2020 - Ian Duquemin

I thank two thousand and twenty 
As it really wasn't that bad
The gifts that it gave were plenty 
If you think of the treasures we had
Like silence, and time for thinking 
Rest for our weary bones
Love to share with our families
In the comfort we call our homes 
Air to breathe, unpolluted 
Strangers now saying hello 
Helping each other, and lending a hand 
The stars once again on show
A year is not something to squander 
As another is now in our past 
So I'm hoping the next one will be much the same
And the lessons we're learning will last 

Ian Duquemin

Christmas 2020 - Trudie Shannon

Mary was pregnant.
She didn’t know
The how, the why or the when
Until the angel came and told her the news.
His mask was a bit askew
And she could have sworn that a bit of beard was poking out
Seemed unlikely but..
So you’re having a baby he said
His voice was muffled as all voices are
Through fabric.
She thought he said baby but hoped he hadn’t
I mean she and Joseph hadn’t, …..you know
I mean what with covid and all that
They’d barely been able to be in the same room
Their dwellings were tiny hardly regulation two metres.
It’s all very holy the angel said
This Virgin birth stuff and you’re the chosen one.
Mary somehow didn’t feel special just shocked
And half wished Hannah was in her shoes
She wasn’t fond of Hannah.
When the time came
She was straddled across some donkey’s back
Seasick with swaying and longing for a bed.
When they got to that place, a lousy stable for the birth of a God
She felt both outraged and couldn’t care less.
All those exercises, deep breathing Hah!
With a mask on!
But she did it.
She grimaced and groaned and birthed her son
And laid him in the cow’s manger, swaddled and masked
She’d made sure that in her layette
She’d stitched a dozen tiny masks but
She felt irked knowing her baby would not know his mother’s smile.
Then the shepherds all turned up, headdresses swathed about their faces
Bearing a couple of ewes and a lamb
And then the kings too, each one sporting a bejewelled mask.
And such  timely gifts
A two metre rule, a miniature jewelled mask
And a bottle of hand sanitiser scented with frankincense.
Mary was exhausted, rested her heavy head on Joseph’s shoulder
She could tell it was Joseph, he smelled of wood
The shepherds smelled of sheep
And the Kings just smelled mighty rich.
The baby mewed in his manger
Mary lifted him and raised his mask and he suckled
And it was Christmas
And the angel on high sang oh so loud his Gloria’s to the world
Mask free and sporting a luxuriant beard.

Trudie Shannon

Image : after Pixabay - CCXpistiavos

December - Tony Gardner

There was frost this morning on roofs so dull and white

A chill outside was trying to come in here and bite

Then the sun made an appearance and it faded out the rime

But couldn't raise the temperature, it's well past summertime

The day was dry but sunny though the temps just wouldn't rise

And the wind's been cool but easy yet it chills you cold inside.

But tonight the wind is howling and the hail is shooting down

It seems that Winter's serious in spreading misery 'round

But it can't kill childish belief learned sixty years ago

Tonight Santa and the reindeer are flying through the snow.

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - Prawny

Shepherds - Richard Fleming

They wore masks when they arrived,
maintained social distance,
looked for hand-sanitiser 
but couldn’t find any
(the stable was ill-equipped),
fell to their knees
hardly knowing why
as, overhead, the brightest star,
their lodestone,
hung suspended.

Richard Fleming

Well-Heeled - Donald Keyman

With not a twinge of guilt
In designer house custom built
Virtue signallers one and all
Watching the poor go to the wall
Vapid celebs with no sense of shame
Pose for selfies by a private pool again
They’ve got everything they could ever want
Off the back off their silicon front
On the red carpet at a Hollywood bash
Urging the poor to give all their cash
Their hypocrisy makes me sick
They must think we’re flipping thick.

Donald Keyman

Image : Pixabay - Engin Akyurt

Is This A Cold? - Kathy Figueroa

I’ve got the sniffles and “the runs” too
Is this a cold, or maybe the flu?
I’m so tired ...should I crawl back in bed
...Or drink more tea and take zinc, instead?
 
I’m feeling hot, my throat’s getting sore,
Why can’t I taste the food anymore?
Is this a COVID-19 attack?
...Or am I a hypochondriac?
 
I really don’t know what’s ailing me
And hope that it’s just an allergy
But I’ll still stay home and isolate
My regular life will have to wait

Kathy Figueroa

Image : Banksy

Laptop Blues - Richard Fleming

It’s a stand-off.

