Warmth - Alan Marquis

Pacing anxiously up and down, how I worried waiting there,
until my cabin door bursting open, filled with an icy stare.
A vision of beauty, perfection, all I could do was smile,
as frantic fears dissolving, lifted my heart a mile.

No greater relief could exist, than that within my breast,
my love for a wandering lady, who put me to this test.
Laughing aloud in deepest joy, unable to conceal desire,
I urged a welcome quickly, to a place beside the fire.

Where logs seemed to glow more brightly, fuelled by her perfection,
while wind outside howled cruelly, indignant at rejection.
As I wrapped my arms so tightly, around her trembling frame,
whispering words of love, repeating, again and again her name.

Ice cold water dripping, from tangled, matted hair,
she glared, indignant, at my over-zealous care.
Though I felt I should be angry, at reckless desire to go,
wandering alone in moonlight, out there in freezing snow.

Yet how could I speak of danger, how could I explain my fright,
knowing she loves the snow, I could never deny her right.
So concealing my dismay, I pretended not to mind instead,
as a sopping-wet dog, my lady, sought refuge in my once dry bed.

R.I.P. `Indy` Half Husky)Bannf, Canada.

Alan Marquis

London Too Loud - Diane Scantlebury

London you have a loud voice
A sound that never stops,
I can hear you in my dreams
And even when I open my eyes,
There you are
Like a waking nightmare,
Still screaming
You never whisper,
Your buses roar,
Your cars screech,
Your sirens shriek,
The tube rumbles beneath,
The noise continues relentlessly
Torturing my eardrums,
Until I block you out
With noise of my own,
The television, the radio,
To prevent you from oppressing
And clouding my thoughts,
Disturbing my sleep,
Making me long for
The peace and tranquillity
Of home,
Yet I know if I stay long enough
You would slink by,
So for now I close the window
In a vain hope
Of silencing you.

Diane Scantlebury

Toni - Sap - Lake - Fred Williamson

Motorboat along the Toni Sap,
Three meters of lap after lap.
Propeller dragging, stirring up the sandy mud,
We move along best we could.
Till near the floating village on the lake,
It is alot for us to intake,
The poorest here need a break.
Mothers washing, children swim, now and then,
We pass boats and fishermen.
Floating homes and resturant and shop,
Did not see no crop, or vedgatable plot.
A village hospital, floating school,
Do they teach the golden rule?
It will all be different come the rains,
I do not think folk here will comlpain.
In the monsoon they will be blown to higher ground,
Then a broken village, I heard some drawn.
Why do people choose to live like that?
For us a wonder ful afternoon on the Toni-Sap.

Fred Williamson

Like A River - Kathy Figueroa

I guess life can be like a river
With rapids and deep hidden whirlpools,
And waterfalls you tumble over
If you keep the company of fools.

And you can quickly get pulled under
By dangerous hidden snags and rocks;
You have to watch what a person does
Not just listen to how someone talks.

If 'twas possible to live again
And always view life through wisdom's eyes,
I'd never be wounded or weary
From grievous duplicity or lies.

I'd always know what was the right choice
And away from the wrong I could steer;
I'd have that twenty/twenty vision
Which, in hindsight, is always so clear.

But the sky wouldn't be lovelier
Than it is at this moment I write;
The flowers just couldn't be finer
Or present a more beautiful sight.

Though life can be like a great river,
Either calm or treacherous and swift,
Waterlilies bloom along its banks
And it's all a most glorious gift.

Kathy Figueroa

The Waves - Oliver Thompson

The waves break onshore.
I stand as the foamy mass builds.
It fades again as the supine sky
Beats down patters of grey and dissolves.

The sun has ended.
Waves continue to break, now more violent.
My hood whips up, hair is moist.
I do not shed a tear for the end,
But find resolve in memories.
The passing months of idle dancing,
Where we hailed to the sun
And brought with us everyone to sing.

Again I sigh for a summer gone.
But, as waves do not end or fail to beat,
We make a new song for autumn.

Oliver Thompson

Rewind - Richard Fleming

Written in free verse, this poem commemorates the tragic loss of life on September 11, 2001 following a terrorist attack on the New York’s Twin Towers. A version of it appears in my second poetry collection, Strange Journey, available online from anthologyofguernsey.com

Rewind - Richard Fleming

Rewind Time, wind Time backwards.

Make the struck towers rise from dust, reconstruct themselves:
glass, concrete, girders, walls,
a huge jigsaw

interlocked, complete again.

