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

The Earth Of Your Birth Is Now The Breath Of Your Death - Lyndon Queripel

There’s another rise in temperature
More damage to the ozone layer
Through ignorance and neglect
Now we have the greenhouse effect
In concrete jungles of steel and glass
Electric fences that none shall pass
Go unheard the words being said
By the voices of the underfed

We don’t hunger for your nuclear power
Under the shadow of the atomic bomb
There’s more acid rain with every shower
With a forecast of more to come

It’s in the name of progress to sacrifice
But why do the innocent have to pay the price
On the final frontier of unwritten law
New secret weapons for the planet war
Orbit the Moon and race in space
Another star for the flag to chase
While satellites explore the universe
The homeless situation gets worse

Now our streams and rivers are turning sour 
Save the trees while there are still some
There’s more pollution with every hour
You’d better take it back where it came from

We’ve protested your latest regulation
Ignored all of your misinformation
Even turned our hands to revolution
To find that it held no solution
Now the evil virus of your creation
Reaches out to touch every nation
To control the global population
And mandate a toxic vaccination

Our human rights have been denied
Living under this agenda of fascist fear
Planned to overrule and to divide 
Your New World Order is ever near

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - ParentRap

Eco Meeting - Donald Keyman

St Greta of Thunberg 
Stared cold as an iceberg 
At the men in suits 
Who didn’t give two hoots  
About the eco crisis 
Any more than Isis 
Harangued by a minor 
Who didn’t mention China 
They dug in their heels  
Against her childish squeals 
Built more cars and sealed 
Fossil burning deals 
And, way out east 
Launched a coal-fired beast 

Donald Keyman


Image : Pixabay - tiburi

People - Sarah Alexander

We are miracles of creation, supposedly in God’s image
We have evolved over the millennia to become the dominant species
From the golden age of Athens to the imperialism of Rome
We have created creeds, cults and deities
To satisfy our needs and wants

We have built monuments in stone to last for all eternity
Paintings and words so inspirational they span the centuries
We have invented instruments to torture, weapons of destruction
Given guns into the hands of children
And slaughtered without a conscience

We are lovers, we are killers
We are passionate, we are demonic
But the worst crime of humanity is the raping of this planet

Sarah Alexander

Image : Pixabay - byrev

The Shepherd David - Stephen A. Roberts

Sir David, venerated wildlife teacher
Has now turned into an eco preacher
As we watch exotic creatures mate
He reminds us of our likely fate

When earth may no longer be able to resist
The power of the Sun’s fiery disc
He says there’ll be a drastic change of scene
To ice planet Hoth or Tattoine

Maybe it’s just the way of things
Destined to melt like Icarus’ wings
Isn’t space littered with dead worlds
Where no one heeded their wise men’s words?

Stephen A. Roberts

Image: Elizabeth Jane Gardner Bouguereau, The Shepherd David, ca. 1895; Oil on canvas, 60 1/2 x 41 3/8 in.; National Museum of Women in the Arts, Gift of Wallace and Wilhelmina Holladay; Photo by Lee Stalsworth

I Don’t Like Crickets ~ Oh No! - Donald Keyman

The scaly cricket is an ugly critter
It likes to live amongst organic litter
It’s not as rare as you might think
They swarm around on beaches that stink
And where on earth would you suppose
You’d find smelly beaches such as those
They’re all up in the north you see
Covered in the spoils of our industry
That prehistoric looking beast
Of all our worries is the least
Is it a dilemma that should be faced
If we need somewhere for inert waste
Surely it’s worth a few more insects less
To get rid of all our building mess?
And so controversially to you I say
Tip the stuff into that bay!

Donald Keyman

This Ecosphere - Kathy Figueroa

Bow to the might of the Pangolin and Bat
Leave them undisturbed in their wild habitat
Tremble before Creation in its glory
Know that Humans are but part of its story

Instead of plundering to ruination
Let Humans protect this wondrous creation -
This ecosphere, this world, this garden in space
This most marvellous home of the human race

Kathy Figueroa

Too Much Chocolate - John Carré Buchanan

Last week we heard a distant roar
that drifted on the air,
it crept ever closer
and bought with it despair.

The pillars are still falling
and all around us now
the constant whine of chainsaw
lays our forest bare.

You'll turn it into pasture
or cover it in palm.
Drag away the timber
to turn into a barn.

In places you'll plant cocoa,
where it shouldn't really grow
and it will leach the soil
and the insects they will go.

Then the birds that feed upon them
and the plants they pollinate
will vanish in a moment
from the hell that you'll create.

This Easter as you celebrate
the life that was reborn,
remember us, I beg,
for you decimate our forest
for a fucking chocolate egg.

John Carré Buchanan

Exit Strategy - Stephen A. Roberts

Hark, do I hear a robot talking?
No it's only Stephen Hawking
Telling us that we're all doomed
Spinning round in space, marooned

We've outgrown Earth and scraped it bare
So it's time to find a new home out there
Sail away from our plastic oceans
Microbeaded by our bodily lotions

We need to go into a new Ark two by two
But it will be only for the chosen few
They'll boldly blast off into the night
And leave this broken world to its plight

Traveling into the dark beyond Mars
To a brand new Eden in the stars
Sounds like a journey with no crisps or beer
So I think on balance I'll stay here

I'll wait with you in the dying light
We can watch the sunset as the animals fight

Stephen A. Roberts

Listen - Richard Fleming

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of exhortation.

