RIP Guernsey Poets (2016-2022)

It’s time to put you out to grass my friend
It’s a shame this is the way it had to end
But it looks as if the muse has dried up -
Contributions have trickled to a stop
Have the Guernsey Poets ceased to write
No longer raging against the dying light?

So goodbye dear blog, my trusted source
Of doggerel and oft twee verse
Lyndon, Richard, Tony Don and Steve
Offered only the slightest reprieve
We thank them for their precious time
Spent slowing the death of local rhyme

Guernsey Poets

Image : Pixabay - OpenClipart-Vectors

I Must Have Been A Naughty Boy - Tony Gardner

All  last  year  I  was  so  good
As  little  boys  and  grown  men  should
I  tried  so  hard  you  see  because 
I  had  written  to  Santa  Claus.
For  I  had  seen  on  Amazon
What  he  could  bring  on  his  next  run
Nectar  sweet  from  a  Scots  Glen
Brewed  for  discerning  gentlemen.
Much  better  than  cheap stuff  I  sip
Which  puckers  up  my  upper  lip
I  thought  he might  for  I'd  been  good
As  little  boys  and  grown  men  should
…..
I  went  excited  to  my  bed
Slept  soon  as  Pillow  touched  my  head.
Dreamt  I  could  see  old  Rudolph’s  glow
Through  the  thickly  falling  snow. 
I  woke  up  early  bleary-eyed
Hoped  he’d  left  something  on  the  side
Like  Single  Malt,  but  never  guessed
He'd  leave  a  gift  not  of  the  best.
Tiptoed  downstairs,  then  my  heart  broke
At  the  miniature bottle  and  small   can  of  Coke

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - Ebweb/thuanvo

A Guernsey Carol - Tony Gardner

In  fields  above  the  bay  of  Saints  this  moonlit  Christmas  night
A  donkey's  old  folk  memories  rekindle  and  take  flight
    To  that first  night
 
The  blessedness  of  Christmas  Day  steals  over  all the  land
Enveloping  each  tree  and  field,  the  cattle  where  they  stand
   With  glory  grand.
 
Then  to  a  donkey  in  the  fields  came  age  old  memories  strong,   
How  brilliant  was  the  sky  that  night,  how  sweet  the  angels  song
   In  radiance  hung 
 
That  night  Christ  came  to  save  us  all,  a  pauper  yet  a  King
Poor  shepherds  came  to  honour  Him, the  Lord  of  Everything
   While  angels  sing
 
A  donkey  brought  the  blessed  pair  the  long  and  torturous  way
And  stayed  beside  them  through  their  trials,  until  that  won'drous  day
    When  softly  in  the  hay
 
Our  Lord  reposed,  at  last  God's  gift   so  precious  and  so  true
Here  amongst  us,  God  on  earth,  The  prophesy  come  true
   Life  for  me  and  you
 
In  fields  above  the  bay  of  Saints  this  moonlit  Christmas  night
A  donkey's  old  folk  memories  rekindle  and  take  flight
    To  that first  night
 
To  that  first  Christmas  night.

Tony Gardner


Image : Pixabay - geralt

Cheese - Stephen A. Roberts

My drug of choice is simply cheese
Grated in a bag just for ease
It’s the ultimate snack it
Works so well on a buttered jacket

Then at night the terrors come
Spawned by that evil cheddar crumb
Dadaist visions of flying cars
Skimming on the surface of Mars

Drowning under thick sheets of ice
Or chased and eaten by giant lice
Flying high with fantastic beasts
Soaring on the wings of my cheesy feast

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Pixabay - Hans

Sweet Afton - Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning leaps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream

Robert Burns

Image : Pixabay - DuncanNelson