Nice Out - Joan Etoile

Do you remember ‘76?
When we were told to save all our drips
The reservoir was cracked and dry
And it was too hot for potato peel pie

I don’t remember too much fuss
The boiling sunshine didn’t worry us
All we had to do was bath with a friend
To save ourselves from a gruesome end

Cooking oil was our sunscreen
While we cooled off with Mr Whippy ice cream
No one had a hat or UV brolly
And Zoom was just another ice lolly

The weather warnings are so much tripe
How else will all my tomatoes get ripe?
Why all this panic, why all this blether?
It’s just a spot of bloney nice weather!

Then today in the Co-op I’m taken to task
By a group of children who all ask
“How can you be a climate change denier
When, like, most of France is on fire?”

Joan Etoile


Image : Pixabay - geralt

Here’s to the Women - Kathy Figueroa

Here’s to the women who wore pants to school
When skirts or dresses only were the rule
 
Here’s to the women who made a safe place
For the battered to shelter, when the violent gave chase
 
Here’s to the women who fought to change laws
To improve life for all, a humane and just cause
 
On International Women’s Day, let’s pause and reflect
And give credit where due, along with respect
 
Kathy Figueroa


Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969

Transcend - Lyndon Queripel

Time seemed to stand still
It just came to a stop
In the golden silence
You could hear a pin drop

Time seemed to stand still
Just like the future past
Leaving dreams in shadow
That reality had cast

Time seemed to stand still
On reaching the end
Of the wilderness years
Waiting to transcend

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - TheDigitalArtist

Overwhelmed - Kathy Figueroa

I wanted to write a cheerful rhyme,
To add a rosy tint to the day,
But it seems I’m having a hard time
Zeroing in on just what to say

I’ve many a disparate feeling:   
On life, this pandemic’s cast a pall.
Its impact has left the world reeling
And I’m quite overwhelmed by it all.

Kathy Figueroa

Image : Pixabay - geralt

Conquerers - Joan Etoile

In the game of colonial bingo
It helps to learn the lingo
And back in the Napoleonic days
I brushed up on my Norman francaise

I was ready to jump through hoops
For Emperor Boney’s troops
They never came, though later in their place
There arrived a different master race

Jawohl! zu befehl! of course mein Kommandant!
Ich lerne deutsch to know exactly what you want
Mercifully they left and after those grim days
I perfected Cockney, Strine and Guernseyaise (sic)

I believe my language skills are assez bien
Enough to fool any dictator’s men
I must now prepare for a new wind blowing in
Yes, it’s time to perfect my rusty Mandarin

It’s not easy though, the letters are strange
Right to left little boxes swarming on the page
So I’m thinking that I’ll soon be out of luck
When I offer our next masters a slice of Peking Duck

Joan Etoile

Image : Joan Etoile/Pixabay glaborde7

The Lockdown Serpent - Richard Fleming

A place, secure, or so we dreamed,
a place of safety from hurt,
was where we dwelt in innocence
while that external, other world
of chaos seemed so far away.
No single doubt intruded on
our reverie: we were in step
while all the rest had lost their path,
blind stumblers, fools of a kind.

Ours was a paradise like Eden,
where every jigsaw piece could fit,
where nothing might disturb or harm
or sully our tranquility
and there we fell asleep and dreamed.

The day the Serpent came
was just an ordinary day
without a hint of danger.
The creature took us unawares.
All changed.
Whatever framed our world was split
and, in a careless moment, we
awoke to find ourselves 
not free.

Richard Fleming

Something's Gonna Get Ya - Stephen A. Roberts

The dinosaurs never watched TV
But they knew they’d die eventually
Just something in the air they sensed
Wasn’t right, it was no coincidence

Bronty craned her neck to see
The approaching calamity
The Sun had gone she wondered why
No Pterodactyls crossed the sky

Tyrannosaurus wasn’t bored
He was working on his hoard
His massive bones were later found
With a pile of creatures all around

Even Stego the herbivorous charmer
Felt an itch beneath his armour
And worried that there might be a chance
That he’d soon run out of plants

So each of them found their own way
To face their final judgement day
And one by one they fell down dead
Asleep forever in their fossil beds

Stephen A. Roberts

Lycanthrophilia - Edgar Allan Poet

In straitjacket and padded cell,
I struggle when the full moon calls.
The doctors say I am unwell.
I hurl myself against the walls
till, gradually, my lupine howl
dies down into a weary growl.

