Till Death Us Do Part - Edgar Allan Poet

I cannot stand my ghastly wife:
instead, I love her sister, dear.
The former one pollutes my life.
The latter woman I revere.
I’ve hatched a plot to rid me of
my wife, I’ve simply had enough.

I’ve put rat-poison in a cake:
my wife is fond of sweets and treats.
One slice is all she’ll have to take:
rich cream will guarantee she eats
then she’ll be gone and I’ll have Maud.
It’s simple: just give fate a prod.

Maud’s phoned me to my work and said
she’s at our house to tend my wife
who’s got the sniffles, gone to bed:
there’s germs around and flu is rife.
I fear I’ve made a great mistake:
Maud’s brewed some tea and scoffed the cake.

Edgar Allan Poet

Open Mic Evening - Thursday 20th August 2020

Open Mic Evening - Thursday 20th August 2020
20:00 hrs - 22:00 hrs

The Fermain Tavern, St. Martin, Guernsey

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

Please pass on the details to your friends?

Fearless - Stephen A. Roberts

Fearless they plunge
in their flimsy youth
into the depths
of the future

Indestructible they are
inured by the belief
that the sea
is their friend

If only their coming
plunge into life
would be so
naively simple

Stephen A. Roberts

Invisible Enemy - Joan Etoile

In nearby trenches the enemy was real
He was over the top behind a hail of steel
Waiting with his gun and knife
And a picture of his wife

Some years later he came again
For 5 long years of death and pain
But we understood the threat back then
And countered it with brave women (and men)

That wasn’t the end of the totalitarian scare
It morphed into the Russian bear
In this cold war we cowered in our beds
Waiting to be vaporised by the Reds

Now we hide and wear a mask
Doing what the virus asks
Give up your job it’s more dangerous 
Than a charging rhinoceros

Never mind that there’s bills to be paid
Stay alone indoors and be afraid
Running blind in full retreat
This invisible enemy has us beat

Joan Etoile

Post-Lockdown Scenes From A Guernsey Beer Garden - J. Archer Avary

We’re back at the pub
at a table in the sun
drinking to welcome
the end of the lockdown
                          socially distanced
                          as per restrictions
                          examining faces from
                          two metres away
Over at the next table
with his back to us
a punk in a Kangol hat
sips on his Breda with
                          the aplomb of a man
                          who can pull off a thick
                          gauge double earring
                          worn without irony
Over in the corner
a Boddington’s drinker
in builder’s knee-pads and
paint-splattered trousers
                          he nurses his golden pint
                          props it up on his belly
                          like a man who doesn’t
                          want the moment to end
The atmosphere is merry
like the X-mas decorations
no one bothered to take down
when spring transformed
                          the island into a paradise
                          for flies and bees that
                          circle the table sometimes
                          landing in the beer foam

J. Archer Avary

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