A roar comes from the crowd
Expecting music so loud
As I strap on my electric guitar
My audience scream from afar
I have no amplifier
Just this raging burning desire
To be the greatest rock star here
I plug the lead into my ear
To appreciate my audience
I play to them in silence
Although this is the loudest of bands
It’s just me and a guitar between my hands
My fingers glide across the frets
Although I’ve not learnt any chords yet
I play the most ferocious tune
My guitar skills filling the room
My head explodes right in front of me
My hands move as freely as mercury
Music so loud you can feel it
Music without a single beat
When I finish I place my guitar on the floor
As my audience scream out for more
I then leave my stage and step over the broom
Smile in the mirror before leaving the room
Leaving my only fan behind me
In a dream world of rock n roll fantasy
Ian Duquemin
Words - Lester Queripel
Some words can build you up.
Some words can bring you down.
Some words can break your heart.
Other words have a lovely sound.
Words can make people happy.
They can make people sad.
They can make people feel good.
They can make people feel bad.
How do you want your words to make people feel?
Lester Queripel
Some words can bring you down.
Some words can break your heart.
Other words have a lovely sound.
Words can make people happy.
They can make people sad.
They can make people feel good.
They can make people feel bad.
How do you want your words to make people feel?
Lester Queripel
Dreaming - Katherine Svensson
I see you standing before me,
Smile like a magnet drawing me near.
I feel thousands of tiny butterflies,
Their wings fluttering wildly inside me.
I long to reach out and touch you,
Feel your lips against mine.
When I think of you I wonder,
How would it feel to have our arms entwine?
Would I melt into you so that we would become one?
Your voice echoes in my head long after you’ve gone.
I dream of gently holding your face in my hands,
Covering you with sweet kisses,
Lightly tracing my fingertips around your forehead,
Down your cheeks to your lips.
I want to hold you tenderly,
Take away all that hurts you,
Make your pain my own.
I cry myself to sleep some nights,
Fear this dream is destined never to be for real.
Why does this torment me so?
Katherine Svensson
Smile like a magnet drawing me near.
I feel thousands of tiny butterflies,
Their wings fluttering wildly inside me.
I long to reach out and touch you,
Feel your lips against mine.
When I think of you I wonder,
How would it feel to have our arms entwine?
Would I melt into you so that we would become one?
Your voice echoes in my head long after you’ve gone.
I dream of gently holding your face in my hands,
Covering you with sweet kisses,
Lightly tracing my fingertips around your forehead,
Down your cheeks to your lips.
I want to hold you tenderly,
Take away all that hurts you,
Make your pain my own.
I cry myself to sleep some nights,
Fear this dream is destined never to be for real.
Why does this torment me so?
Katherine Svensson
Universal Embrace - Lester Queripel
Listen to the sound of your loneliness.
As it echoes into space.
We inherit the seeds of loneliness.
They’re woven deep within the human race.
Like tapestries of history.
They are displayed on every face.
Embedded in the sands of time.
For future generations to trace.
The sculpture then becomes the culture.
Seemingly forever in its place.
But time can be a healer.
It always offers a universal embrace.
And that can be your saving grace.
Lester Queripel
As it echoes into space.
We inherit the seeds of loneliness.
They’re woven deep within the human race.
Like tapestries of history.
They are displayed on every face.
Embedded in the sands of time.
For future generations to trace.
The sculpture then becomes the culture.
Seemingly forever in its place.
But time can be a healer.
It always offers a universal embrace.
And that can be your saving grace.
Lester Queripel
Root and Branch - Peter Kenny
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 table.
I scrape aside the hedgerow scraps
to float along the willow road
to distant bomb-pocked England
near a city I've never seen
where my children stay with strangers
and, forgetting all their patois,
they turn in skies of fractured glaze
and trill their songs with English tongues.
Each night the doves return as crows
and I’m harrowed root and branch
as they bayonet their places
and their mother stands accused
for I tore them from their garden
and I knotted them with labels
like a cherry shedding blossom
I dropped them from my stupid limbs.
Peter Kenny
my table’s bare, the pattern’s clear:
they will starve us after curfew
they will break us at the table.
I scrape aside the hedgerow scraps
to float along the willow road
to distant bomb-pocked England
near a city I've never seen
where my children stay with strangers
and, forgetting all their patois,
they turn in skies of fractured glaze
and trill their songs with English tongues.
Each night the doves return as crows
and I’m harrowed root and branch
as they bayonet their places
and their mother stands accused
for I tore them from their garden
and I knotted them with labels
like a cherry shedding blossom
I dropped them from my stupid limbs.
Peter Kenny
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