Guernsey Poets

Father was always an adventurer. As a boy he journeyed in his imagination to Africa. Paddling across Penrose Lake on the raft he had mad...

The slender poplars quiver in expectation as Spring approaches. Heads bowed, willows wash long lustrous gold-green tresses in sun-flec...

My gran is not like other people’s grans who sleep through days as if already dead, dreaming of the past with no future plans, rehearsing...

Thursday was always my shopping day. Each week I would collect my pension from the Post Office. Standing in the queue I would chat to Be...

I was a baby boy during the reign of King Herod I was a Polish Jew in 1943 I was an eleven year old girl in Hiroshima I was on the 84th f...

I sit, pen poised above a blank page but no words come. I am sure they will flow again when I have inspiration, when I am less tired, ...

There was a philander, Peter, whose girlfriends were Joan, Pam and Rita. His wife got annoyed, a hit man employed, now Peter’s no longer...

I wish I could jump on a magic broom and not have to stay in my boring bed-room. I’d fly round the world to greet the new year from Papu...