I try to stare it down

while it stares back, unblinking,

its flat, inscrutable face

giving nothing away.

I must stay focused.

I’ve won these battles

in the past

but this time

it’s got the upper hand.

What I need now

is the doorbell,

an unexpected visitor,

so that I

can break

eye-contact

and walk away

without losing face.

Richard Fleming

Xmas Won’t Be Cancelled - Diane Scantlebury

Santa’s sleigh’s been decommissioned
Rudolf furloughed, left in a field to roam,
Overweight, over seventy, Santa should be shielding
Boris has told him to stay safe at home,
When travel corridors closed, the final fly in the ointment,
Santa devised a cunning plan,
To bring some cheer and avoid disappointment,
He’d disguise his sleigh as a shiny, red delivery van,

Xmas wouldn’t be cancelled by Covid
He was determined not to be beaten,
When there were presents to be delivered
And mince pies to be eaten,
He’d follow the rules
As he set about his task,
And over his beard 
Wear a tinsel trimmed mask,
He’d put each parcel by the door 
Ring the bell in every instance,
Stand well back when he heard footsteps
To keep a social distance,

Santa would do his duty
As he’d done every year with pride,
He’d make the nation’s children happy
When virus forced them to stay inside,
For if Xmas isn’t to be cancelled
We all have our part to play,
Listen to the science and be sensible
So that brave Santa can save the day!

Diane Scantlebury

Theatre of Bad Dreams - Stephen A. Roberts

We played to empty houses when we started out
Now it’s just the same because no one is about
No more cues for the actors to enter
Just exit stage left, right and centre
The show now must not go on 
In crippled and Covidious Albion
Do everything the government asks
Bring on the mummers in costume masks
Do not cough and do not drink
This thing is more dangerous than you think
Keeping out the diseased hordes
Means that players can’t tread the boards
No more showings of Macbeth
In case the audience catches their death
The future now is so uncertain
The theatre faces the final curtain
And as the lights go down on Piccadilly
I rehearse my final soliloquy

Stephen A. Roberts

Leg Of Lamb - J. Archer Avary

all I wanted
was to win
the leg of lamb
at the Saturday
meat draw
I rushed to the pub
after work
bought two strips
from the ticket man
and listened
for my numbers

the leg of lamb is
always the first to go
then the beef joint
then the gammon
then the steaks
then the whole chicken
with sausages
until the only thing left
is a package of Chinese
chicken drumsticks
then it disappears
and I feel like a loser

all I wanted
was to win the
leg of lamb
to win something
anything
so I went to the pub
next door
where numbers
are now on sale
for the next meat draw

J. Archer Avary

Making Your Mind Up - Becky Hall

A numerous, moment by moment, daily ritual,
automatic, or considered
decisions are personal;
stamped as our own.

Truth can be in short supply
when revealed, could be denied,
presumptions we must set aside
let facts, not rumours, in our minds, reside.
Whispered in our ears
played out before our eyes,
lies acquire a myriad of disguise
lurking in our peripheral vision
intention; to cause division.

What then should we do
when faced with a decision or two?
let our moral compass guide,
be willing to listen to another view,
don't just accept; question,
information accumulate-diverse providers assimilate,
we may find the track of truth arrives at an unexpected destination
delivers us to a different platform,
after making our mind up.

Becky Hall

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.

The Old Soak - Tony Bradley

I bath several times a week
I’m a hygienic bloke
okay, at least twice
I have a good soak.

With my bad balance
I can’t stand for a shower
I like a nice, long bath
well, more than a hour.

It’s the best place for my poems, too
‘cos my mind always becomes clearer
with a cup of coffee, my recent buzzwords
and a big slice of Madeira.

Occasionally, I’ve even dropped off to sleep
it’s all steamed up, the mirror’s gone foggy
the coffee’s spilt, and my fledgeling poems
are like the slice of Madeira . . . a little bit soggy.

Tony Bradley

My Dog's Plea on Bonfire Night - Tony Gardner

Shivering and frightened
nowhere to find safety
Stay by me Daddy
As strong as a stone
There's lots more of those
Loud bangs and hisses
Won't they ever stop
And leave me alone
It used to be one night
That we burnt the Budloe
But now it spreads long past
Traditions we’ve known
A one night remembrance
Of something so joyful
Has turned into something
Wild, loud and so awful
So stay by me Daddy
Until it's all gone.

