Guernsey - Ian Duquemin

The rolling yellow cliff tops 
The ripple of the sea
The greedy call of seagulls...
With their "cry of hunger" plea
The sands that keep returning
Lying warm upon the shore
Framing Island history
On ocean ever pure
Guernsey keep on blooming
Let your flag lift high and proud
Keep your cheer of freedom...
As a song forever loud
And help your children flourish 
In the future, as the past
And may your strength and beauty always last

Ian Duquemin

Ebola Orphan - Diane Scantlebury

And so it came
A silent thief,
Brought only pain
With no relief,
Left an orphan crying
For his mother,
Who lay unnamed
In an unmarked grave
Alongside his father, sisters and others,
For this newly created ‘only child’
There’d be no joy or pride,
He’d be a lone survivor in an empty world
Where all his family had died,
With no one left to love
Or nurture him
Nothing more for medicine to do,
Ebola orphan child
What will become of you?

Diane Scantlebury

Paused - Janinka Diverio

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in December 2010

Paused
Washed up, eroded
by the course of, the force of...
...the caressing game of life

Once stirred, once a battle against the odds
Still
Ogre-like in its stature –

- like you

A failed plight, dead of night
A colossus so frail, strewn masts and a shredded sail
Now simply a faintly image, my friend –

- like you

Ghostly clouds embody the secrets of a hoped-for land
of a kind face, a warm heart and a stroke of your hand

Deathly silent, tears shed,
what lies now on the ocean bed?

Paused -
so quiet
Embers littered midst drift woods and lives

Caused -
what caused
shattered hopes, quashed spirits and severed ties

- by you?

Janinka Diverio

Celebration (for which there are no proper rites) - Vic Gamble

there are no proper rites,
ambrosia slipped between the tiles,
on the tiles
cat-walk screeching
in lingual insubordination…..
it is all a cacophony to some,
but we must encompass the whole caboodle,
like a contango,
our celebration forward fan-faring,
a fountain for the day.

a bellow of a raindrop
on the green leaf vein,
black circles black
and back to blue again,
the flag-rag wave,
the beauty of swans slow-gliding,
old eyes sup energy from joy
while the young mischief making merry;
there is no phantasm in celebration,
only that which exists,
not phoney, but phonetic
as loud as clear as cheering.

grab the glad rag Gladstone bag
let rhyme and song entangle,
exhale to exhaustion,
savour, scamp & spangle;
there are no proper rites,
enjoy the day's spatula of lights
and quick skip
the light drowned fandangle.

Vic Gamble

A Gift Of Flowers - Trudie Shannon

He proffered two flowers,
Both full-blown , a blue and a yellow.
She thought of Spring but
This was Autumn and he was well into his winter
His shoulders stooped, his head bald
And his skin ruddy with burst capillaries.
She took them graciously
Whilst he swept his cap from his head
Bowing slightly.
And realised in that gesture
She was in receipt
Of a simple gift of love.

Trudie Shannon