Cruising Into The Sunset - Stephen A. Roberts

The excursion bus awaits
Another day another shrine
All across Europe
We follow time
Back for lunch
And package wine
Siesta by the pool
Under hillside vines
Tomorrow we visit
Another Guggenheim
The days blur by
Living on borrowed time
Boarding, boarded
On down the line
We’re in a city
Scored by tramlines
Don’t get lost and miss
The sailing deadline
The heat beats down
In these foreign climes
The views confuse
Our average age is 99

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Guernseypoets

Piste Off - Stephen A. Roberts

Oh to be in the ski-lands again 
Riding the crisp white; 
Tiny toy villages below 
 
Then down through the corduroy; 
Dark pines and white blanketed 
Alpine pasturelands 
 
Snaking under the clanking gondola 
Where smells of gluhwein and schnitzel 
Signal awaiting cosy comfort 

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Stephen A. Roberts

Travellers, . . Stay At Home - Tony Bradley

God gave us talents to build homes
with limbs, and brains, to unravel
but not, the fleet foot of the antelope
nor the fishes' fins, or birds' wings, to travel.

Tony Bradley

China’s Virus - Kathy Figueroa

China’s birthed another virus
A lot of people will be killed
Now it’s reached North America
Only drug companies are thrilled

It’ll thin the population
Decimate it in short order
Too bad we don’t have quarantines
Or a way to close the border

So many people are now sick
The frail and elderly will die
The government should act …and quick!
Why it hasn’t, we wonder why

Oh China, fount of strange disease
This export is one we don’t crave
Use caution not to spread it, please
Don’t send foreign folks to their grave

Kathy Figueroa

Commuting - Stephen A. Roberts

To Town; from Town, 
every day 
the metal river ebbs and flows 
crawling along by the sea. 

Bumper to bumper 
suspended in transit 
this sluggish gyre churns out 
a stream of empty thoughts. 

Watching the grey rollers and breakers, 
I wait for the steel tide to take me 
and spew me, lifeless 
on to the tarmacked beach. 

Stephen A. Roberts

Up The Creek, Again - Tony Bradley

The salty spray of Spring tides wafts in through my boarded window
my feet start to itch, my wander-lust, I have the verve to voyage
I’ll build a boat, but first I must plan the materials I need
into my bedroom, where I used to sleep, for I must rummage, and forage.

In here, my ‘man-cave,’ my own testament to Easter Island,
abandoned adventures, fallen Idols, forsaken sheets and spars,
I will construct a rugged little vessel
and slip off, come April, to follow the stars.

My ‘Sea Urchin’ measures a fathom, it’s all I could fathom
it’s not for fame, it’s adventure I seek
that wind’s got stronger, whipping up the waves
we never quite made it, to Tamerton Creek.

Tony Bradley

Strange Trail - Ian Duquemin

I walk this strange trail, wherever it goes
The distance in miles? I guess nobody knows
But with every step, that this body might take
I will gather in strength, till the day when I break
This journey I'm on, it will come to an end
But the time that it takes, that will only depend
As the life I have left, has its hills which to climb
So I’ll walk this strange trail, till I run out of time

Ian Duquemin

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

Plane Sailing - Donald Keyman

Looks like there’ll be no Waves again
so I'll be waiting for the seaplane
to gently alight amongst the bustle
of all the traffic in the Russell

but these modern day aquatic Stukas
won't suit the travelling pukers
from check-in on the shore
what a journey to the aircraft door!

lifejackets on, a safety briefing
I'd suggest some waterproof clothing
for the climb from a bobbing dinghy
tied up to the wobbling wingy

then with floats full of excess baggage
forming a leaden undercarriage
it'll plough halfway down to Jersey
the passengers screaming for mercy

eventually it will fly and land
and drive up onto the sand
where St Helier is in easy reach
the other end of the 5-mile beach!

Donald Keyman

The Wrong Place? - Lester Queripel

Everywhere I went I felt as though I was in the wrong place.
So I jumped aboard a spaceship and headed for outer space.
My destination was the Moon.
I thought there'd be plenty of room.
But when I got there I wasn't alone.
So I jumped back in the spaceship and went back home.

Lester Queripel

Guernsey Buses - Anon

Up and down the roads of Guernsey
we sit, happy, on the bus.
Cars are swerving into hedges ...
they are terrified of us.

We mount pavements ... it’s exciting.
Pavement users go quite pale.
Cyclists tumble from their cycles.
We leave chaos in our trail.

Look, we nearly smacked a jogger
but he had amazing luck ...
leapt aside before we hit him,
disappeared beneath a truck.

Did you see that silly driver
crash into a granite wall?
Our bus-driver kept his cool and
how we giggled, one and all.

Hikers, bikers, how they fear us:
big as dinosaurs we are.
Round blind corners with abandon ...
this ain’t transport, this is war.

All our cheery little faces,
through the windows, grin and smirk
as we flatten finance workers ...
our bus-driver’s gone berserk.

Up the Val de Terres we trundle ...
starting, stopping, setting down,
letting traffic jams behind us
form a tailback into Town.

Such a thrill to ride on buses.
Cats and donkeys go to ground.
Seagulls take avoiding action.
All of this for just a pound!

Anon

Bus Pass - Lester Queripel

I’ve not yet reached my pension age.
but I’m not far off that stage.
I know I don’t need to worry or fuss.
because I’ll get a free pass for the bus.

