tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43927113924606673212024-03-05T13:49:31.909+00:00Guernsey PoetsJohn Buchananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00020697451985437188noreply@blogger.comBlogger1947125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-83099826084800824012023-01-01T03:00:00.002+00:002023-01-01T03:00:00.218+00:00RIP Guernsey Poets (2016-2022)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJs3-46IMrjKeFOlLNbqsLn46tgWpKGteAF8CZ_oIG4cdMDqBNewDQFRv1gzt3qb0p2ky8X-8CBLtHlJP6zuTtEeg5uRpzdO4Me7mrqEtPh8tsFf1pjwv-i0wYZkBiW0rKMUDp8yhmBRkcM1VL33gCaloQkNjGonCNTplUWES4PJOvjDM129TXtXe/s1280/rip.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJs3-46IMrjKeFOlLNbqsLn46tgWpKGteAF8CZ_oIG4cdMDqBNewDQFRv1gzt3qb0p2ky8X-8CBLtHlJP6zuTtEeg5uRpzdO4Me7mrqEtPh8tsFf1pjwv-i0wYZkBiW0rKMUDp8yhmBRkcM1VL33gCaloQkNjGonCNTplUWES4PJOvjDM129TXtXe/w632-h316/rip.jpg" width="632" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator"><br /></div><br clear="left" />
It’s time to put you out to grass my friend<br />
It’s a shame this is the way it had to end<br />
But it looks as if the muse has dried up -<br />
Contributions have trickled to a stop<br />
Have the Guernsey Poets ceased to write<br />
No longer raging against the dying light?<br />
<br />
So goodbye dear blog, my trusted source<br />
Of doggerel and oft twee verse<br />
Lyndon, Richard, Tony Don and Steve<br />
Offered only the slightest reprieve<br />
We thank them for their precious time<br />
Spent slowing the death of local rhyme<br />
<br />
<b>Guernsey Poets</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - OpenClipart-Vectors</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-46729405577842526582022-12-25T03:00:00.027+00:002022-12-25T03:00:00.241+00:00I Must Have Been A Naughty Boy - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbS4q5IrdFv_i0GRhCKC0XfqjNULEzyLLASQxX6F60PNiW1A-p78Xt5PW_2jmkzggp-TalTYplulrnzB1fck0U28I8s2v16VA0gWGRXK8HuHlLaKhBm_dlwdjcHHXrttn3SwWXVeSZuMipcFNNVr-TC26ronFvzBc1H8m6v3KGFtumSqogzKU4iS1D/s1280/tgxmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1280" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbS4q5IrdFv_i0GRhCKC0XfqjNULEzyLLASQxX6F60PNiW1A-p78Xt5PW_2jmkzggp-TalTYplulrnzB1fck0U28I8s2v16VA0gWGRXK8HuHlLaKhBm_dlwdjcHHXrttn3SwWXVeSZuMipcFNNVr-TC26ronFvzBc1H8m6v3KGFtumSqogzKU4iS1D/w590-h444/tgxmas.jpg" width="590" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
All last year I was so good<br />
As little boys and grown men should<br />
I tried so hard you see because <br />
I had written to Santa Claus.<br />
For I had seen on Amazon<br />
What he could bring on his next run<br />
Nectar sweet from a Scots Glen<br />
Brewed for discerning gentlemen.<br />
Much better than cheap stuff I sip<br />
Which puckers up my upper lip<br />
I thought he might for I'd been good<br />
As little boys and grown men should<br />
…..<br />
I went excited to my bed<br />
Slept soon as Pillow touched my head.<br />
Dreamt I could see old Rudolph’s glow<br />
Through the thickly falling snow. <br />
I woke up early bleary-eyed<br />
Hoped he’d left something on the side<br />
Like Single Malt, but never guessed<br />
He'd leave a gift not of the best.<br />
Tiptoed downstairs, then my heart broke<br />
At the miniature bottle and small can of Coke<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - Ebweb/thuanvo</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-43657787883483244202022-12-24T03:00:00.000+00:002022-12-24T03:00:00.223+00:00A Guernsey Carol - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijUV6Fcvz2GRlo23qWi20TBc8xOhdJYSNXyNNCoeZznuE6vDvZDGAeYCXNRhWu4dTJmV6fZjR8j36f0jUVhURFoeF2FQULqeBjHzP0iKsDpR44Qc2gz5HMJomu3XGMnlS8x057E82Tdn6pQIhj6m3uo41m7hD8sX2Yv6opJr015Gcldwe3A7gafsg/s1920/christmas-g77f1eee42_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="1920" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijUV6Fcvz2GRlo23qWi20TBc8xOhdJYSNXyNNCoeZznuE6vDvZDGAeYCXNRhWu4dTJmV6fZjR8j36f0jUVhURFoeF2FQULqeBjHzP0iKsDpR44Qc2gz5HMJomu3XGMnlS8x057E82Tdn6pQIhj6m3uo41m7hD8sX2Yv6opJr015Gcldwe3A7gafsg/w612-h407/christmas-g77f1eee42_1920.jpg" width="612" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
In fields above the bay of Saints this moonlit Christmas night<br />
A donkey's old folk memories rekindle and take flight<br />
To that first night<br />
<br />
The blessedness of Christmas Day steals over all the land<br />
Enveloping each tree and field, the cattle where they stand<br />
With glory grand.<br />
<br />
Then to a donkey in the fields came age old memories strong, <br />
How brilliant was the sky that night, how sweet the angels song<br />
In radiance hung <br />
<br />
That night Christ came to save us all, a pauper yet a King<br />
Poor shepherds came to honour Him, the Lord of Everything<br />
While angels sing<br />
<br />
A donkey brought the blessed pair the long and torturous way<br />
And stayed beside them through their trials, until that won'drous day<br />
When softly in the hay<br />