Lights come on, phones chirp like crickets;
in reconstructed work-stations,
fingers dance on keyboards again;
vending machines cough then spew out pungent brew; air-con sighs then resumes; elevators ascend, descend; video conferences resume mid-sentence, emails beep, digital clocks flicker like quick, green lizards.

Time restarts as though it had never ended. Rewind Time, wind Time backwards.

Flesh, breath, hope, innocence: all the mundane certainties of ordinary lives
are reaffirmed.
Shoes, handbags, mobiles,

warped by intense heat: these un-melt, re-form, resume their shapes.

The terrible, unearthly screams subside. Rewind Time.

the soft clouds drift; birds fly in reverse.
Those grim death-planes, stiletto-silver in the morning sun, withdraw, like daggers, from the shattered towers,
whose twin glass skins, pristine again,
like smooth, un-rippled water.

Richard Fleming

When September Turns To Rain - Lyndon Queripel

When September turns to rain
I'll be alone again
But I'll remember the times we knew
And I hope you will too

When the leaves fall to the ground
And lie scattered all around
I'll be left here on my own
Deep inside the autumn stone

When the tide turns from the beach
Washing my dreams out of reach
I'll just stand on deserted sand
Before this shore of shadowland

When the sky fades to grey
Bringing darkness to my day
I'll look up at the first star
And wonder how far you are

When September turns to rain
I'll find it hard to explain
In the ember of the afterglow
Why did I ever let you go ?

Lyndon Queripel

Telegram Boy - Alan Marquis

Please don’t halt your bicycle,
do not dismount at my door.
Though I long for news from my lover,
I don’t want to hear of war.

Watching from behind my curtain,
I see you pass every day,
praying you will not stop,
dreading what a message might say.

No news in two months now,
no letter of love and kissing.
Nothing since that awful news,
`Regret your husband is Missing.`

My heart sinks to lowest ebb,
almost making me want to hate.
Your bicycle falls in the hedge,
you reach to open my gate.

Moments pass as the world unwinds,
waiting for unwelcome knocking,
my life in a whirlwind passing,
as future hopes are unlocking.

The longest walk of all my life,
to answer your dutiful call.
My footsteps echo in the hallway,
as my heart begins building a wall.

And a painted box behind the door,
those much loved wooden toys.
Already I struggle to imagine,
how on earth will I tell our boys ?

Alan Marquis

Bat - Cave - Fred Williamson

We waited patiently,eyes gazed,
A million at dusk, bats fly from the cave.
And there is jubilation,
For this a fluttering formation.

A spectacular, awsome sight,
It does last to our delight.
We are in a trance,
By a snake like dance.

Eyes fixed on this fluttering mass,
How long is it going to last?
This airy display a splendid sight,
Across the sky into the night.

They are now beyond, and out of sight,
To reach a plantation, there to feed for the night.
Then by twilight, return to the cave before Sunrise,
Full of fruits, insects and flies.

Fred Williamson

Angels Don't Play This H.A.A.R.P - Lyndon Queripel

HAARP = High-Frequency Active Aural Research Programme

Angels Don't Play This H.A.A.R.P - Lyndon Queripel

There's holes in Heaven,winds that blow
Eyes in the skies above your head
A spy satellite with a laser light show
Is beaming rumours that God is dead

Angels don't play this haarp
There is no natural harmony
Angels don't play this haarp
The song is on the wrong frequency

A toxic haze surrounds the Sun
Another day turns a dirty grey
And the programme has begun
Stealing our healing energy away

There's holes in Heaven and poles below
There's lots of switches and buttons to press
There's arial fires and hot wires that glow
To file a claim in the name of progress

Angels don't play this haarp
The Saints don't dance any more
Angels don't play this haarp
There's no pure music to this score

The clouds are full of acid rain
Jets spray chemtrails all around
Radiation levels spread out again
And it all will fall to the ground

Don't you think it's in the water you drink
Do you believe it's in the air you breathe
Don't you know it's in the food you grow
Can't you see through this conspiracy ?

Angels don't play this haarp
The atmosphere is out of tune
Angels don't play this haarp
Who sings of rings around the Moon ?

Now there's a fog of electro smog
Meant to experiment with the weather
There's a super computer that will log
Every mast and last antennae

There's holes in Heaven to keep it cool
And keep calm if it gets too warm
There's a manual and a special tool
That will over ride the electric storm

Angels don't play this haarp
The melody has just been lost
Angels don't play this haarp
The strings have turned to rust

Microwaves are ringing on the bell
Will you open the door to your soul ?
While television still casts it's spell
In it's own role for mind control.

