;
born of unfathomable hardship
underpins all.
True - carbon fibre, plastics and alloys,
support bone, flesh and blood
but all are useless
without the knowledge.

So believe, British Gladiators,
believe and be proud.
And I will stand behind you
with a Nation that believes in -
and is proud of - you.

John Carré Buchanan

A Seagull's Prayer - Fred Brown

Footsteps fade on the sand runway
Through moon flight control and the tidal phase

Feathers shed from wayward courses
To new heights on the back of white horses

Spiralling round on thermals to heaven
Shores below left for dusk to redden

Crying laughter at the top of my voice
Till the oceans whisper without choice

Sail through me till my soul sings
With sunbeam wind-chimes under my wings

Breathe fluency into each wing flap
Till I soar with you over each mishap

Above dead suns, pink ice-sheets melting
Beyond bloated mountains, rainclouds pelting

To leave no trail of where I have flown
To let parted clouds be re-sewn

To lose trodden seashells to the tide
To live the rest of my life wide-eyed

Footsteps fade on the sand runway
Clear for landing on a brand new day

Fred Brown

Cheesy Metaphors About Life - Fred Brown

Cheesy metaphors about life.
They might smell bad but they taste quite nice.
What you're about to hear may smell so wrong
But try and taste honestly through the pong.

Time is like swiss cheese, some say holy
And gobbled up quick like guacamole.
Use it most on your favourite dishes
To satisfy your hungriest wishes.

Some folks like tomato sauce
With everything from dessert to main course.
Others eat fish eggs on their motorbike -
Whatever you want! Whatever you like!

Think of a day like a cafe venue.
Each minute reads like a fancy menu.
Italian, Mexican or Chinese
There's time to try all delicacies.

You can fill each year from sea to sky
With a chocolate life-time supply.
Or Take 1 second and wrap it up
To savour like a Chupa Chup.

After you've eaten, how much will you tip?
Are you grateful for the taste on your lips?
Try to imagine when there's no more to eat -
Are you happy with the window seat?

If you look at an ocean full of salt
And can only see its fishy faults
Then I'd say you haven't got it.
There's a skeleton in your food closet.

But if you can spread honey on your hell-burnt toast
And give all your bananas to the chimp hurt most,
Then I'd say you're halfway there.
The stars are like sprinkles in the air.

Try eating a bowl of cereal.
Life's like that but more funereal.
Before you reach the bottom don't forget
That what you give is what you get.

Most people on this fruitful Earth
Will have their share of daily bread dearths.
It's hard to realise picnic baskets
In things hard to swallow like woe and caskets.

So when it's raining, try a cup.
It could quench your soul when next fed up.
When thunder's rumbling in your belly,
Welcome it like a wobbly jelly.

Hearts that grow cold, empty and rigid,
Are similar in description to new fridges.
Try some salad in there, baby milk or butter.
Hearts can find purpose with healthier clutter.

Being kind and being nice
Should be as common as plain white rice.
If you understand your neighbour's diet
It decreases the chance of a food fight riot.

And being right or being the best
Is not as important as feeding a guest.
If my tongue is bitter, give me a mint!
At least when I talk my breath won't stink.

Digesting this poem could be flabbergasting.
But a good cheese is often everlasting.
If you leave it for a while on the shelf, don't worry.
I'm quite the fussy eater myself. Sorry!

Fred Brown

Mr. Brown - Pearl White Regan

Image Mr. Brown by Pearl White Regan

Mr. Brown - Pearl White Regan

In January I dropped a box
when shopping in the Town,
a man returned it to my arms
and I met Mr Brown.

‘Twas February quite near the end,
that we both met again;
We dashed to the same dry doorway
to shelter from the rain.

The March winds didn’t stop us
from meeting when we could,
we walked, and talked, and laughed a lot
the way that true friends should.

Then in the April showers
we ran across the sand,
and when the Sun was setting
we held each other’s hand.

May was quite exciting
we saw each other more,
He showed me lots of lovely scenes
I hadn’t seen before.