At other times, I am a man
and therefore I must integrate
with other men as best I can:
a human beast, approximate.
But, in my heart, the wolf-pack cry
commands me so I must comply.

There are no mirrors in this place
but I discern, in my mind’s eye,
the snarl upon my stricken face
whenever nurses happen by.
To murder would not be a sin:
I am a wolf in human skin.

Edgar Allan Poet

Anthropod - Richard Fleming

They sit at desks, PC-equipped,
round-shouldered, fingers stroking keys:
without exception microchipped
beneath their skin, like worker-bees
engaged in labour: a dark hive
of insects only half alive.

An artificial, sterile pod,
is their environment, austere.
A faceless robot is their God.
Its scrutiny engenders fear
so they work tirelessly, these fools:
not men or women, merely tools.

This is the future, mark it well:
all life ersatz, no air, no trees.
No brimstone but no less a Hell
where there can be no escapees.
All life lived in an endless Now.
The Beast’s mark stamped on every brow.

Richard Fleming

Bread - Trudie Shannon

Today I mixed flour yeast, salt, water and a little oil
With my fingers, into a dough in a glass bowl.
Like a magician preparing transformation magic,
So that once established in its oiled tin, my dough would rise
As delicately as a child’s breast rises on every intake of breath.
I covered the tin with a cloth and left it.
With my house empty, the air quiet and still
I ventured that the yeast would work its mystifying miracle better.
Those pockets of carbon dioxide emerging like butterflies from their pupa
Into the winter’s day,
The day contracted by the travelling sun,
A day as short as a gasp of surprise, light barely present.
Night shades lurking silently, the curbed hours through.
When I returned home, significant time had passed
And the opalescent moon had risen majestically to court Venus.

Under the cloth, I saw the curvaceous mound of risen bread,
No stellar acolyte, but somehow
In its microcosmic way similarly beautiful.

Trudie Shannon

Illusion Of Happiness - Tony Bradley

At 19, I actually thought that now, I’m happy,
especially after my torturous childhood,
because, suddenly, it seemed there was a purpose
fortuitously, suddenly, a convenient role.
I was her brave knight, in shining armour
for 30 years thus, thinking only of her,
But she suddenly died, and I realised that I’d been hiding
just too afraid to find my soul.

Suddenly bereaved, alone,I had to toughen up
my life was just empty, undone
I’d cowered behind an image, all those years
and denied myself a life of fun.

Tony Bradley

If I Could - Lyndon Queripel

If I could sing I’d be a singer
If I could play guitar I’d be a star
If I could think I’d be a danger
If I could go I’d go too far

If I could act I’d be an actor
If I could be myself I’d play the part
If I could forget the script of debt
If I could remember I’d know by heart

If I could write I’d page a poem
If I could understand every word
If I could face the fact not fiction
If I could use a pen I’d lose my sword.

Lyndon Queripel

Frog Army - Diane Scantlebury

From the pool
And strangely squelching,
A dark horde emerge
In clinging black suits,
Bare feet slip slapping
On wet tiled concrete,
As they tip water from
Their sodden rubber boots,

Now stripped to the waist
They peel off dripping trappings,
To dry out in the heat of the sun,
Reborn from the chrysalis
Of their soaking wrappings,
A bronze-bodied army,
Laughing, drenched and having fun.

Diane Scantlebury

Turn It Around - Lester Queripel

Poor levels of communication.

Lack of cooperation.

Intimidation.

Resulting in frustration.

Put it in the boiling pot.

Boil it up.

Turn frustration into energy.

Set it free.

Turn it upside down.

Turn it all around.

Don’t let them drag you down.

Don’t let them knock you to the ground.

Transform all the negativity.

Turn frustration into energy.

Set it free.

Lester Queripel

Conquistadors - Donald Keyman

They sail in a vessel of great splendour
to unknown shores, where
the throng of slack-jawed natives
gives way as they stride through
the town in their finery

The conquistadors ascend the steps by the temple
to the abandoned market,
where they are feted and adored by the few
who see opportunities for
trade and aggrandisement

To their surprise, the visitors find
that the heart has been torn out of the beast
and, still beating,
it is offered to them

Donald Keyman

Saved - Tony Bradley

If I hadn't met you, I'd be a different me
probably dead, or living in a hostelry,
in prison for robbery, or assault, or worse
or with three old companions, cardboard, hunger and thirst.

If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be here
the cuts were deep, the damage severe
the real me was squashed, gnarled and twisted
and it only changed , because you existed.