Lyndon Queripel

Nameless Fears - Alan Marquis

1st Btn Essex Rgt. Patrol report, Feb 1917, Boom Ravine, Somme.
Outpost sentry not named.

Nameless Fears - Alan Marquis

Waiting, waiting, in still of night, almost drowning in a sea of black,
my thumping heart a candle, flickering to welcome them back.
As emptiness cloaks the earth, a bitter wind blows from the north,
I’m forbidden to leave my post, I cannot go back nor forth.
So alone I wait, only part prepared, for duty I half understand,
watching a rat attracted by warmth, hesitate near my hand.

I hear sighing sounds in darkness, from friends or foe I enquire,
or gas erupting from rag-dolls, hanging limply on the wire.
Then dull metallic clinking, my nerves are wearing quite thin,
is that someone creeping near me or a wind-blown empty tin.
And sudden, protesting squeals of anguish, what the hell is that,
perhaps the foe who test me, or just another loathsome rat.

Ice is forming around my boots, `O Dear Lord with me abide.`
I cannot even feel, do they still have my feet inside.
No glorious thoughts in mind, of fighting to make men free,
I only want to bugger-off home, for a steaming mug of tea.
But I’m losing my grip, I must focus on a ghastly plot,
or risk that final difference, between living a life, or not.

Soon I know they’ll come at me, those mud-men from the night,
expecting me to challenge them, though not to fire in fright.
So I try to hold my courage, every minute growing older,
knowing friends are out there, is comfort to make me bolder.
Though shivering in my misery, as my throat fills-up with phlegm,
a cough could make me vulnerable and be greater risk for them.

A machine gun rattles hatefully, somewhere far-off along the line,
punctuating someone’s death, thankfully this time at least, not mine.
And I’m not a bloody General, I cannot see the greater plan,
nor anything much at all in fact, I’m just a bewildered man.
Waiting for mates to appear, or someone to rush from the gloom,
wondering how soon till relief, or how sudden might be my doom.

Duty to mates is clearly defined, I know perfectly well what to be,
though not so clear is Flanders night through which I cannot see.
As awful sounds assault my ears, sudden threatening noises of night,
I hold my rifle closer, for love of life squeeze it tight.
I’m waiting, must not leave my post, it seems I wait for years,
nerves on edge, heart racing fast, forgive me for nameless fears.

Alan Marquis

Dad - Tony Robert

You were always there when I was small
Questions I’d ask you knew it all
As I made my way through school
You told me not to act the fool
Hold up your head, give them a grin
That way in life you’ll always win
Words of wisdom you always had
That’s what made you special Dad

Now you’re gone I think of you
And wonder what you would do
If in my place you were stood
Would you still be right and good?
Sometimes think that I’ve messed up
Been a failure through the years
Now my kids have gone and grown up
I still have doubts and fears

Know you weren’t the perfect Dad
But you always had my respect
Loved you even when you were bad
Your children you’d never neglect
Just wish I’d told you how I felt
Before you passed away
Loved you then, miss you now
Every single day

Sept 10th 1929 – Nov 17th 2001

Tony Robert

Monument of Hell - Fred Williamson

Monument of hell,
This tomb, the killing well.
The mount is so high,
Many steps to count and climb.
Not this time, no time,
Many cried, so many died.

Horrific, tales to tell,
Of torture, slaughter at this killing well,
The hole of hell.
Throats cut by bamboo leaves,
Till death they bleed.
Skulls, bones and skeletons.
To many steps to climb,
Not this time, if ever?
Never say never.

Fred Williamson

The Poet - John Buchanan

In the darkness,
the thought,
perfectly formed,
races around a clouded mind.
So perfect.
So complete.
So, memorable.
It compels,
it swirls and churns,
demands attention,
confounds sleep.
Yet, in the morning
the rested mind recalls but fragments;
that, perfect thought,

John Buchanan (Poet at Jaybern)

Meditation - Diane Scantlebury

So deep, I sink
Deep breath, inhale
Exhale, relax
Letting thoughts be still,
No sound inside my head
Let outside clamour,
Muffled noise
Unable to break in,
Deeper, I sink further
To a place of inner peace,
Conscious, yet unconscious,
Lifted and light
My body transported,
Finger tips and lips tingle
Eyes closed,
Breathe in, then out
Comfortable and chilled,
Almost asleep, but awake
I am aware of my surroundings,
Yet locked into
A warm, comforting sanctuary,
I don’t want to come back,
Until reluctantly my eyelids
Slowly flicker open,
Hello world
I’m still here.

