Guernsey Poets

At the Model Yacht Pond, he's feeding the pigeons never on Sunday, though, he's to church they climb all over him, pecking the see...

I wish to declare my long-held disquiet regarding the inaccurate image of modern poetry presented by media, schools and the like where th...

Some years away, I may decay, or die today, . . either way I listed some sick soundtracks, for the day I'm to burn and at this special...

I used to use dreams, to create and design but now my dreams come, cemented in rhyme before, there was an exact brief, a strict deadline ...

It's no bed of roses and you know it, poet but you were born to be one, always will maybe a modern performer, with your mate, mic. Or...

Several years ago now, I'm not sure when, exactly my husband's choice of TV programmes drastically changed instead of the plethora...

Mother was born, between wars, to a wealthy family her Dutch businessman father died suddenly, she was eight he'd left his Guernsey wi...

One morning, on our lawn, after two stormy days two pigeons were staggering, in a bit of a daze we thought it best if they rested, in the ...

What can I do now, all I wanted in life on that cruellest, blackest day stolen from me for ever please take this nightmare away. All th...

Life was a jigsaw before you came lots of pieces broken or lost you came along with a simpler game caring, sharing not counting the cost....

Not long ago my life was simple, a world full of magic and toys, my den in the trees, where no-one could find me away from all trouble an...

This crumpled sweet wrapper down the back of your favourite sun-lounge chair, this half scribbled recipe in the drawer along with the nea...

The chain takes the strain, as the ramp swings up, so long she's been crossing the tides the creek is flat calm, but the waves awake ...

Wandering now along the coastline, as we used to stroll, before it seems the same waves that we watched are returning again to shore liste...

We watched the stars gleam, reflected in the stream I've come back now, there's no stars, and I'm thinking how could we, in o...

The faded-green dune-grass sways, gripping the sand in the harrowing, howling, harsh winter gales shimmering and swirling, unfolding, unfu...