Guernsey Poets

We played Germans and British, We played in bunkers Those concrete edifices built to last forever With the thick rusting wires and heav...

I was weeding in the garden, on a sunny April day When my fork hit something metal, hiding in the clay In the garden nothing stays if it w...

She’ll never grow up, She’s a forever child Trapped in a woman’s body, Dutifully she trots Behind her elderly mother, Full of chat and ...

The Mariner from days of yore (you may have read the tragic tale) spent his pathetic days ashore and, to all passers-by, he’d wail abou...

They don’t come luckier than me: I’ve not nine lives, I’ve ninety-nine. In street-fights (I’ve had two or three) or knife-fights, victory...