<br />
Our Lord reposed, at last God's gift so precious and so true<br />
Here amongst us, God on earth, The prophesy come true<br />
Life for me and you<br />
<br />
In fields above the bay of Saints this moonlit Christmas night<br />
A donkey's old folk memories rekindle and take flight<br />
To that first night<br />
<br />
To that first Christmas night.<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - geralt</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-44116269535851023592022-12-18T03:00:00.006+00:002022-12-18T03:00:00.202+00:00Cheese - Stephen A. Roberts<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-YGUDkT9R_GZfmw_IPnLy5-YgmNRMv8CvVa2EcCNjnhs4TIaF8Hx11JO5CQBfAedTqqjiDakdz4XXaGLH34Z90o-Q7oNLBMxpOcBAU6HSJoDnhtENCVPxIgMN7hZBKw8hX3F-V5yFdqimZah1DXnQWBOZpej_sn98P5Nb1POfL5JLS89x2QRq1g-/s1920/cheese-gc41b3fa07_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-YGUDkT9R_GZfmw_IPnLy5-YgmNRMv8CvVa2EcCNjnhs4TIaF8Hx11JO5CQBfAedTqqjiDakdz4XXaGLH34Z90o-Q7oNLBMxpOcBAU6HSJoDnhtENCVPxIgMN7hZBKw8hX3F-V5yFdqimZah1DXnQWBOZpej_sn98P5Nb1POfL5JLS89x2QRq1g-/w637-h366/cheese-gc41b3fa07_1920.jpg" width="637" /></a></div>
<br clear="left" />
My drug of choice is simply cheese<br />
Grated in a bag just for ease<br />
It’s the ultimate snack it<br />
Works so well on a buttered jacket<br />
<br />
Then at night the terrors come<br />
Spawned by that evil cheddar crumb<br />
Dadaist visions of flying cars<br />
Skimming on the surface of Mars<br />
<br />
Drowning under thick sheets of ice<br />
Or chased and eaten by giant lice<br />
Flying high with fantastic beasts<br />
Soaring on the wings of my cheesy feast<br />
<br />
<b>Stephen A. Roberts</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - Hans</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-25992831537771079062022-12-04T03:00:00.011+00:002022-12-04T03:00:00.218+00:00Sweet Afton - Robert Burns (1759–1796)<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQLoaOjQyIfxk69wSM7DwAyYMlx8BcyMcacWhUDgyK6QyDjZxO_uuCzoqa716-hUqqGL1RXWPZyqwOdh3wurDbLlJ6Jk98t3zxDZCpKmb6y0lYdUiegah9ViBkvnjyQxrTVl0AfSnHneRiinEyA8QHsxkk49D4cX36Zo0qhywMmS5LfL43C_59bvf/s1920/river-g144ad1c03_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1920" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQLoaOjQyIfxk69wSM7DwAyYMlx8BcyMcacWhUDgyK6QyDjZxO_uuCzoqa716-hUqqGL1RXWPZyqwOdh3wurDbLlJ6Jk98t3zxDZCpKmb6y0lYdUiegah9ViBkvnjyQxrTVl0AfSnHneRiinEyA8QHsxkk49D4cX36Zo0qhywMmS5LfL43C_59bvf/w624-h415/river-g144ad1c03_1920.jpg" width="624" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,<br />
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;<br />
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,<br />
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.<br />
<br />
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,<br />
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,<br />
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,<br />
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.<br />
<br />
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,<br />
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;<br />
There daily I wander as noon rises high,<br />
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.<br />
<br />
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,<br />
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;<br />
There oft, as mild Ev'ning leaps over the lea,<br />
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.<br />
<br />
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,<br />
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,<br />
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,<br />
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.<br />
<br />
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,<br />
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;<br />
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,<br />
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream<br />
<br />
<b>Robert Burns</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - DuncanNelson</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-25440530292434084632022-11-27T03:00:00.001+00:002022-11-27T03:00:00.225+00:00I Used To Be A Dreamer - Lyndon Queripel<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholRaPWiE8gA5Lqzrt8alhKWdKHfZPONLm-hmljL3L_W5u03fb5sYti7w1lyr1hXMc1YH-yWpw_d-ZZdeNbhApzjCxtdS8hboXWqtIazF2FgOOpQ2R8lef6e6mDCZcJQQPhtp_eYoYlSRV09d0f_qDgFN6VqIRXMU95UcW-TgHCKU9RovPdw5arKZp/s1920/imagination-g25f2ab960_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1277" data-original-width="1920" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholRaPWiE8gA5Lqzrt8alhKWdKHfZPONLm-hmljL3L_W5u03fb5sYti7w1lyr1hXMc1YH-yWpw_d-ZZdeNbhApzjCxtdS8hboXWqtIazF2FgOOpQ2R8lef6e6mDCZcJQQPhtp_eYoYlSRV09d0f_qDgFN6VqIRXMU95UcW-TgHCKU9RovPdw5arKZp/w617-h411/imagination-g25f2ab960_1920.jpg" width="617" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
I used to be a dreamer<br />
I had faith to keep<br />
But now I just can’t sleep<br />
