Strange Trail - Ian Duquemin

I walk this strange trail, wherever it goes
The distance in miles? I guess nobody knows
But with every step, that this body might take
I will gather in strength, till the day when I break
This journey I'm on, it will come to an end
But the time that it takes, that will only depend
As the life I have left, has its hills which to climb
So I’ll walk this strange trail, till I run out of time

Ian Duquemin

Ageing - Tony Gardner

I used to be a strong man
Worked from dawn 'til setting sun.
Yet I enjoyed my leisure
Had more than of my share of Fun
And I thought I'd live forever
That no shot could bring me low
For I was tall and full of Life
And confidence and 'Go'

Today I sit and dream through dark
And misty memories thick
To days I didn't need to lean
On this cold metal walking stick
But it's down to aged men like me
To sit and wonder why
Every fit and youthful man
Will one day fade and die.

Tony Gardner

Homage? - Trudie Shannon

How strange that throughout time
Man has built edifices, temples, churches
In homage to his Gods.
When surely the greatest homage must be
To protect and respect all of creation.
For nothing man creates can ever compare
To the innate beauty and absolute wonder of the earth itself.

Trudie Shannon

Blood - Richard Fleming

A Guernseyman once told me how
Chancre crabs are caught and that
the kitchen always rings with screams
when they go in the boiling pot.

I buy my food in plastic packs:
no thought of slaughterhouse or blot
of beast’s blood on my conscience.
One day I may be judged for that.

Richard Fleming

Soldier On - Lyndon Queripel

The old soldier looked down in sorrow
By the flag he once held with pride
To the valley that was now in shadow
Where all of his comrades had died
“No survivors, they are all gone“
He said as he turned to walk away
“But why should I be the only one
Who lives to fight another day ?“

Lyndon Queripel

Site of Special Insignificance - Donald Keyman

I went looking for Cobo Alice
outside the gates of a wondrous palace
I got the feeling that time had been unfrozen
in a major case of inland coastal erosion

Is no-one in planning listening to Greta
don't they want to make our world better
Their strategies will only make things worse
a built-up world that's less biodiverse

As the fields are ploughed one last time
for the developer's harvest of mortar and lime
Guernsey has its curtilage redrawn
into a concrete garden complete with asphalt lawn

Donald Keyman

Picnic At Chouet - Lord Byro (A Pen-Name)

I went for a picnic at Chouet today,
with tea in a flask and a sandwich or two,
to relax by the sea with a view of the bay
and a snooze on the beach with my sunhat askew
but when I nodded off, such a nightmare ensued.
I woke with a start, hoping I’d misconstrued.

I dreamed that a quarry, obscene and immense,
had spoiled Chouet headland: the land was destroyed.
It seemed so far fetched. It just didn’t make sense
to despoil a fine place that so many enjoyed.
There was something uncannily real in my dream:
a sense of foreboding. I woke with a scream.

Lord Byro

Barred, From Company - Tony Bradley

Nobody, I thought close, is corresponding with me
not an e-mail, a pigeon, nor postie at the gate
I'm sure I replied, I certainly tried, but have I
really annoyed so many, of late?

Sometimes someone's lost, a long way from home
but no wanderers in sight, seeking directions
I am forsook, alone, with just a book, on loan
nobody wants kindness, a little affection.

I've bought some Twinings, I'd never touch the stuff,
but some visitors, DO love their cuppa
Ooh! . . it's Peaky Blinders soon
I'd better go and make my supper.

Tony Bradley

Bed of Roses - Diane Scantlebury

I lie here
Under a bed of roses,
Not breathing out
Or breathing in,
The moist, damp soil
Caressing my body,
Cold against my naked skin,
You search for me
But never see me,
My lips are silent
My hands are bound,
So quietly I lie here
Under a bed of roses,
Buried deep,
Never to be found.

Diane Scantlebury