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of accusation.

Black, poisoned streams, polluted seas,
bleak deserts where once were lush plains,
species extinct, no beasts, no bees:
all this for quick financial gains.
No grass, no flowers, no forest trees,
just unforgiving acid rains.

Our ill-tempered abdication of all responsibility validates their accusation of our culpability.

Though time is short we have a chance
to change, to redirect our powers.
Our standard stance, indifference,
is challenged as the planet sours,
for every child’s inheritance
is compromised: the fault is ours.

Listen
to the children cry
Hear their words of consternation.

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of desperation.

Richard Fleming

Zero Carbon Journey - Stephen A. Roberts

The new Saviour is here:
a girl child this time
was it prophesied?

For I have not seen it
in the runes
or written in the scrolls
scriptures or tablets.

That she would sail a boat
across America's moat
to save the World
so you won't have to.

Stephen A. Roberts

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

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

Walking My Shoes - Lyndon Queripel

I’ve walked in your wake
I’ve seen the life you live
I’ve had all I can take
Of what it’s got to give
But killing time is such a crime
Be a rebel without a pause
Before the young get strong enough
To change the laws

I’ve walked the crooked mile
Stopping here and there
Just to enjoy the view
And a breath of fresh air
For the smog and smoke starts to choke
And will crown a dead diesel town
When the waste spreads to the waterbeds
All the fish will drown

I’ve walked the line on parade
To advance or retreat
Now I’m stepping out of the shade
To the sunny side of the street
The traffic crawls between the walls
Don’t dare to stop and stare
At dividing lines and broken signs
That only lead nowhere

I’ve walked increasing circles
Turning inside and turning out
Now I've seen the light that shines
Without your shadow of doubt
Don’t be found losing ground
And passed by everyone
Feeling lonely you’re only walking
But you’ve yet to run.

Lyndon Queripel

Rubbish Symphony - Donald Keyman

The audience stirs from its slumber
to the sounds of the Rubbish Symphony
a complicated work usually arranged in three parts,
punctuated by interludes of indeterminate length.

The Rubbish Orchestra's arrival is a surprise
though not wholly unexpected: they like to
build the suspense before crashing onto the stage
announced by the light of a thousand suns.

Tonight's work is entitled "Paper, Glass, Food";
though each is a standalone piece and can be performed
in any order at any time, the only stipulation
is that the whole movement must be adagio and fortissimo.

Occasionally a soloist may perform an impromptu vocal part,
which can be difficult to interpret over the cacophony
of noise produced by the other instruments, but
turns the performance into a truly unique experience.

It is an art of sorts, Musique concrète if you like,
certainly concrete is usually involved for percussive effect,
and with their imaginative sequencing and use of found sounds,
the Rubbish Orchestra can never be accused of recycling old material.

Donald Keyman

Bunker Hill - Stephen A. Roberts

They stop to watch
their watches stopped, and
time stands still,
on Bunker Hill.

The cold grey sea
begins to fill, the
hollows around
old Bunker Hill.

The wall has gone
they spent a mill, and
nothing can stop
the overspill.

They can only watch,
and wait until, the
tide laps up
to Bunker Hill.

Stephen A. Roberts

Black Wave - Richard Fleming

The sea is like a black-edged card.
Oil creeps in on a rising tide,
announcing doom: another spill.
As stricken seabirds, petrified,
lurch over rocks or huddle still
awaiting death, their feathers tarred.
Black fingers reach into our lives.
A tanker, carelessly maintained,
managed by fools, ineptly crewed,
has left our waters grossly stained.
When rich marine life faces crude
and brutish oil, nothing survives.

Behind this little tragedy,
as always, greed and grasping hands.
Voracious men, whose selfish world
is ruled by bankers’ brusque commands,
care nothing for the curses hurled
by we who toil beside the sea
to rescue one or two or three
fouled victims from spoiled habitat.
While many thousand birds have died,
survivors surely wonder that
this nurturing, sustaining tide
became, today, their enemy.

Richard Fleming

Trash Ethics - Donald Keyman

We're sending the tip of our refuse iceberg
To the land of Lindgren, Larsson and Strindberg
Yes, thank you Sweden, especially for Abba
Please take these pots from a rusting old crabber

So put out your bags, pile them up on the corner
They're all being sent to their own personal sauna
We're sending our empties, wine, spirits and beer
Crushed and shipped like a flatpack from IKEA

Mamma Mia! it's Swedish, our trash is now sexy
Who wants to dump it on boring old Jersey?
But, can you imagine Bergman and Garbo
Raking through Guernsey's rubbishy cargo?

Donald Keyman

No Smoke Without Fire - Joan Etoile

Some people burn with indignation
While others do it without consideration
Creating bonfires almost all the time
Ignoring the wind and washing lines

Setting fire to tyres and fridges
Yes people know how to burn their bridges
With all the neighbours and other folk
They watch their friendships go up in smoke

Now deputies have got all fired up
Some want the pyromania stopped
But others want a free for all
To turn Guernsey into a fireball

To justify all this hot air
They've invented a pollution scare
The waste strategy's hidden agenda
To stop us combusting all our timber

If the amendments come into law
Let's save up all our plastic doors
To burn 'em legal on a fine weekday
This coming Easter on Good Friday!

Joan Etoile