Tony Gardner

Junk Food Addict - Diane Scantlebury

‘Mine’s a pint’
She’ll order it without thinking,
The irony is
She shouldn’t be drinking,
Later at the chippy
She’ll order a large fish
With extra-large fries,
Her belly’s grown bigger
And so have her eyes,
She’ll swear that chocolate bars
Have got smaller,
A sad downward trend of late,
Perhaps she’ll buy two
To compensate,

They’ll be stashed
In the top cupboard
With the other guilty treats,
The crisps, cakes, pop and biscuits,
The celebration sweets,
Emergency supplies to supplement
What she thinks is the meagre
Diet of a rabbit,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit,

She’s surrounded
By media pressure
To be fit, to be healthy,
But she can’t afford the fancy food
Of the privileged and wealthy,
When there’s a takeaway on every corner
Maximizing temptation,
Limiting her choices,
To a junk food addict these outlets
Have seductive, louder voices,

Just one more won’t hurt
She’s no longer thinking,
If there’s two for one she’ll grab it,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit.

Diane Scantlebury

You Can’t Pin That Rap On Me - Lyndon Queripel

You can’t pin that rap on me
I wasn’t even there
You can’t pin that rap on me
Don’t you even dare
I’m innocent don’t you see
Until I’m proved guilty
You can’t pin that rap on me
You’d better set me free

If you choose you can accuse
But I’ll defend until the end
I can answer all your questions
You’ll get no false confessions

I’m not stealing time for petty crime
Or jumping bail from your jail
Independent witness on my side
The evidence can’t be denied

You can’t pin that rap on me
I’m telling you the truth
You can’t pin that rap on me
Without a motive or some proof
Before you even try
Just check my alibi
You can’t pin that rap on me
You know it’s just a lie

There’s one law for the poor
Make a switch now for the rich
Equality for colour and creed
That’s the justice we all need

I won’t change my plea to insanity
Facts to face you’ve lost your case
With the prosecution that you’ve got
You won’t be judged if you judge not

Lyndon Queripel

La Gran’Mere Du Chimquiere - Richard Fleming

I have met your kin at Boa Island,
standing like warriors in tall grass,
pitted faces
grey as Ulster

and known a thunderclap of fear
drive down from gut to foot,
rooting me 
in charmed ground.

Gran’mere, yours is island ground
beside the churchyard gate,
a public place,
no place for ambush

yet, as I pass with dogs that cringe
and shy away from nameless harm,
the day seems darker,
far less warm.

Richard Fleming

Lockdown #2 - Stephen A. Roberts

I shielded I hid I cowered
While all around me Corona flowered
I tried to ignore that obscene weed
By focussing on my own need
I sat I wrote I thought
I read I watched I panic bought
I clapped I cried
For those that died
I stayed I prayed
For those afraid
I scoured everything in a search for truth
Listened to the music from my youth
I saw the heroes and the hypocrites
The isolated and ignored, in bits
Without surprise I watched the numbers rise
The politicians bluster and scientists surmise
I Facebooked, Zoomed and Skyped
I found new recipes that celebs had hyped
I online shopped while people dropped
Yet all around, the world had stopped
We had to hide
I sympathised
Shielded and powerless, I began to write
Of the end of days
And our old ways
Gone into the night
Just like before
There’ll still be war
Visible and invisible
Beating at our door
Together we can beat
Cancer or is it China
But can we slay That covid one-niner...
Surely this isn’t reality
Bring back normality
I want my Weetabix
My Purple Bricks
Some cheap Tesco fizz
With a daytime TV quiz
I don’t know how to feel
Where’s my package deal
A cruise appeals
With all inclusive meals
Cheap including flights
Stay there 7 nights
Maybe a villa way out of sight
Bathed in an ethereal light
Somewhere I can touch your face
Far away from Track and Trace
But the truth is this
Let’s tell and kiss
Like so many fools
I didn’t break the lockdown rules
I didn’t go on the motorway
Where I couldn’t see my way
I did everything they told me to
I’ll ride the second wave with you.

