Competition Winner - August 2013A British Summer - Jenny Hamon

Image Source:  John Buchanan

The image above is called 'British Summer' and was created by John Buchanan.

Competition - August 2013 - A British Summer - Jenny Hamon

Miles of beach at low tide
Bodies laying out to be fried
Buckets and spades, castles and holes
Children playing football, scoring goals

Brightly coloured deckchairs, Dad is asleep
His son is digging, burying his feet
Knotted hankey on his head
Mum lying out on the sun bed

Everyone slathered in factor fifteen
Hats are the order, sunglasses gleam
The donkeys are hot, they look for the cool
And stand up to their knees in a shallow pool

The scene is idyllic, but will not last
As a big grey cloud scuttles past
The rain begins falling and everyone runs
Carrying all of the beach gear, oh there is tons!

Now this is what we come to expect
From a holiday in Blighty, how can we forget?
The weather will break, a storm will occur
Because that’s what we know as “A British Summer”

Jenny Hamon

My Guide - Suzanne O'Keeffe

I don’t know who you are,
But Ive seen you in my dreams,
I see in you in my visions,
On every eye sight gleam.
Whenever I am lost,
I feel your gentle push,
I see you looking back at me
And telling me not too rush.
Whenever I feel lonely,
And the pressure is weighing me down,
Your pull on the reigns of your horse,
And wave a hand in front my frown.
You never say a word to me,
You just make those wisdom gestures,
You make me stop to think again,
And remember life’s little pleasures.
I hear you playing the wooden flute,
As you ride on ahead of me,
You always seem so astute,
You reflect and erase bad memories.
I see the sand blowing across your dark skinned face,
In all your seriousness you have a refreshing grace,
Youve been with me since I was born and id love to hear you talk,
For you have been my ”Indian guide” since the day I could walk.
As I write this poem you are now sat next to me,
You are as calm and relaxing as the wave upon the sea.
Though you do not talk Im not sure if you can,
But I’d like to thank you for being my “Indian Man”.

Suzanne O'Keeffe

Boom - Gordon Arnold

A poem about a Canadian WW2 Mine that was found in the Bluebell Woods and subsequently detonated off the Guernsey coast; as seen through the eyes of a father, mother & child.

Boom - Gordon Arnold

“There she goes” said the Dad to the child
While his wife just frowned ever so riled
As if saying “she” that war is beguiled
But his eyes, they were wild
Like those of a child

And the child?

Well… He just smiled.

Gordon Arnold

Travel Merry Go Round - Diane Scantlebury

Dashing through the airport
Trying to catch a plane,
Flight delays and mayhem
It’s totally insane,
Hurry, hurry, hurry
Gate closing, hopes in vane?
We’re on the travel merry go round
So here we go again,

Speeding through the tunnel
On the Gatwick train,
Stacked with cases to the gunnels
And passengers just the same,
Hearts are racing faster
In rhythm with the track,
Nonstop from Victoria
No chance of turning back,

“Tickets please” at the barrier
You’ve lost yours
Typical you know,
It’s gone to paper heaven
That place where documents go,
Got to get to check in
Got no time for this,
Let me through you jobs worth
I really must insist!

Suitcase so, so heavy
Not regulation weight,
Take a risk, no time to unpack
You’re running far too late,
A couple of kilos over
They reprimand the crime,
Grudgingly release the boarding pass
And let you off this time,

Now dashing through the airport
Trying to catch your plane,
Flight delays and mayhem
It’s totally insane,
Hurry, hurry, hurry
Gate closed, hopes were in vane,
You’re on the travel merry go round
So there you go again!

Diane Scantlebury

Poor Young Thing - Diane Scantlebury

You poor young thing
I know why you’re there,
Forlorn and dejected
In a field with your brothers,
All dewy eyed
I can feel your resignation,
You’re missing your mother,
Your gender determined your fate
Although so handsome,
Yet not as prized as a daughter,
Lush Guernsey grass
Your only comfort now,
While you quietly
Await your slaughter.

Diane Scantlebury