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

The Demon and the Angel - Ian Duquemin

The demon asked the angel
"Why do people think you're good?"
The angel shone and smiled, then answered
"God has said they should"
The demon thought a moment, and replied
"But God's not true!
Or why would he have made me bad..
Yet put the good in you?"
The angel didn't answer, she just gave a wicked grin
As she had been deceitful and had not confessed her sin
The demon he got angry, and then shouted "That's not fair!
I'm only in man's mind but you are called to every prayer"
The angel told the demon that an illness he shall be
"You should have been a liar... Just like me!"

Ian Duquemin

Silver Surfing? - Jenny Hamon

Communication's very poor
Conversation is no more
'Cos hubby's on his iPad now
As long as batteries will allow

It's great that he can surf the net
And as a pensioner, that's no mean bet
But home life suffers, time runs away
He loses track of time or day

The shipping lanes keep him amused
From where ?, going to?, the ships have cruised
His Facebook friends converse with him more
Am I really that much of a bore?

I leave him to it 'till I need
To tell him that it's time to feed
But he's engrossed, the hearing's dim
Tea's ready, I'll just message him

Jenny Hamon

Flotsam - Diane Scantlebury

There's unusual flotsam on this beach,
A place where before only the foam of the surf
Or the sandaled feet of tourists would tread,
Now every day is filled with apprehension and dread,
Of what will be washed up
To be mingled in the golden sand,
Perhaps a discarded life vest,
Perhaps a small child’s hand,
This vivid snapshot of tragedy
Now the debris of desperation and grief,
To momentarily prick our conscience,
A reminder and remnants of life so brief.

Diane Scantlebury

Why Is It Called A Boxing Ring When It's A Square? - Lyndon Queripel

Was it the second round ?
The boxer couldn't tell
That last punch was hard
And it had hurt like hell
Against the ropes he reeled
And to the floor he fell
Through a mist of pain
He heard the referee yell
"Seven,eight,nine," and then
Clang! Saved by the bell.

Lyndon Queripel