Stephen A. Roberts

Famous? - Kathy Figueroa

Famous?  I guess I have been, to a degree
And could be more so, except that I’m low key
On social media, I don’t strive for a million friends
Outliers like me often buck the trends

My poems and pictures are published here and there
These creative endeavours I’m always glad to share
But though my work is known in many a distant place
Most folks undoubtedly wouldn’t recognize my face

Some artists and writers strive to cultivate fame
But basking in the limelight isn’t my aim
I’ve things to do, dreams to dream, and words that rhyme
Blank pages await my pen ...for chasing fame I have no time

Kathy Figueroa

I Have This Gift - Tony Bradley

Well, it could be more of a failing
to be honest, I’m not really sure
I can wait in queues, at the bus stop, or the doctors
sometimes for 30 minutes, for an hour, or more

Whilst some may pace up and down, or fidget,
others play with their phones, or tutt, or curse
I call to mind, my latest, "work-in-progress"
an embryonic poem, gets another verse.

Tony Bradley

New Normal - Diane Scantlebury

Welcome to our new world,
Our new freedom,
New existence,
All things are possible
At a social distance,
Get used to a virtual life
A sanitized society,
Where fear of physical contact rules
Fueling stress and heightened anxiety,

Welcome to our new world
To travel abroad is
Too much trouble,
A crowded staycation
Is our only relief,
And our children play in a bubble,

Arrows painted on the ground
Lead us in circular,
Confusing directions,
Dodge the strangers
Don’t look them in the eye,
It’s for our own protection,

Once locked safely away in lockdown
We emerge,
Face covered, informal,
To a life we no longer recognize,
This is our new antisocial,
New normal.

Diane Scantlebury

You I See - Ian Duquemin

I stared into my eyes
Reflected in my view
I hated who I saw
As all I see is you
The scars of life on show
The pain I only see
I grip the razors edge
To cut you out of me

The smile that I now wear
Is torn upon my skin
Reminds me of the child
You locked away within
The little boy long lost
Who never dared to cry
A lifetime torn in two
Who's truth was all a lie

And in my hour of need
You turned and walked away
The memories that remain
Forever in that day
The blood that stains my hurt
A mask that once was me
Yet through these eyes of mine
It's only you I see

I hated who you were
And now I hate myself
You damaged everything
To satisfy yourself
And here I stand alone
A grin that bares your shame
But you will never win
As now I smile again

Ian Duquemin

Off Colour - Lyndon Queripel

That’s a black mark against you
So just imagine if you can
I saw red when you said
I should play the white man

There’s a yellow streak down your back
That runs weak through your soul
It makes no difference if the moon
Is blue or if it is whole

There’s a green flash in the night sky
A  U.F.O. comes in to view
Would you welcome an alien
Or is that a grey area for you ?

Lyndon Queripel

Local - Richard Fleming

We all recall him as a child:
a nasty boy, a wicked lad,
a vicious kid, thoroughly bad.
Though none of us were meek and mild
and followed him and let ourselves be bossed,
there was a line we never could have crossed.

But he crossed over every time:
those birds he killed, the tortured cat,
the dumb girl with the cricket bat.
I think he relished every crime
and abject terror just encouraged him:
yes, he would crush a weakling on a whim.

Yet now, grown up, he is the one
who seeks election to the post
of Deputy. You’ll hear him boast
and brag of what fine things he’s done:
Vote, vote for me, I’m local, that’s enough ...
but, underneath, he doesn’t give a stuff.

Richard Fleming

David A. and the Gorillas - Tony Gardner

When David he came trampling through

Bringing all his gear and crew

Never asking if he could

Or not even if he should.

We looked, assessed this little bloke

Listened to the words he spoke

Then thought we’d better play along

Humour him, then he’d be gone.


Now all these years have passed and we

Hear he is coming back to see

How we have fared, if we are less

You must admire his nosiness

Truth is that Life is much the same

Not much changes in this game

It’s Nature's law that we live by

By Nature's whim we live or die.


Tony Gardner

My Kinda People - Mark Nicol

I salute thee, all the oddballs and weirdos out there who are unique in their beauty, who don’t give a damn about being silly and goofy, and who march to the beat of their own drum coz those are the ones who make the best music.

To all those who are outside of the norm, who don’t try to conform, and who don’t care whether they are deplored or adored, it’s within you where all the magic is stored, coz no one like you will come again or has been before.

So whether you’re a nitwit or a misfit, or you’re more screwy than a drill bit, whether you embrace it or refuse to admit it, all the things that make you, well, just different, adds colour to this world which would have been duller without your life and the way you have lived it.