I can ride around to my heart's content.
not a penny of my own money will need to be spent.
every single second on the bus will be free.
but it’s a shame they don’t give you a cup of tea.

but I’ve never been one to complain.
I’ll happily ride round again and again.
although I hope I can wait in a bus shelter.
I don’t want to wait in the rain.

and why do they call it a bus shelter?
it’s there to shelter people not the bus.
but like I said I won’t cause any fuss.
I’ll be happy just to ride for free on the bus.

Lester Queripel

The Rock - Ian Duquemin

I never shall leave these rocky shores
Yet the gypsy inside on the open moors...
Longs for a freedom that never shall be
While the vagabond sings within me...
Songs never heard on this island of mine
The prison long lost with the passing of time
Abandoned and never a beat in my heart
Cursed we are never to part
Yet this traveller moves on a higher plain
Untethered and free of his ball and chain
On a journey of silence that leads him astray
So no longer a castaway

Ian Duquemin

Amsterdamned! - Lyndon Queripel

Here I am
In Amsterdam
A midnight ride
On a swaying tram
As lights of red
Flash through my head
And I remember
The last words you said

Here I am
In Amsterdam
A rain swept street
In a traffic jam
Stoned and wet
A room to let
And I remember
The last time we met

Here I am
In Amsterdam
A faulty telephone
Lost telegram
Two tone rapid
Number invalid
And I remember
The last thing you did

Here I am
In Amsterdam
Counting sheep
To sleep like a lamb
The darkness dies
In the dawning skies
And I remember
The last look in your eyes.

Lyndon Queripel

All Change - Diane Scantlebury

In Central the uniform is ominous, dark,
The faces are pale and grim,
There’s no colour, no sparkle, no sound,
No regard for age or infirmity,
No concession to summer,
Deep from the black mole depths
And squash of Victoria
The train emerges into bright light,
Emptying gradually as it heads west,
Just past Earl’s Court a new breed alights
Smiling, chattering, colourful aliens,
Inquisitive, noisy children,
We must be in the suburbs,
The coil of tension is still wound,
But somehow seems to be slowly unravelling
As we approach the more relaxed end of the line,
“All change”
And as if by magic, we do.

Diane Scantlebury

A Taxi Ride into Varna to the Mall - Elizabeth Fisher

So many green trees
The landscape is beautiful.
The soft warmth of the sun enfolds itself around us.

We are in a taxi heading for Varna.
The little old man driving
is tryng very hard to talk to us.
He knows few words in English.
But somehow we can communicate.

The cars speed by
Flats and houses rush past
Hidden and somehow not looking so old and faded among the trees.

We sense a feeling of ancient history
Merging with a modern world.

People start to appear
And we are at the Mall
Very modern inside
And full of interesting up to date shopping.

The food floor at the top is our destination right now...
We take a walk around
We view all the different types of food
The local food interests us the most
Kebabs and fresh salads
We settled for these,
And enjoy a memorable meal.

Tomorrow we will walk around the wooded area
Of St Constantine and Helena

We will visit the monastery
And then off to the hot natural spa waters
And soak and sunbathe for the rest of the day.

There is such variety in Bulgaria
And such beauty in the natural countryside.

it is a wonderful experience to be here
We are totally relaxed.

Time has reverted to the time span of childhood.
The days are long again.
And we can somehow fit in a lot of varied activities.

Sometimes we seem to have the day stretching ahead.
We have had time to paint pictures write poems and short stories.
It's funny how the time
Is never the same when we get home.

Elizabeth Fisher

Around - Ian Duquemin

I'm gonna put a foot upon this train, girl
And get me away from here
I somehow know your thinkin' that's ok, girl
You kind of knew I'd disappear!
And when the train starts movin' down this runaway track
Those wheels upon the rail go a-clackety clack
It's gonna be too late to come a-runnin' right back
Cause I will be travellin' around

I'm gonna catch a boat across the sea, girl
No matter where it sails
Is an ocean far enough away from me, girl?
Or did I only need the rails?
I might be on a journey to a desolate place
We did say that we needed us a little more space
Although I have a photo packed away in my case
I might just be needing you around

I travelled round the world to get away, girl
And I walked for many years
It seemed to be forever and a day, girl
To see those happy tears
As I stand here smiling at your welcoming door
I found what I had wanted in a whole world to explore
I guess I searched for something... but I needed you more!
And it's good just having you around

Ian Duquemin

Crossroads - Lyndon Queripel

I walked to the crossroads
There's three ways out of town
I looked for the signpost
But the wind had knocked it down

I saw an old man stumble
With shadows in his eyes
When I asked him for directions
He pointed to the skies

So I watched and I waited
The Moon was overcast
I'd never felt so alone
And no one else came past

A hard rain began to fall
At the break of day
So I just turned around
And went back the same way.

Lyndon Queripel

Search Me - Stephen A. Roberts

I don't care if you're old and grey
Put your laptop in the tray
Any liquids, gels or pastes?
Please throw them all into the waste

Did you pack this bag yourself?
Let me empty it onto the shelf
Are those boots, or are those shoes?
Remove them now and then go through

The alarm's gone off, here, step aside
For a body search you can't abide
Nothing found on the silver surfer - !
What did they expect, a Nebelwerfer?

Yes, the war on terror has been won -
Every time my belt's undone.

Stephen A. Roberts

Final Destination - Diane Scantlebury

Economy flyers
With no riches or fame,
Stroll slowly
Along life’s travelator,
Occasionally pausing
To cause an obstruction,
No fast track for them,

The high flyers
Push past without excuse,
Their pace fast
And full of self importance
Their destiny assured,
Their world has purpose,

While the rest just dawdle,
Chat and drift along,
Their queue may be longer,
Their space more cramped,
But they’re all heading towards
The same final destination.

Diane Scantlebury