The dawn will break<br />
And I’m still awake<br />
The Sun will rise in my eyes<br />
<br />
I used to be a dreamer<br />
And you know it’s true<br />
That I had visions too<br />
Now there’s a part<br />
Deep in my heart<br />
Where memories just freeze<br />
<br />
I used to be a dreamer<br />
Sowing seeds to reap<br />
But now I just can’t sleep<br />
The shadows fall<br />
On the wall<br />
On my bed and in my head<br />
<br />
I used to be a dreamer<br />
Lost in my own mind<br />
But I’ve been left behind<br />
The time has passed<br />
Much too fast<br />
Where did it go I don’t know.<br />
<br />
<b>Lyndon Queripel</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - LeandroDeCarvalho</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-86311112324295609452022-11-20T03:00:00.008+00:002022-11-20T03:00:00.197+00:00Wren - Richard Fleming<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYToT9Qk5llnIit47hQiLr5RdbuEZEBhqLENgg0mI81aU2NKyLGfrLa-EaFJxO1QfKvgzcqIjxzQo2_FBvrM7zxReggskLgv24BFS7XPuBs1RzNMtrC8LNqVAN7RjyTSFxJBu3D2aTCxDkry71ytlf-cyt8TZrB7bbD9wStKVMijmnWA1Z-2J_kdHt/s1920/troglodytes-aedon-gd3fe9a640_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1920" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYToT9Qk5llnIit47hQiLr5RdbuEZEBhqLENgg0mI81aU2NKyLGfrLa-EaFJxO1QfKvgzcqIjxzQo2_FBvrM7zxReggskLgv24BFS7XPuBs1RzNMtrC8LNqVAN7RjyTSFxJBu3D2aTCxDkry71ytlf-cyt8TZrB7bbD9wStKVMijmnWA1Z-2J_kdHt/w628-h418/troglodytes-aedon-gd3fe9a640_1920.jpg" width="628" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
See<br />
the wren,<br />
resplendent:<br />
her clever eye,<br />
her sweet essence. Deep, let her sleep be deep;<br />
there, let the green hedge be her perfect bed;<br />
the rye, the reed,<br />
be her screen;<br />
shelter<br />
her.<br />
<br />
<b>Richard Fleming</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - Nature-Pix</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-84402890337601433342022-11-13T03:00:00.001+00:002022-11-13T03:00:00.254+00:00Veteran - Stephen A. Roberts<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2f6KDMxykL_NFYkaJN97wjn5hwYPfbXzDQPJlaJOLbeHch5JY87GJ6mox0UmtxRbLca-Bq5q0jwpnlNZpzqWr5VDd3EquTzjy0hpgjanvntYggdqIvFTi36nbcoIHc0cLye_Q2GLgKms-3xl1AHQPwbEZhEyeW4G8au35dV296TxqmuFHo7MO_iX/s1072/IMG_2493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="1072" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2f6KDMxykL_NFYkaJN97wjn5hwYPfbXzDQPJlaJOLbeHch5JY87GJ6mox0UmtxRbLca-Bq5q0jwpnlNZpzqWr5VDd3EquTzjy0hpgjanvntYggdqIvFTi36nbcoIHc0cLye_Q2GLgKms-3xl1AHQPwbEZhEyeW4G8au35dV296TxqmuFHo7MO_iX/w630-h408/IMG_2493.JPG" width="630" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
In the smoke and flattened fields<br />
your comrades walked into oblivion;<br />
you were left to face<br />
a hundred years alone<br />
<br />
Now you are fêted<br />
and they ask you,<br />
before you fade into history,<br />
what was it like?<br />
<br />
A tear comes,<br />
it is for the fallen:<br />
and for the<br />
world still at war<br />
<br />
<b>Stephen A. Roberts</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-27897328532072586882022-11-06T03:00:00.001+00:002022-11-06T03:00:00.277+00:00Remember, Remember… - Traditional<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgKNTM5rJ2xNfqM9G73XwIOQQDzRAnrnEhHjpY1weQ-gnny7yRlMoztVrAmx-6zoaCXZxoL2lIpvQJ0D0vW-lN6b1p-W6og7l_n1NYR0fr0G_9L9C63tt-hy3iSkYP77RUZ95sVjPBHE7a4mMEh2w1j3X7EN2zKAQnymoDiva9pq55DsMRebjNz2l/s1280/fireworks-g1db424b3f_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgKNTM5rJ2xNfqM9G73XwIOQQDzRAnrnEhHjpY1weQ-gnny7yRlMoztVrAmx-6zoaCXZxoL2lIpvQJ0D0vW-lN6b1p-W6og7l_n1NYR0fr0G_9L9C63tt-hy3iSkYP77RUZ95sVjPBHE7a4mMEh2w1j3X7EN2zKAQnymoDiva9pq55DsMRebjNz2l/w621-h413/fireworks-g1db424b3f_1280.jpg" width="621" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
<i>One of many versions of this traditional chant</i><br />
<br />
Remember, remember the fifth of November,<br />
Gunpowder treason and plot.<br />
We see no reason<br />
Why gunpowder treason<br />
Should ever be forgot!<br />
<br />
Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent<br />
To blow up king and parliament.<br />
Three score barrels were laid below<br />
To prove old England's overthrow.<br />
<br />
By god's mercy he was catch'd<br />
With a darkened lantern and burning match.<br />
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.<br />
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.<br />
<br />
And what shall we do with him?<br />
Burn him!<br />
<br />
<b>Traditional</b>
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - anncapictures</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-88556811415483825612022-10-30T03:00:00.003+00:002022-10-30T03:00:00.219+00:00Old Mag - Oscar Milde<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABGs1lU-69P3RGMRo1xRf8oFPcMpOAYxbUQqS5rlNryTGd27XNtwHv8VfL-HyS8Qq0N3riaVJuLEl1MP-lIESqwrwKalpEqRuUxeisDgsi-y1xy-OtvB6S0cL0Fvq3DcG5IGK_ykgbFPIAiOLT0ENlYQakIuhw6I6opGFGN_NKAbaoXIWGF9CNBvm/s1920/people-g294d426e1_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABGs1lU-69P3RGMRo1xRf8oFPcMpOAYxbUQqS5rlNryTGd27XNtwHv8VfL-HyS8Qq0N3riaVJuLEl1MP-lIESqwrwKalpEqRuUxeisDgsi-y1xy-OtvB6S0cL0Fvq3DcG5IGK_ykgbFPIAiOLT0ENlYQakIuhw6I6opGFGN_NKAbaoXIWGF9CNBvm/w580-h386/people-g294d426e1_1920.jpg" width="580" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