Mark Nicol

Hinge - Donald Keyman

This tiny nation

More than the sum

Of its parts

Sits on the

Hinge of history

Watching the men

Of dark arts

Becoming more insular

Than even the

People of these

Battered shores

Ever dared to be


Donald Keyman

Tinnitus - Trudie Shannon

It’s always raining in my head
Sometimes there are cross-winds
And often interminable white noise,
Static that comes before and after storms.
Always raining, from light hissing drizzle
To persistent shards pounding the windows of my eyes.
Sometimes when the night is weighty with silence
I hear the globules of rain flaunt descant and harmony as
They drift around the contours of my skull in vivid orchestration
Often the wind rises exponentially
Obliterating my hope for potential creativity.
Yes, it’s always raining in my head.
Within the landscape of my cranium I have the auditory pulses
Of every season
Soft April showers
The cascade of summer flood
Autumnal gales
And Winter snow’s vibrato hiss.
Always, always raining in my head
With static, that interminable white noise
That comes before and after storms.

Trudie Shannon

Bears - Diane Scantlebury

There’s a discarded blue mask
Blocking the gutter,
An abandoned rubber glove
On the fire escape stair,
The new toxic litter,
Sign of our times,
Strewn randomly everywhere,

There’s talk of bears
In the woods,
Strange shadows
Exiting in haste,
Leaving a trail of soiled paper,
And smelly piles
Of hazardous waste,

Is this how we go
Back to nature,
Our environment to defile?
And have we become thoughtless
Human bears,
Returning to dump in the wild?

Diane Scantlebury

Rewind - Richard Fleming

Wind Time back. Rewind Time.

Make the struck towers rise from dust,
reconstruct themselves:
glass, concrete, girders, walls,
a huge jigsaw
interlocked,
complete again.

Lights come on, phones chirp like crickets.
In reconstructed work-stations,
fingers dance on keyboards again;
vending machines cough
then spew out pungent brew;
air-con sighs then resumes;
elevators ascend, descend;
video conferences resume mid-
sentence, emails beep,
digital clocks flicker
like quick, green lizards.

Wind Time back. Rewind Time.

Time restarts
as though it had never ended.

Hopes, innocence, daydreams, boredom:
all the mundane certainties of ordinary lives
are reaffirmed.
Shoes, handbags, mobile phones, flesh,
warped by intense heat:
these un-melt, re-form,
resume their former shapes.
The terrible, unearthly screams
subside.

Wind Time back. Rewind Time.

Backwards
the soft clouds drift;
birds fly in reverse.
Those grim death-planes,
stiletto-silver in the morning sun,
withdraw, like daggers, from the shattered towers,
whose twin glass skins, pristine again,
shimmer
like smooth, un-rippled water.

Richard Fleming

Guernsey Blood - Tony Gardner

Guernsey gache and Conger stew, parsnip soup and Beanjar too
Moulin Huet, Rocquaine Bay, parades on Liberation Day
Golden Guernsey cows and goats, beach hut baskets, Whoopee floats
L'Ancresse common, Castel hill, Hanois lighthouse beaming still
Belgreve and the Salerie, these things mean so much to me.

Talbot valley, Bathing pools, ghosts of Blanchelands clifftop schools
Pleinmont point, Fort Pezerie, Guernsey blood runs strong in me
The Cannon rock at Petit Port, the almost vanished Jerbourg Fort
Golfers on the L'Ancresse course, southern cliffs ablaze with gorse
Small streams tumbling to the sea, these things mean so much to me.

The Longfrie and the Wayside Cheer, "Pony" ales and "V.B." beer
Creasey's and Alladin's Cave, the Pollet and the States Arcade
Rouge Rue, Grand Rue, Vauquiedors, Keyprice and Le Riches Stores
Val de Terres and Vauxbelets, the little harbour at Saints Bay
Because I'm Guernsey bred you see, these things mean so much to me.