But June was quite the nicest month
the Sun was shining down,
When in a gown of sparking white
I married Mr. Brown.

Pearl White Regan

Reality - Julie Gallienne

Hearts of stone
cracked open
Feelings flood in
unwanted thoughts and emotions.
No place to hide
head on colision
with reality.
Reaching out for help
with fingers clawing
at snippets of hope.
Life's blows
pull the rug from our feet
leaving vunerable exposure
for the world to see.
Tears can't always be hidden
from prying eyes
anymore than the truth
can be hidden by lies.
Take time to notice
those in need
for they can't always ask
or be lowered to plead.
Just a look
or a smile
can change a perspective
in the blink of an eye.

Julie Gallienne

Diets - Julie Gallienne

Is it a sin
or a guilty pleasure
to cheat on a diet you seem to have been on forever?
Deprived of the foods
we believe we deserve
is it any wonder
we head for defeat?
Intentions declared
with enthusiasm
we head
the well followed path
that many tread.
Some have succeded
where many have failed
held up as examples
they have willpower nailed.
A beautiful body
is the prize to be won
but the race we are running
can never be fun.

Julie Gallienne

As One Day Ends - D.B. Morst

Day’s end and a simmering sun
Almost spent, hangs close to the horizon
Warm and weary and ready to slip
Into the respite of the salty salve
Whose fluid body
Rises and falls in alluring rhythm.
Breathing, sighing
Lying flat then arching up
White crests reaching like outstretched fingers
Seeking out the pulsing heat
Ebbing, flowing
Each wave growing ever closer with the beat
Swelling, churning
Sun still burning
Raging hard with yearning
Inching fast towards the edge
Water heaving
Climbing, pleading
‘Till Laws of Nature triumph
And solar embers pierce the silky skin
Plunging, sinking deep within
An almost audible hiss
An emerald roller collapses – shattering!
Scattering diamonds across the golden bed.

The light quickly fades
With the sea now full of the molten sun
A backdrop of stars is lowered quietly
And a cool breeze blows through your hair.
As the throbbing waves calm into gentle ripples
And we drift together on the turning tide
My heart is full with thoughts of sunrise.

D.B. Morst

As We Travel Through Life - Julie Gallienne

God and Spirit
angels too
please listen when
we pray to you.
Bless our children
form above
bestow on them
all your love.
Sprinkle angel dust
in their eyes
to help them see the truth
not lies.
Show them the path
to follow
so their lives are fulfilled
not hollow.
Guardian angels
stay by their side
be there when needed
to rescue and guide.
As their lives progress
let choices unfold
a journey of adventure
a story to be told.
S o from the moment of birth
till the passing to spirit
live life to the full
don't waste a minute.

Julie Gallienne

The Children's Forest of Cortes - Andrew Barham

Image By Andrew Barham

The Children's Forest of Cortes - Andrew Barham

Mushrooms emerging from thick moss
Or pushing through the darkened duff,
Sunlight slanting through the coniferous canopy
Until the hoary moss coating the cedar's branches
Glows golden through the massy filaments;

Spiders silk, fine filaments of light
Strung between the trees, or,
Orbs suspended between their branches,
Cobwebs running their length –

To see Sitka Spruce sidling up to Douglas Fir
In a forest where Arbutus pokes out
Above the waters of lagoons
And sheltered bays …

Artists amongst the trees transfigured
As they in turn are transformed by the forest
Alive with the light and the voices of children
Emerging like the fungi from the humic soil –
Indian Pipe – but whiter than I've ever seen it before,
And each sepal and petal tipped
With intense carmine, like no other Monotropa;

I was fooled by this unusual display
Of unaccustomed colour: Could it be
An Allotropa instead? But no:

This unlikely plant emerging everywhere
Bears its flowers singly atop its thickened stems;
Yet candy-striped it appears to be;
A flower of Christmas colour coming up
In the blazing August sunshine of High Summer …

Candy-coloured flowers and stems –
What more could one ask
Of a Children's Forest?