Old Mag the hag sat with her cat,<br />
she in her chair, it on its mat.<br />
She muttered intermittently<br />
as so befits a retiree<br />
but what she muttered was not kind<br />
she had unpleasantness in mind.<br />
From time to time she cast a spell<br />
or brewed herbs with a pungent smell<br />
to conjure up, a witches’ trick,<br />
a demon or perhaps, Old Nick.<br />
Instead, to her intense surprise,<br />
she got a maiden with blue eyes,<br />
long silver cloak, curls on her head.<br />
I am your Good Fairy, she said.<br />
Three wishes I am granting you.<br />
Come on, be quick, it’s time I flew.<br />
Oh give me money! Hag Mag cried.<br />
A chest appeared with gold inside.<br />
Next wish? Speak up and speak the truth.<br />
Give me great beauty, please, and youth.<br />
Then Mag was altered in a flash<br />
so she had beauty, youth and cash.<br />
One last wish, then I’ve got to go:<br />
you’ve got the cash and beauty, so?<br />
Mag cried, please turn my young cat, Vince,<br />
into a sexy, handsome Prince.<br />
When this was done, the Fairy went.<br />
Mag told the “Prince” of her intent:<br />
long nights of passion, love and lust<br />
until they’d jolly well combust.<br />
The “Prince”, her former cat, looked sad.<br />
He said, now look here, don’t get mad.<br />
I’ll do my best but you’ll regret<br />
the day you took me to the vet.<br />
<br />
<b>Oscar Milde</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - StockSnap</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-41640260832879603562022-10-23T03:00:00.018+01:002022-10-23T03:00:00.216+01:00The Face Of Truth - Lyndon Queripel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyPIKQFAFjFLyAXHPQ-Cqu1j3NrUgWG6G1VnVImnjcHjjfzxxW7hEQexLXo12E_tiSf35R6HRaaYINcVJ0us6TleIBtfRrMlHVzGTVrJf3jW-HrgOSRxlUgRTJO41RFZ9fl7VaFGKmB-4XVusBO31SKvGXjK09yIPqsE7vMo9iRzD9rYqxXc60HCn/s1094/deceive-gf7bc89dd9_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1094" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyPIKQFAFjFLyAXHPQ-Cqu1j3NrUgWG6G1VnVImnjcHjjfzxxW7hEQexLXo12E_tiSf35R6HRaaYINcVJ0us6TleIBtfRrMlHVzGTVrJf3jW-HrgOSRxlUgRTJO41RFZ9fl7VaFGKmB-4XVusBO31SKvGXjK09yIPqsE7vMo9iRzD9rYqxXc60HCn/w633-h370/deceive-gf7bc89dd9_1280.png" width="633" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator"><br /></div><br clear="left" />
I don’t want to know<br />
The headline news today<br />
Or what the morning papers<br />
Have got to say<br />
Nor hear the hourly show<br />
Blow by blow <br />
On the programmed radio<br />
<br />
I don’t want to read <br />
The propaganda page<br />
Where freedom is kept<br />
Locked in a cage<br />
And I don’t need <br />
To know how you succeed<br />
To feed all of your greed<br />
<br />
The face of truth is in disguise <br />
Behind a web of media lies<br />
<br />
I don’t want to recall<br />
I’m trying to forget<br />
How the cost of living<br />
And the Third World debt<br />
Will rise and fall<br />
On a street called Wall<br />
Or the secret of it all<br />
<br />
I don’t want to see<br />
Another live transmission<br />
Or anymore of the war<br />
On the evening television<br />
When will we be free<br />
From the inhumanity<br />
And all the insanity<br />
<br />
The face of truth is a mystery<br />
Behind a veil of media unreality.<br />
<br />
<b>Lyndon Queripel</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - OpenClipart-Vectors</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-47478384218098643442022-10-09T03:00:00.011+01:002022-10-09T03:00:00.210+01:00La Roque Lane - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SphyHM9sAJQeYr7zl7S7zrQ9OnAl3jHwrtgcYWwIkQAJJuD8_jIjlq4flcm73B7QIfEgLZ2jR5AD5GQXI3_q6clpLP5BmEZMTyasMW8nvHq2b_GQ6w4TFj4iKgQ5pYn-tqeHa058mcBConNe0r6p48figur_H5KfaXpwZQzJruCcmg4qGqplNdo2/s1920/chain-gbcef1ddd3_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SphyHM9sAJQeYr7zl7S7zrQ9OnAl3jHwrtgcYWwIkQAJJuD8_jIjlq4flcm73B7QIfEgLZ2jR5AD5GQXI3_q6clpLP5BmEZMTyasMW8nvHq2b_GQ6w4TFj4iKgQ5pYn-tqeHa058mcBConNe0r6p48figur_H5KfaXpwZQzJruCcmg4qGqplNdo2/w600-h399/chain-gbcef1ddd3_1920.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
In the nooks and the corners of La Roque Lane<br />
Images, memories ever remain<br />
That was where my education was gained<br />
In the soft, mossy corners of La Roque Lane<br />
<br />
There I learned about women, much as a man can<br />
For ladies are ever so not like a man<br />
Of what we discovered they did not complain<br />
While learning our lessons in La Roque Lane<br />
<br />
There's a green shaded corner in La Roque Lane<br />
That sweetly and softly will ever retain<br />
Mem'ries of youth and of young love that died<br />