Tony Gardner

Colour Blind (Racism is not just a black and white issue) - Lyndon Queripel

You could be a Gentile
Or you could be a Jew
An immigrant alien
In a country that is new
You could be a member
Of a tribe called the Sioux
You could be a mirror
For others to look through
The sun could turn you brown
It might burn you red too
A fever turns you yellow
The cold might turn you blue
Your face could be deathly white
If a ghost blurred your view
You could have green fingers
Go through a purple patch or two
And think you’re in the pink
Till clouds of grey cover you
You could be an orphan
Where fields never grew
Because of Agent Orange
With your future overdue
You could be a refugee
With no home to go to
Wandering the wasteland
Where the winds of war blew
You could be one of many
Or one of an ethnic few
At rest in your own nest
When in the cuckoo flew
You could hear the daily news
Is it propaganda, is it true
Is there a Big Brother plot
A conspiracy you never knew
Is there a secret robot army
An underground Babylon zoo
Are you waiting for answers
At the back of the queue
Or in the middle of a riddle
While rumours continue
Your mood could turn black
Leaving you without a clue
Caught up in a riot race
What then would you do ?

Lyndon Queripel

Constructive Thoughts - Stephen A. Roberts

There is no satisfaction in
the pushing of the pen
helping to make money
for the suited men

For years my soft hands
and mind served these fools
before I found my true love
was wielding power tools

The whine of the bandsaw
the smell of fresh cut wood
the sweat leaking from me
felt equally as good

Pavilions and pergolas were
created with my hands
solid and enduring on
life’s shifting sands

No more presentations
of sales graphs and trends
running things up the flagpole
as a means to an end

My tangible constructions
rise up from the earth
spreadsheets are forgotten
I’ve found a new sense of worth

Stephen A. Roberts

Angels - Richard Fleming

We helped him up and steadied him,
saw his wild eyes, spoke soothingly.
You took his arm, his state was grim,
and smiled, nodded approvingly.
Though taciturn, he made it clear
he simply wished to disappear.

We took him home. He lived nearby:
a tall, unlighted terraced place.
He went inside, without goodbye,
and now I can’t recall his face
but that night, passing, it was right
to minister as angels might.

Richard Fleming

A Crimp In My Snacking Routine - Kathy Figueroa

Tasty barbeque chips, how I’ve craved you so!
But have had to do without, for to the store I rarely go
And honey-roasted peanuts are such a delight!
But these persistent yearnings, I’ve long had to fight

This pandemic has definitely put a crimp
In my daily snacking routine
And forced me to limit my munching
To what’s at hand, and usually green

Though nutritious wild violet leaves
Are abundant out of doors
They don’t pack the zip of a chip
Or other delicious stuff you get at the stores

Risking a brush with a coronavirus
That’s mean and highly detrimental
Inspires a certain fear
That’s primal and elemental

So, if to the supermarket,
I feel I must make a jaunt
Careful advance consideration
Is given to exactly what I want

A strategy is devised:
When will the least tourists likely be there?
Is hand sanitizer in my purse?
What sort of mask should I wear?

Shall I don the clear plastic face shield
That allows me to breathe free?
Or that paper surgical-type mask
Which fogs my glasses 'til I can barely see?

Yes, there are many details
To be given consideration and forethought
Before I head out shopping - so groceries,
Including snack food, can be safely bought.

Kathy Figueroa

Waiting - Diane Scantlebury

She’s waiting,
Waiting to be held,
To be touched,
To be kissed,
Her arms are aching,
To encircle,
To enfold,
To embrace,
She’s lonely,
Insecure,
Isolated,
Unsure,
Time’s passing,
Insignificantly,
Unremarkably,
Too slowly,
So she’s still waiting,
Waiting,
To be released,
Waiting,
Waiting,
For her freedom.

Diane Scantlebury

All You Ever Do (Is Break My Heart) - Ian Duquemin

You say that you don't love me anymore
But I've heard that same old story, so many times before
So go ahead and leave me
I don't need you to explain
As I know that when you've had your fun
You'll turn up once again
All you ever do is break my heart
But I miss you every moment, that you and I must be apart
I know this may sound crazy…
But I'll wait right here for you
And dwell on all the pain, that you're about to put me through

And soon enough, you'll call me on the phone
You'll tell me that you're sorry, and you want to come back home
And like a fool, I'll let you in…
Just like I have before
So you can do your very best, to hurt a little more
As all you ever do is break my heart
You rip it up, not satisfied, until it falls apart
I know you think I'm crazy…
But I'll hang around for you
Like broken hearted lovers, are known to often do

So here we go again...
I guess I haven't learned
That playing with this fire…
I'm bound to end up getting burned
But I can't stay away from you, no matter how I try
And many times I've asked myself, but still I don't know why
As all you ever do is break my heart
The stitches come undone…
Then my whole world just falls apart
I know I must be crazy...
But no matter what you do
How ever much you hurt me, I just keep on loving you

Ian Duquemin

Moonless Sky - Lyndon Queripel

Circles of light spin through the night
The Moonless sky is falling apart
Could it be the hand of God I see
Coming to capture my sinful heart
Time and space leave no hiding place
So was it the Rapture about to start
Or would I find that it’s all in my mind
Just the dancing illusion of a black art ?