Diane Scantlebury

Flapping Duck - Fred Williamson

You can find us on Facebook,
Quack, quack, your in luck.
You have found the flapping duck.
Dorms, singles and doubles,
Free yourself from all your troubles.
Become our welcomed guest,
Chiil out from stress.
Revitaliise your enrgy and zest.
Please sit down, find a seat,
Take the weight off your feet.
Make this place your retreat,
Ther are new friends to meet.

It is near a park and fort,
This can be your special resort.
Surrounded by bird-song, plants and trees.
Soon to feel at ease,
So calming the river breeze.
A selection of books, read some hours,
Candle lit tables, amongst green leaf and flowers.
Dim colured romantic by night,
On tables, candles for your delight.
So spread the word on your track,
Oh! please do come back.
To the Flapping Duck, Quack,quack, quack.

Fred Williamson

La Coupee, Sark - Jenny Hamon

Towering cliffs rising up from the sea
Majestically mesmerising me
I stand in awe of the powerful sight
Where nature’s in charge and shows her might

A small presence am I when I stand a’top
The narrow path on the top of the rock
Dwarfed by the view of the cliffs so steep
As they descend to the water so deep

I feel quite strange, a feeling of fright
As I try to peep over, afraid of the height
My stomach churns, I cannot go near
My legs are shaking, I have to leave here

Those powerful feelings leave me in awe
Of the drivers and horses who are brave to the core
They make the journey across La Coupee
No matter what weather, day after day

To the people who live on Little Sark
This is their lifeline in daylight or dark
Living over La Coupee, they must be brave
But the Isle is idyllic and their homeland they crave.

Jenny Hamon

Forgive Me - Diane Scantlebury

If I don’t have my glasses on
I won’t see it,
If I don’t write it down
I won’t remember it,
So if I ignore you
Doesn’t mean I don’t know you,
Forgive me
I’m just getting old,

If I don’t feel it
Can it hurt me?
If I don’t understand it
Will I be ignorant?
If I turn a blind eye
Will I be negligent?
Forgive me
I’m just getting old,

But can I use age
As an excuse,
To be a bystander
And no longer contribute to life?
Or maybe I missed
The point altogether,
Forgive me
I must be getting old!

Diane Scantlebury

Bamboo Train - Fred Williamson

From the future into the past,
On a bamboo raft, train away so fast.
A single line, unlevel track,
Clack, clack a pain in the back.
Back acher, bone shaker.
This bamboo platform - raft on wheels,
Going and coming, see how it feels.

Open fields and countryside,
Passing by buffolo, rice - padi, fields of rice.
We stop at a village, this end of the line,
To welcomed greetings, smiles all the time.
To be escorted around,
By so shy but oh! so proud.
Shown disused brick kilns,bricks made of clay,
Were put into kilns and fired each day.

Should now be a museum piece,
We were pleased.
Shifting and lifting, on our way back,
On and off the train, this one line track.
To let others pass, it was a laugh.

Fred Williamson

A Light In The Sky - Kathy Figueroa

As I stood and gazed at the nighttime sky,
A sputnik, a satellite, caught my eye.
It travelled in a slow and graceful arc;
A small and bright point of light in the dark.

Spellbound and transfixed I watched it with awe
And marvelled at the wondrous sight I saw.
It epitomized man's inventive flair,
Traversing the sky, so high in the air.

Then, as eastward, through the heavens it flew,
The roof of my house obscured it from view.
When, at last, it was hidden from my sight,
Nothing else broke the stillness of the night.

As the beauty of the sky wove its spell,
Into a dreamlike reverie I fell.
I basked in the radiance of each star,
The twinkling light from so very far.

I turned to look where the satellite passed,
Where, high over my roof, I saw it last.
Then nearly fell over from sudden fright
When, once more I spotted that satellite!

It crested the roof from the other side!
With ease, through the air, it appeared to glide
And it seemed to be coming ..straight at me!
I thought, "Yikes! How could this possibly be?!"

I was enveloped by a wave of fear,
As I stared at the strange light drawing near.
My heart raced, my mind reeled, I thought "Oh, no!
This must be some type of small U.F.O.!"

As though in a dream, no longer awake,
I pondered what sort of action to take.
But the light veered away and flew on by,
..And then I saw it was ...a firefly!

Kathy Figueroa

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