Life's lessons learned as we laughed and we cried<br />
<br />
And though I am happy, content with my life<br />
And deeply and dearly in love with my wife<br />
Sometime I dream of those bright days again<br />
In that green quiet corner in La Roque Lane.<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - JACLOU-DL</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-71635466382260364762022-09-25T03:00:00.012+01:002022-09-25T03:00:00.199+01:00September Song - Richard Fleming<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBg53NwQn3t_kBlxd4ys81nQgYucJUPmn0SD-rwHXxiLG0Gwy0PUiEK_hOaVVZ9nxjjcKIEDXOx84krCUbAd0ADli_9RLuRQ67M4E-ZoO8cR99v5i3aToQ5PhgKePjbvBHkBO2nt-EpeBwzqtIiymSb9esGGnKC9XP9gMOc6CnKQ6t97f56CUt_DZH/s835/2CA4E541-66F5-4292-9922-7819CD71F4DC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="835" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBg53NwQn3t_kBlxd4ys81nQgYucJUPmn0SD-rwHXxiLG0Gwy0PUiEK_hOaVVZ9nxjjcKIEDXOx84krCUbAd0ADli_9RLuRQ67M4E-ZoO8cR99v5i3aToQ5PhgKePjbvBHkBO2nt-EpeBwzqtIiymSb9esGGnKC9XP9gMOc6CnKQ6t97f56CUt_DZH/w647-h372/2CA4E541-66F5-4292-9922-7819CD71F4DC.jpeg" width="647" /></a></div>Outside the parish church, we pause,<br />
exchange the old banalities<br />
we flee to, at such times, because<br />
we cannot face finality,<br />
then nod, acknowledging a friend,<br />
shake sundry hands, and hasten on<br />
but cannot really comprehend<br />
that one so long beloved has gone.<br />
<br />
She seemed so permanent and set<br />
on living, never letting go,<br />
to relish life and joy and yet <br />
seemed not to see death as a foe.<br />
The very air appears tight-lipped<br />
as though the earth has ceased to sing.<br />
It is as though the world has tipped<br />
and scattered, headlong, everything.<br />
<br />
<b>Richard Fleming</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - Placidplace</i>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-35006007104753423652022-09-18T03:00:00.006+01:002022-09-18T03:00:00.218+01:00The Final Journey - Stephen A. Roberts<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWTHrYanr8-a1_pWNF7RAyFrhdN33M8yGryRTLlK4KzZThi2t062mAUG6k83YgeewWoWhCj727yQJ8k2euOQ7mVBsheJXnFedLtrF-rgHjNZrtw0fUp-64KAW4yLaBtKd6PSGo_syMbs_MXnm83rQdMaRXm1VqPRxON8TYYDV2PdqjYNvEASCFFzw/s751/IMG_3247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="751" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWTHrYanr8-a1_pWNF7RAyFrhdN33M8yGryRTLlK4KzZThi2t062mAUG6k83YgeewWoWhCj727yQJ8k2euOQ7mVBsheJXnFedLtrF-rgHjNZrtw0fUp-64KAW4yLaBtKd6PSGo_syMbs_MXnm83rQdMaRXm1VqPRxON8TYYDV2PdqjYNvEASCFFzw/w607-h362/IMG_3247.jpg" width="607" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
And so it came the end of life<br />
In Balmoral heralded by pipes<br />Via Edinburgh to London, the resting places<br />
All of them lined with mourning faces<br />
<br />
Near Poets’ Corner in the Lantern room<br />
Atop the catafalque in the eerie gloom<br />
A normal lady who by twist of fate<br />
Came to be our Head of State<br />
<br />
Outside, a dying carpet of wilted flowers<br />
Lies beneath the royal towers<br />
Where the bereft masses queue<br />
Hoping to get just one last view<br />
<br />
From the Thames a tide of tears<br />
Flows to salute 70 long years<br />
Strangers unite in a shared grief<br />
Old soldiers salute their CinC<br />
<br />
The people weep to see the end<br />Victorious they can no longer send<br />
Her Majesty, their revered Queen<br />
The only monarch they’ve known or seen<br />
<br />
Citizens of every stripe and sex<br />
Shuffle through to pay respects<br />
A man in sandals and white socks<br />
Stares in reverence at the box<br />
<br />
Tomorrow then is the final day<br />
The cortège will make its way<br />
In the shadow of the Shard<br />
Past the silent funeral guard<br />
<br />
From the Abbey a stepping stone<br />
Through London streets once her own<br />
To Windsor Castle where by default<br />
She will rest in the Royal Vault<br />
<br />
Bells will ring and cannons fire<br />
Along the journey to the shires<br />
Past transport hubs and corner shops<br />
And across the Nation, things will stop<br />
<br />
<b>Stephen A. Roberts</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-82590720980022451792022-09-14T03:00:00.024+01:002022-09-14T03:00:00.213+01:00Floral Tribute - Simon Armitage<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8d-TrYtQIToornxlG6HRjo63hD5OHqPE6emr0f83jx8ODlc1akp7fy53NxU5zURn_ywCVW2c27s1LHvRDLMCqe78YHgmWZcdhxiybJGwHOZkRymtIy5QbuzahkvsnpJD4RiSZwVIMM-pHeZl99gDJs-rRW3f8yQzlP3WfFhjj1e1e-VPYXtYgu0d0/s3499/IMG_3192.JPG" style="display: block; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3499" data-original-width="2747" height="567" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8d-TrYtQIToornxlG6HRjo63hD5OHqPE6emr0f83jx8ODlc1akp7fy53NxU5zURn_ywCVW2c27s1LHvRDLMCqe78YHgmWZcdhxiybJGwHOZkRymtIy5QbuzahkvsnpJD4RiSZwVIMM-pHeZl99gDJs-rRW3f8yQzlP3WfFhjj1e1e-VPYXtYgu0d0/w445-h567/IMG_3192.JPG" width="445" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>© Simon Armitage<br />