Andrew Barham

Time to live again - Tony Robert

How did all this happen? You sometimes sit and ponder.
Your life’s been turned upside down, is it any wonder?

You want to start your life again, to leave the past behind
So many loose ends to tie up, many new joys to find

You’ve so many memories, some happy, some so sad
You can’t seem to forget them, some good, some so bad

You always do what’s best for everyone and leave yourself ‘til last
Time to put yourself first, instead of living in the past

You must start to look forward now, grab the chance with both hands
There’s happiness for you right now, time for dreams and plans

You must be brave, you must be strong
Go for it, you can’t go wrong

Time for positive thinking, put aside those doubts and fears
Time for smiling and happy thoughts, forget the pain and tears

You can do it; you’ve got yourself through it
Time to live again

Tony Robert

Four Years On - John Carré Buchanan

Four years ago today I was knocked from my bicycle on the way to work. This poem describes where four years of working with a specialist pain management team, my family and friends has bought me. My biggest achievements being becoming a Christian, starting the Guernsey Chronic Pain Support Group and creating two poetry blogs Guernsey Poets and Poet at Jaybern.

Thank you for supporting me in this endeavour.

Four Years On - John Carré Buchanan

The memory is not important
Screech of breaks, shattered glass,
burst of fear, anger, pain;
that is how it started,
she just pulled out.

The loss that’s what truly counts
Feet pound along beautiful cliff paths,
bicycles, kayaks, water skis;
that’s what was lost,
everything I enjoyed.

No, It’s deeper, much worse
The essence of everything loved
Wife, Children, Friends, Job;
all of them suffer,
Torn asunder, shredded.

Self image, destroyed, hated
unimaginable pain, imaginable,
insomnia, tears, vomit;
these unwanted parasites,
devour all joy, never cease.

Every day, a new battle
continuous cycle of pain management,
exercise, therapy, stretches, drugs;
just to stay stable,
the gradual decline evident.

The one desire, end it, end it all
screech of brakes, shattered lives,
pain, despair, guilt;
tortured soul
fight, don’t quit, pray.

Put cares aside, trust the Lord,
true friends lend shoulders and listen,
plan, strive, achieve;
Four years on,
Pain worse, but hanging in.

John Carré Buchanan

The Flu - Jenny Hamon

I’m lying in bed
I’ve got the flu
Don’t want to get up
To go to the loo!

Every bone is aching
My head feels on fire
Oh why do I feel
Like I’m in the mire?

Oh how can I lay here
When there are jobs still to do
The dog needs a walk
And a meal to cook too.

Life just carries on
Even though it is tough
To just keep going
(Stop the world. I’ll get off)

I visit the Doctor
Now easier than said
He says just drink water
And go home to bed

I lay there in peace
And feel the warmth of my bed
I hope soon I’ll feel better
No more pain in my head

The only advantage
Of staying at home
Is that the Olympics are on
So why should I moan?

I have all the time
To watch the athletes compete
While I curl up
In my comfy seat.

I’ve followed the rules
And my temperature’s down
I’m starting to smile,
No continual frown

I wake up feeling good
I’m free from the pain
Good morning World
I feel human again!