Lyndon Queripel

Two For Joy - Tony Gardner

One for sorrow, two for joy,
But any number cheers this boy.
Always checking land or sky
Hoping hard to spot a 'Pie'
Magpies are the smartest birds
Some even echoing our words
Smart of coat and smart of brain
Playful, sometimes raising Cain.
Years ago I found a chick
Fallen from it's nest on high
Took it home, handfed and reared
That fledgling to an adult bird.
At six months old, I let her go
She lingered, but at last she flew
And I swear she always knew
Where she could find a scrap or two
Maggies always were around
Our bird table or on the ground
Her name was 'Peggy', that is why
From all the birds that I see fly
My favourite is the Maggie Pie.

Tony Gardner

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

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

Bard at Bay - Richard Fleming

The granite sea-wall retains heat
so here I choose to pause and watch
the bead-bright fishing-boats at rest,
or bathers, by the slipway, splash,
dive in and scream and reenact
the antics of last year’s warm days.
I try to count the fish that shoal
in hundreds down below the wall:
young mullet, camouflaged and swift,
uncountable, a multitude.

This north coast bay where I’ve washed up,
as flotsam does, is changeable:
tide hastens in, then tide retreats
and coloured boats, like fairground rides,
prance, then lie still, then dance again.
The distant islands, Herm and Sark,
slip in and out of white sea-mist.
and were I painterly, each hour
at Bordeaux surely would surprise
with some fresh image to record.

Now here I sit, the June sun sweet
as kisses on my upturned face,
the granite’s heat a remedy
for old bones nothing else will soothe.
This pleasing warmth, so comforting,
is transitory, gone too soon.
Time speeds away yet still I cleave
to this old sea-wall, granite-rough,
but, hour by hour, its heat will fade
and night will follow soon enough.

Richard Fleming

Imposter - Diane Scantlebury

He’s an imposter,
Slinks around in my fur,
Steals in through my cat flap,
Imitates my purr,
He helps himself to my dinner,
Grows fat while I grow thin,
Licks his lips and then mocks me
With a self-satisfied grin,
He’s a scamp and a bully,
With sparkling, daring eyes,
Treats my place as if it’s his own,
He loves to tantalize,
Afterwards when he’s bored
He’ll saunter across the kitchen floor,
Without as much as a backward glance,
And head home to his house next door.

Diane Scantlebury

Friend Of Mine - Ian Duquemin

Jesus was a friend of mine
We hung out every day
He asked me why I sinned so much?
And why I never pray?
I told him that I loved him
That I do the best I can
Said "I am not a preacher
I am simply just a man"
He told me of his journey
He'd come so very far
He pointed to the heavens
Towards the brightest star
He said that's where he came from
And I stood there in his spell
I wondered how this Moon child
Could have stumbled into hell?
I watched as he was talking
To the crowds that gathered round
I saw his lips were moving
But I could not hear a sound
And when I asked him later
Of the message I'd not heard
He told me not to worry
As he hadn't said a word
The further that we travelled
He moved too far ahead
It's then that I discovered
That I had been misled
I called for him to save me
But he did not hear my call
The man that I had followed
Was not a friend at all

Ian Duquemin

Depps of Depravity - Donald Keyman

I must admit I’ve hardly slept
Waiting for the latest dirt on Johnny Depp
Another day of lurid pages
Filled with tales of coke-fuelled rages
Is there a drug he didn’t do
Well, ketamine - he denies that too
Love and hate together can go
Sometimes it takes two to tango
For a prank the missus said
That she defecated in the bed
How did things get that sick
Was she bored of his pirate schtick?
The lawyers rub their hands in glee
Every day means a bigger fee
His legacy can’t be a major factor
Let's admit he's not a great actor
Forever now he’ll look back in anger
At these memories - preserved in Amber

Donald Keyman
Image: ©Anders L. Damgaard