Open Mic Evening - Thursday 17th December 2020



Open Mic Evening - Thursday 17th December 2020 
20:00 hrs - 22:30 hrs

The Fermain Tavern, St. Martin, Guernsey

The 'Non-compulsory' theme is; 'Reflections’

Please pass on the details to your friends?

Armistice Day, France - Trudie Shannon


Armistice Day
And the café is two thirds empty.
Vacant seats that evoke images
Of men unknown
Who drank coffee, made love, fathered children
Teased their siblings, loved their fathers, idolised their mothers.
Unknown and faceless here and now
Yet these empty seats exude their presence somehow.
Their voices infiltrate the conversation and the music,
Their invisible footprints leave muddy trails upon the floor
And the dank smell of their unwashed bodies and uniforms
Permeates the air and outside there is a
Staccato rhythm to the silence.
It is not raining.
It is not nighttime
But there are ghosts, drifting hopeful
Around these empty tables, these vacant chairs.
And suddenly in isolation, tears cascade into my cup.

Trudie Shannon

R.I.P. Sean Connery 1930 - 2020 - Anon.


Dr No was first to go
then Blofeld followed after,
now they are joined by Bond, James Bond,
there in the Great Hereafter.

Sean Connery, AKA Bond,
the very first back in Year Dot,
has left us shaken also stirred.
He was the best Bond of the lot.

Anon.

Tunnel Vision - Donald Keyman


King Gavin has been banished from the palace
For refusing to accept the poison chalice
For he and wise old Soulsby knew
That the virus would still get through
Brought in by people who are exempt
Who treat the rules with pure contempt
The essential worker back from holiday
Has an unwanted souvenir of their stay
Just like Carter’s mummy’s curse
But this one’s real and much worse
Questions need to be answered quick
Before the rest of us all get sick
The silence smacks of cover up
Are they waiting for the penny to drop
That the reason more people might die
Is the businessman in his suit and tie?

Donald Keyman


Anthem For Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen



What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
---Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,---
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen

This item is from The First World War Poetry Digital Archive, University of Oxford (www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit);
© Copyright The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted.

Blog Archive