Jenny Hamon

Eulogy For A Bat - Kathy Figueroa

A wisp of dusk, personified
Or should I say, 'animalified'
It grieves me, Bat
That you have died
A blight wracked your tiny body
Slight and brown
Stopped your flight
And struck you down
I wondered why
Not long ago
When the ground
Was cloaked with snow
As I looked outside
Late at night
I saw you swoop by
The electric light
"What could it possibly
Find to eat, now?"
Was on my mind
How could a bug
It hope to find
When all was frozen
White and still
I know now, Bat
That you were ill
In the shelter where
You were housed
To winters chill
You were roused
Then, in search of food
You left the safety
Of your home
Because of a plague called
'White Nose Syndrome'
This pestilential disease
Caused you to awaken
..Then starve.. then freeze..
So, sadly, your life was taken
You had great worth
In the grand scheme of things
As you flew over this earth
With fragile wings
Humans with no sense
Often like to say
That they are at the top
Of the food chain
Forgetting that black flies
And mosquitoes
Require warm blood to drain
And that, in this land
It's not unknown
For a person
To die of exposure
When lost in
The woods, alone
Should the word 'exposure'
Need to be explained
It can mean that the person died
Because too much blood was drained
So a bat is an answer
To a prayer for respite
And a defense
From the attack, from the bite
Of a blood hungry (possibly
West Nile Disease carrying) parasite
Though some folks
Might express fear if their path
With this creature, connects
It's good to remember that
In spring and summer
A bat can devour
From half to its entire
Body weight in insects
This critter should never be hurt
Or, by human hand, rendered dead
A bat should always be
Left alone, instead
So it can flourish and thrive
Because a bat is worth
Far more than gold, alive
One thing I know that could
Soon become very clear
Is that people
Will surely miss a bat
If bugs proliferate
And bats are no longer here
So Little Brown Bat
Myotis Lucifugus
Your good work I
Hereby, commend
And let it be known that
To humans and, indeed, to all
Warm blooded creatures
You were a friend

Kathy Figueroa

Words - Martyn Legg

Wordle Picture Created by JCB

Words - Martyn Legg

I place these thoughts upon the page
Expressing anger, full of rage
Broken promises and dreams
Endless nights and silent screams

Take these words and set them free
Let them be as they should be
I close the book the words are gone
Still the rage goes on and on

I place my heart within your hand
You know exactly where I stand
Fill these eyes with something new
Yet another glimpse of you

Words just come and then they go
There is no reason to their flow
Transcending time they state the pain
They speak of loss, they speak of gain

Could I control the way words fall
If I could live to use them all
Still there would be things left to say
Words enough to fill the day

Take these words and set them free…

Martyn Legg

Our World - James Willis

Living in between the rays of light strung from the windows of idleness, painted with the colours of your own loving taste.

Where is there an end where there is no beginning? How can you talk when your words just revolve in the circle of an unchartered sea of letters?
When can you explain it?
When can all souls see it and believe that it is you and that it is for the taking.

I want to carry away this thing and yet I cannot lift it from the ground where heroes stood. I am fought back with spears of forgotten wars and the basis of the constitution.

And yet we have wandered in leafy glades past towering love mansions where all noise is wondrous, sounds are voices of peace and loving, where nothingness grows, where friends live in yellow madness, where people are manufacturing the cloth of gladness, where the sovereign is in the trench and the common labourer sits on the throne and shoeless children carve their names on its legs and the elders come to paint pretty designs around those monuments of singular, named existence.

You and I, safe in our own shell of hardest resistance. Love is protecting us from the snatching steel claws of the world around us. The temptation wolves are baring their bus-ticket teeth, the salesmen are opening their treasure troves, promising us heaven and they only have hell. The policemen are wielding their insulated guns but the bullets bounce off our aura of morale. The tarmacadam shines of fresh steam-rollers where the rates have been and gone…..and the shell remains intact.

Where are we going? Where are the others? Where can we find the wanted, needed, required type of idol?
Where is the thing we are looking for? Show us the way…. The simple, easy going, free and easy, carefree life where idleness is the barricade against the prickles of the thorn bush world outside.
Porcupine of politics and magnetic, adhesive existence of deceit, hate, privacy invasion, sacrilegious, nosy, quarrelling, crushing, cheating, doublecrossing, conniving population of the world we left behind.

James Willis

The 2.6 Million Pound Drop - Stephen A. Roberts

No need for Davina
Don't give her a (Mc)call
2.6 million's been dropped
Through the trapdoor marked "fraud"

Skip all the questions
Go straight to the prize
"There's a loophole still open!"
The Guernsey taxpayer cries

The winning ticket as usual
Was sold to someone abroad
They've collected the cash and
It's all below board

Heads in our hands, the
Timing couldn't be worse
It's about fifty quid each
From a stretched public purse

But those crims from the mainland
(because we know it's them)
will find those green notes worthless
in their Nandos or H&M

Stephen A. Roberts

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