Poet Laureate</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : © Daily Mail</i>Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-67421258821543448982022-09-11T03:00:00.003+01:002022-09-11T03:00:00.233+01:00Coronation - Richard Fleming<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvm6zvlMQ3vqxeg7gM5dlrK58JJF_3vsyv7ObWmRAtr_Zwa6M70Uv0KrY5c_rY1okKKkJXhQN4OhLv77Jvdlqu5xIRyFQDj6BbYRGdxmAcWIfOoAsK7N4K2Ly-HDinQLm5h8BdDUJ3kQhrsF2SP9BzOZwcScA0T9y_M5TjBLnPusVtf28rRTzLoCq/s2048/FcPR5tuXgAAoobP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvm6zvlMQ3vqxeg7gM5dlrK58JJF_3vsyv7ObWmRAtr_Zwa6M70Uv0KrY5c_rY1okKKkJXhQN4OhLv77Jvdlqu5xIRyFQDj6BbYRGdxmAcWIfOoAsK7N4K2Ly-HDinQLm5h8BdDUJ3kQhrsF2SP9BzOZwcScA0T9y_M5TjBLnPusVtf28rRTzLoCq/w625-h413/FcPR5tuXgAAoobP.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
That day in 1953<br />
my family watched it on TV,<br />
an innovation in our house.<br />
I sat, as timid as a mouse,<br />
enchanted by the pageantry,<br />
the Coronation coach, the glee<br />
of onlookers with Union Jacks,<br />
the smooth-faced footmen made from wax,<br />
toy-soldiers, cavalry, and guards<br />
in uniforms like Christmas cards<br />
We gazed in wonder and delight<br />
at images in black and white<br />
yet even monochrome impressed:<br />
imagination did the rest.<br />
I saw the young Queen, head erect,<br />
in ceremonial robes bedecked,<br />
her features, solemn and composed,<br />
stiff-upper-lipped, thoughts undisclosed,<br />
for in those far-off, post-war days<br />
we still clung to our British ways<br />
so joy and sorrow were suppressed,<br />
not on parade: we thought it best.<br />
But that day, gathered round the set,<br />
a loud, exuberant quartet,<br />
we sang <i>God Save The Queen</i> and cheered<br />
till the last image disappeared.<br />
<br />
<b>Richard Fleming </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Twitter - @BarbaraRich_law</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-20194528806726796402022-09-04T03:00:00.001+01:002022-09-04T03:00:00.207+01:00Silver Blue Eyes - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4czNqsrkbkwsk1ZnCvPGndRB-bJqDuo1narqoLdLLdPc09cUWkg9jG4M-hHHIGmqUP3mewQ1RJnc5CWgVpYGTx2YnbYVWICNeowccoFO9k_qfqjwIn_rO1-b4Qynh8JsVA60Uf7X0mDFLbMT0Ax0evcLTD6Y82-uvve65tetZ0SnVmLRtCvefWx_/s1920/cat-g894c71dfd_1920.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="1920" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4czNqsrkbkwsk1ZnCvPGndRB-bJqDuo1narqoLdLLdPc09cUWkg9jG4M-hHHIGmqUP3mewQ1RJnc5CWgVpYGTx2YnbYVWICNeowccoFO9k_qfqjwIn_rO1-b4Qynh8JsVA60Uf7X0mDFLbMT0Ax0evcLTD6Y82-uvve65tetZ0SnVmLRtCvefWx_/w606-h381/cat-g894c71dfd_1920.png" width="606" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
Silver blue skies<br />
And stars diamond bright <br />
Bring nothing but coldness<br />
And frost ghostly white<br />
Just as behind beauty<br />
A cold heart might live<br />
Selfish with no warmth<br />
Or sweet love to give<br />
And I found excuses<br />
For your coldness and lies<br />
But the truth always showed<br />
In your silver blue eyes.<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b> <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - cocoparisienne</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-65634699731247762712022-08-21T03:00:00.021+01:002022-08-21T03:00:00.207+01:00Marry in Haste - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPuHQ0CoL5SUC3_5J35_7Y-brGh7dSKzWBVqC2wYU4qepE7aIfew2_PEIg77FYwivwmwGaz3UK8KO_JFw1fqkhgilr57G_f4O6k7tk5axzTVdB0OjkYGflT5VDfdSlbEWmKIgUgiRMxlhBZxBjoGqONA67P08AxgImWKfR8kD05UkPqt-rXuoJFRd/s1920/cruise-ship-g7cf5dcba7_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPuHQ0CoL5SUC3_5J35_7Y-brGh7dSKzWBVqC2wYU4qepE7aIfew2_PEIg77FYwivwmwGaz3UK8KO_JFw1fqkhgilr57G_f4O6k7tk5axzTVdB0OjkYGflT5VDfdSlbEWmKIgUgiRMxlhBZxBjoGqONA67P08AxgImWKfR8kD05UkPqt-rXuoJFRd/w629-h419/cruise-ship-g7cf5dcba7_1920.jpg" width="629" /></a></div>
<br clear=left>
She met him on a Liner<br />
On a Grecian Islands cruise<br />
There beneath soft, starry skies<br />
And quite a lot of booze<br />
They fell in love one evening<br />
And before the cruise was done<br />
The Captain of the ship had spoke<br />
Making them both one<br />
Back at home cracks soon appeared<br />
He wanted for each meal<br />
Garlic this and Garlic that<br />
Though sick it made her feel<br />
Then they were both invited<br />
To his daughter to be fed<br />
But all she got to eat there <br />
Garlic chicken, garlic bread<br />
She couldn't take it any longer<br />
Screaming, out the house she ran<br />
Straight back home, she couldn't sleep <br />
