Guernsey Poets

A collapsing umbrella, its tottering frame rotten. I crunch through a crooked door on glass chunks like punched out teeth and trespass i...

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in March 2012 There’s marching in the Guernsey lane, my ...

There’s marching in the Guernsey lane, my table’s bare, the pattern’s clear: they will starve us after curfew they will break us at the t...