Guernsey Poets

Sundays were by fate, grey, lacking even peculiar grace, my old man chewing over communion and crudely caught in his own private act of ...

Your brown eyes are deep pools of wonder I want to jump in the pool and go under Under your spell in the wishing well Will our relationsh...

So many feet across These creaking boards have walked, Where so many Prestigious speakers have talked, Many necks have craned From the ...

From the normal river flow, The river waters gaining speed, Towards the rapids of Somphamitt falls, Soon the distant vibrating, Thunder ...

Switch off the radio. Lock the door. and try to listen to silence. With no noise to disturb the nothingness, your brain is still. Bu...