Everyone owes me, and someone's gonna pay
for the pain and neglect, I suffered each day
I'm ready for trouble, I'm going to blow,
a self-destruct lever just waiting to go.

But one day you smiled at me, even though you were shy
a beautiful sunlight filled my dark dismal sky
an angel came to me, on that special day
all my demons and bitterness just floated away

Tony Bradley

United No More - Ian Duquemin

United the Kingdom no longer
Britain the once ever Great
Divided its people stand helpless
In a land so unsure of its fate
The Union Jack once held power
Distinguished in red, blue and white
Seems to have lost any meaning
As its nation can't stand up and fight
Down come the churches and steeples 
New gods are now ruling the land
Our land, once free and untethered 
Speaks in language we can't understand 
Our motto was "Never Surrender"
Yet surrender we seem to have done
And everything British about us
Has vanished, been stolen... And gone 

Ian Duquemin

I Feel Like A Stranger In My Own Home - Lester Queripel

The culture and traditions of Guernsey are being taken from us.
We are rapidly losing our identity.
Losing everything that makes us proud to be Guernsey.
Some of us are too blind to see.
Some are simply demoralised.
Others are ‘too busy’ to realise.
But it’s being taken from us in front of our eyes.
It’s disappearing into the pages of history.
And one day soon our grandchildren will see.
They will struggle to understand.
How could anyone destroy such a beautiful land?
When that day comes I will be ashamed.
For I am part of the generation that will be ‘blamed’.
Islanders lost their lives in the last world war.
They couldn’t have given anymore.
They couldn’t have given anymore than they gave.
If they could see the island now they’d cry in the grave.
So our culture and our traditions die.
Why?
Just to become like anywhere else in the world?
We’ve been given something we never asked for.
Why couldn’t they leave us alone?
It’s all such a tragic syndrome.
I’m starting to feel like a stranger in my own home.

Lester Queripel

Why Did The Flowers Die? - Janet

She gazed upon the clothing rail.
Drawn into the winter sale
of garments, left upon the rack.
There her mind was transported back.
Liberating Sixties, saw mixing truth
with bravado of eternal youth.
The Beatles, Stones, and Woodstock too.
Music that changed her point of view.
Peace and love, flowers in her hair.
Her world had changed beyond compare.
So, when did she put on sensible shoes
and serviceable clothes in sombre hues?
Why did the flowers die in her hair,
Lines cover a complexion once so fair?
How could she let her spirit hide?
Let responsibilities make her decide
to cast away the Sixties thing.
Make her heart forget to sing.
Age had hidden that vital spark
and kept her real self in the dark.
With this dress of psychedelic hue
she knew what she had to do.
Her silver hair would look so fine
dressed with a pink and purple line.
Platform heels again she'd buy.
Sensible shoes she could untie.
Add a bit of Sixties bling to
release her heart and let it sing.
She'd allow her mind to go wild,
and unleash that hidden Sixties child.
Vowing no longer to let time drag, she
crammed the last inch of youth into her bag.

Janet
(Last line by Francesca).

Times A-Changing (Ode to Bob Dylan) - Ian Duquemin

Come gather 'round children I've something to tell
And some of you grown ups are welcome as well
As one that will listen... Is one more to hear
Let's not criticise all that are ageing
Because some of them heard what a prophet once said
That the times they are a-changing

Now throughout the years and throughout the land
Things they do happen we can't understand
The powers above us they do as they please
Leaving us who are constantly raging
If we all stood together united as one
Then the times maybe a-changing

The rich they get richer the poor they just die
Did you ever take note of the reasons and why
A life is worth nothing to he who needs more
As its money he thinks is worth saving
When profit is all that a man can achieve
Then this world it needs a-changing

Our leaders and cheaters that rule with a fist
They read out the lies that are down on their list
And think we're so stupid their lies we don't see
They deceive with a smile when campaigning
As all that they promise is not what they mean
Its their words they are a-changing

Throughout the world there are millions the same
The rest they do nothing yet we are to blame
And as they get bigger the smaller we feel
But we just need a little arranging
If we join hands together the bigger we are
So the world could be a-changing

Now listen my brothers and sisters alike
To get your voice heard you don't need a mic
You just need to shout so the others will hear
We're not going away but remaining
And if we stand tall so the rulers will fall
Then the times will be a-changing

So lay down your bullets and lay down your gun
The weapon of choice is within everyone
So say what you will so that others may learn
It's your voice that you should be engaging
As freedom of speech is all that we need
And our world would be a-changing

Ian Duquemin