Remember, Remember… - Traditional

One of many versions of this traditional chant

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.

By god's mercy he was catch'd
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.

And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!

Traditional

Saviour, Monsieur Sidaner - Trudie Shannon

When child small, the lane
Was a deep, grey channel, a gauntlet to be run, save
When the old Frenchman with green hands and black beret
Stood on the hill high bank,
Tomato full greenhouses at his back,
To hold council in his somersaulting tongue,
Whilst we stood, the rescued,
Captivated by his rapid sing song
And the dance of his gesticulating hands.
The bullies always passed us by
When Monsieur held court
No taunts, no pushing, no shoving.
And we always stood together
His rapt, uncomprehending audience of two.
But we listened just the same
Awaiting the moment when
Those green leathery hands would
Proffer fruit for 'Maman'
Which they always did and we would take them, as we always did
Then scurry away in safety
Muttering and giggling Oui, Oui
All the way home.

Trudie Shannon

Where Beauty Sleeps - Diane Scantlebury

Where beauty lies
Beauty sleeps,
So beauty will
Her secret keep,
Where ugliness lies
Then ugliness knows,
The darkest place
Where ugliness grows,
So let beauty wake
And in your heart shine,
Don’t let ugliness creep
And your heart entwine,
If beauty’s secret
You wish to keep,
Don’t let ugliness know
Where beauty sleeps.

Diane Scantlebury

The Youth of Today - Joan Etoile

I made my eldest grandson some fairy cakes for tea
But he didn't want them, because he was high on E
The young are so ungrateful, they don't know that they're born
They've never known real hardship, or woke to a hopeless dawn

These days they're out 'til all hours - no curfew bothers them
Money is no problem, they're changing phones again
It seems they want for nothing, but are never satisfied
The attention spans of goldfish, no morals and no pride

It's a far cry from the old days, when we spoke in Patois code
We did it to fool the Germans - and the Jersey toad
Back then it was real excitement, painting secret signs
Spying on the neighbours, in case they changed sides

We lived in constant danger, there are stories to be told
To my feckless grandsons, before I get too old
I'm sure they listen really, I think there's some hope yet
'Cos I heard the youngest say he had to hide his crystal set...

Joan Etoile

The Terror Cure - Ian Duquemin

The man stood at the boarding gate
All eyes on him were filled with hate
Or was it fear of the unknowing?
Would they get to the place they were going?
Security men had searched him well
He had nothing as far as machines could tell
But on the plane, air conditioners blew
If only the passengers knew!
The wheels touched down from underneath
He heard the sighs of some relief
With feet back on the tarmac'd ground
Arrival... Safe and sound 
Of course the man was searched once more
He had no weapons, they were sure
So he was free to walk away...
His prayers allowed this day
Days did pass, and in a room
The man in sweat... A martyr soon
His virus oozed from deep within
From here, all would begin...
The other passengers at home
Had spread his illnesses, then unknown
Passed to husband, wife and child
To spread like fire... Fierce and wild
And years after the martyr died
A woman screamed... A child cried
The population dwindled fast
How long would sickness last?
They never found "The Terror Cure"
But masks were issued, worn by law
And those that lived would live in fear
As God had put them here
A small injection in the vein 
A foot upon a boarding plane
A carrier let through the door
No weapons... Only war 

Ian Duquemin