Guernsey Poets

Ragged granite sentinels tear at the hearts of the huge Atlantic rollers driven in by the gale. White horses charge towards the shore, spum...

The tall Echium sways in the breeze. A myriad of purple trumpets call summoning the tiger striped workforce with a silent blast of colour...

A golden memory from a flotilla holiday with my wife and two young daughters years ago. "Tree mooning" so named after I described ...

A Humourous poem. No Diction, meant to be read as it is written with a Guernsey accent Caw La! (Not many of us left now Eh!) Just a bit of a...

Can you see what I can’t see Could you be me if I were thee What is it that you do there Could you still do it if you were over here Wh...