And the murders then began.<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - tigertravel</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-88895771853167705542022-08-17T03:00:00.001+01:002022-08-17T03:00:00.217+01:00Cruising Into The Sunset - Stephen A. Roberts<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGRjO7BdFKbRYjoCoziDjMj3bNQapZcJbGMLmpsuf2YH8asM7dY1yNU28dHtfDLK6D2IssOqIiP6PpI8Iq6wxqDQmTSUh67kJhjUkY2mzcJn9zYVn0LV3y04_xtNiWvwoy7e4hzoW8kV-QrLXvjrR45KtbaDl4mqZlIaF1lM458V0Y1Yz4qpWBM_C/s2420/Image%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="2420" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGRjO7BdFKbRYjoCoziDjMj3bNQapZcJbGMLmpsuf2YH8asM7dY1yNU28dHtfDLK6D2IssOqIiP6PpI8Iq6wxqDQmTSUh67kJhjUkY2mzcJn9zYVn0LV3y04_xtNiWvwoy7e4hzoW8kV-QrLXvjrR45KtbaDl4mqZlIaF1lM458V0Y1Yz4qpWBM_C/w606-h417/Image%20(1).jpeg" width="606" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
The excursion bus awaits<br />
Another day another shrine<br />
All across Europe<br />
We follow time<br />
Back for lunch<br />
And package wine<br />
Siesta by the pool<br />
Under hillside vines<br />
Tomorrow we visit<br />
Another Guggenheim<br />
The days blur by<br />
Living on borrowed time<br />
Boarding, boarded<br />
On down the line<br />
We’re in a city<br />
Scored by tramlines<br />
Don’t get lost and miss<br />
The sailing deadline<br />
The heat beats down<br />
In these foreign climes<br />
The views confuse<br />
Our average age is 99<br />
<br />
<b>Stephen A. Roberts</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : Guernseypoets</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-90940277673247132202022-08-14T03:00:00.001+01:002022-08-14T03:00:00.210+01:00Someone Else’s War - Richard Fleming<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOThLaZ12pk3iKrZ_1pXLPxUDV5BI-qGszbRmxwzvT9Vd_Njt9-Y6VNZUiu-2L9HtIYgrWg-qLpwapcoF-Lv75BW8tdapEbyaTvX_Eq9JIms7EStjPS9mrJ50pvSLUu1zTAJMP9WiX9rEwsWEdpd9RwvQmMRGTmS0ai5dQTu14lS39A51o6dC3lxZ/s661/scan-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="661" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOThLaZ12pk3iKrZ_1pXLPxUDV5BI-qGszbRmxwzvT9Vd_Njt9-Y6VNZUiu-2L9HtIYgrWg-qLpwapcoF-Lv75BW8tdapEbyaTvX_Eq9JIms7EStjPS9mrJ50pvSLUu1zTAJMP9WiX9rEwsWEdpd9RwvQmMRGTmS0ai5dQTu14lS39A51o6dC3lxZ/w594-h418/scan-1.jpeg" width="594" /></a></div>
<br clear=left>
We thought the war was far away<br />
and spoiling someone else’s day<br />
but suddenly things took a turn:<br />
on telly we saw rockets burn<br />
across the sky, cities were hit …<br />
our cities. That’s what started it.<br />
It seems that one lot broke the rules<br />
and used their nukes, the bloody fools.<br />
Then other nutters used theirs too<br />
and smashed the nuclear taboo.<br />
New York, Rome, Moscow, Gay Paree …<br />
our own dear London ceased to be<br />
and countless millions were surprised<br />
to find that they’d been vaporised.<br />
It seems unfair: we bought the flags,<br />
donated clothes in plastic bags,<br />
showed solidarity online,<br />
agreed that Putin was a swine,<br />
said worthy things on Twitter too …<br />
what else were we supposed to do?<br />
The Government, in whom we trust,<br />
tell us a cloud of deadly dust<br />
will come our way and pretty soon<br />
but, sadly, no one is immune.<br />
It’s radiation: stuff, we’re told<br />
will kill us slowly. We’re consoled<br />
that all our neighbours, too, will die<br />
so this small note’s to say goodbye<br />
but who’s to read it, for the dust<br />
gets everybody, as it must.<br />
We hug each other, whisper love.<br />
The sky is darkening above.<br />
We thought, it’s someone else’s war:<br />
alas, it isn’t any more.<br />
<br />
<b>Richard Fleming</b><br />
<br />
<i>Image : © When the Wind Blows - Raymond Briggs</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-63259827040405469792022-08-10T03:00:00.008+01:002022-08-10T03:00:00.219+01:00The Creek-Road - Madison Julius Cawein<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-xBraIkAwWFb3_ET5jtOkXkAfa-GEgOHzoxgfIkljb-UhgPWZiAZfVf1_aD57hw7pkCox8pOeBjVpcCdJo0pYs9Mhw45bSMbvdAD-Uoug_nvcks458mHBhq1J7SKXf3PibaGJSiURaNJjReg-fma2GYrjuNL6RHTV8_5WIeEyf-3kfEkl6Pyezta/s1920/egret-g32161ad6a_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-xBraIkAwWFb3_ET5jtOkXkAfa-GEgOHzoxgfIkljb-UhgPWZiAZfVf1_aD57hw7pkCox8pOeBjVpcCdJo0pYs9Mhw45bSMbvdAD-Uoug_nvcks458mHBhq1J7SKXf3PibaGJSiURaNJjReg-fma2GYrjuNL6RHTV8_5WIeEyf-3kfEkl6Pyezta/w628-h418/egret-g32161ad6a_1920.jpg" width="628" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
Calling, the heron flies athwart the blue<br />
That sleeps above it; reach on rocky reach<br />
Of water sings by sycamore and beech,<br />
In whose warm shade bloom lilies not a few.<br />
It is a page whereon the sun and dew<br />
Scrawl sparkling words in dawn's delicious speech;<br />
A laboratory where the wood-winds teach,<br />
Dissect each scent and analyze each hue.<br />
Not otherwise than beautiful, doth it<br />
Record the happ'nings of each summer day;<br />
Where we may read, as in a catalogue,<br />
When passed a thresher; when a load of hay;<br />
Or when a rabbit; or a bird that lit;<br />
And now a bare-foot truant and his dog.<br />
<br />
