Guernsey Poets

If it wasn't for your kindness He would be a drifting poet Who might sing a song of sadness To whoever wants to hear it And his word...

I saw your paintings, and your flowers, and I remembered when, for just a second, I had not lost hope. When my long closed eyes felt ...

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 ...

She approaches me, wobbling a little Upon her high stiletto heels. Her face has been painted as though She wears another’s portrait upo...

fingers curled tight to the memory replayed in cinematic glory on the reels of my mind each time escalating in volume and colour. Int...