<b>Madison Julius Cawein</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - KIMDAEJEUNG</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-13130854347394372602022-08-07T03:00:00.020+01:002022-08-07T03:00:00.202+01:00The Raven - Ian Duquemin<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5waFIuVyK7DEKXiMdYHRsxdiCr5E-UWkswLlJT8jlDlyv-_YsUU4ypDRzRvMw-bnQKxfVKgx6G5pSZzCaxqZR_wiF3vxVh1cIQTW-0JM67Trf-BA7bqp_sDJD1qqTCBuGzo7A2qxmKCupQonFaz3Svk_6COvlfUCiosIkRjvOoLmyr3ej-x8zVeu/s1920/bird-skull-g85449d905_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5waFIuVyK7DEKXiMdYHRsxdiCr5E-UWkswLlJT8jlDlyv-_YsUU4ypDRzRvMw-bnQKxfVKgx6G5pSZzCaxqZR_wiF3vxVh1cIQTW-0JM67Trf-BA7bqp_sDJD1qqTCBuGzo7A2qxmKCupQonFaz3Svk_6COvlfUCiosIkRjvOoLmyr3ej-x8zVeu/w623-h415/bird-skull-g85449d905_1920.jpg" width="623" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
The Raven<br />
Drenched in darkness<br />
Eyes observing everything<br />
Life... Death... Perversion<br />
Unable to separate<br />
As all is one<br />
Life... The beginning of all ends<br />
Death... The end of all beginnings<br />
Perversion... All that lies between<br />
There is no escape on these fragile wings<br />
As only sorrow is truth<br />
From a baby's cry to the final breath<br />
The Raven observes you all<br />
<br />
<b>Ian Duquemin</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - blackrabbitkdj</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-65464936041286906602022-08-03T03:00:00.011+01:002022-08-03T03:00:00.218+01:00The Cry Of The Cicada - Matsuo Basho<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKLKejboSiRg20YgYo1736lz_40SOPU_lF74HGHWR70aM0QIt3v-3tu7sirf5enMSoLHR6f4ldYB3wHMC5B7Tc5UBxQcUCCIPXbdNpfnG_2ZC41IdM0Txvt8Ox_GDRJkcmLWf-oxR73Qpc7_CpmrMVCHNaUxo6YZ01UipKmL9ylD4huFtCe0-c-M_/s1920/cicada-g91c0cb8ab_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKLKejboSiRg20YgYo1736lz_40SOPU_lF74HGHWR70aM0QIt3v-3tu7sirf5enMSoLHR6f4ldYB3wHMC5B7Tc5UBxQcUCCIPXbdNpfnG_2ZC41IdM0Txvt8Ox_GDRJkcmLWf-oxR73Qpc7_CpmrMVCHNaUxo6YZ01UipKmL9ylD4huFtCe0-c-M_/w610-h407/cicada-g91c0cb8ab_1920.jpg" width="610" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
The cry of the cicada<br />
Gives us no sign<br />
That presently it will die.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Matsuo Basho</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - englishcityceo<br />
<br />
Translation : William George Aston</i><br />
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-72550753645126140472022-07-31T03:00:00.001+01:002022-07-31T03:00:00.210+01:00About Poetry - Kathy Figueroa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlr2sd0H8uAYcelwFWzPA9MXRL-khnWp8qIst_cZj_CTwFd1Pu5yhPIw1hFHC4X7M8Sc4acN9RZeq1MGAqPbM7ShEH6RnfK1RLnHeboygLzznTy1CZIuuQrQsUjb7rb87mUAu7FCSMSY0ilZXJGFvLgTB2Wd4Rkj06qclcdKaQuHxSor_J8KgLPe4j/s5000/wordcloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2750" data-original-width="5000" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlr2sd0H8uAYcelwFWzPA9MXRL-khnWp8qIst_cZj_CTwFd1Pu5yhPIw1hFHC4X7M8Sc4acN9RZeq1MGAqPbM7ShEH6RnfK1RLnHeboygLzznTy1CZIuuQrQsUjb7rb87mUAu7FCSMSY0ilZXJGFvLgTB2Wd4Rkj06qclcdKaQuHxSor_J8KgLPe4j/w597-h328/wordcloud.jpg" width="597" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator"><br /></div><br clear="left" />
These days, pretty much anything goes<br />
From measured meter to free-form prose<br />
From haiku, odes, or tossed “word salads”<br />
To precisely presented ballads<br />
<br />
Like crickets chirp, wolves howl, and birds sing<br />
To express one’s self is the main thing<br />
So share your thoughts, let the words ring true<br />
We learn from each other’s points of view<br />
<br />
<b>Kathy Figueroa</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : GuernseyPoets</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4392711392460667321.post-14726719781114063392022-07-27T03:00:00.003+01:002022-07-27T03:00:00.209+01:00Where I Belong - Tony Gardner<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYnkeRH63LuoOEqjkGAdJe1izV_NXcAhfav_b6KIWPdkufywizUqhUs3XexxOLvLfF3DRZdtiEeBECZwmtL8f8AJ-8uZFuapupTKvn3mP_DgFR6j9BQ5ND2VeBrK_wC_xASzqr-Fs9RlOZKqRJNx-audD63hw5DFmhNso5x0ZGPKiBxMjSJLoqaFC/s1920/skyline-g746836b4b_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1920" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYnkeRH63LuoOEqjkGAdJe1izV_NXcAhfav_b6KIWPdkufywizUqhUs3XexxOLvLfF3DRZdtiEeBECZwmtL8f8AJ-8uZFuapupTKvn3mP_DgFR6j9BQ5ND2VeBrK_wC_xASzqr-Fs9RlOZKqRJNx-audD63hw5DFmhNso5x0ZGPKiBxMjSJLoqaFC/w622-h350/skyline-g746836b4b_1920.jpg" width="622" /></a></div><br clear="left" />
There is much excitement<br />
So much vibrance and delight<br />
In the heart of the big City<br />
With the garish City Lights<br />
And if that's what excites you<br />
If that's what turns you on,<br />
Well go off and enjoy it<br />
But just leave me alone<br />
For here on my little Island<br />
I have all that I dream of<br />
My family, childhood mem'ries<br />
And the people that I love.<br />
<br />
<b>Tony Gardner</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Image : Pixabay - cegoh</i>
<br />
<br />Guernsey Poetshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11020758150251092857noreply@blogger.com