Their Hands - Trudie Shannon

They walk away together.
And he takes her hand, small and beautiful
Into his own large and rough one.
His fingers are sturdy, hers like delicate dancers.
He has changed since she came
His edges are softer, he has vulnerability
Where there was philosophy and innate strength.
Her brightness has caught him unawares
Has infused him, without him realising it.
It is enough to make one smile.
They walk away together into the windswept darkness
And he takes her hand, that small birdlike hand
And when he holds it in his own
It is as if he truly holds a fledgling bird
With its heartbeat pulsing in his palm.

Trudie Shannon

Glorious - Kathy Figueroa

How glorious to be with you
To spend the passing years this way
For the life that you've shared with me
I’m feeling thankful every day

Your good character inspires me
To try to be the best I can
I’m filled with love and gratitude
For you, my most wonderful man

It was a hard, arduous path
That led me to this tranquil place
But I’d travel that route again
For your warm, passionate embrace

My lover, stalwart companion,
Sweet, cheerful, and cherished best friend
May our days be long and joyful
And this happiness never end

Kathy Figueroa

"Glorious" was published on February 1, 2018, in The Bancroft Times newspaper.

Old Guernsey Boys - Diane Scantlebury

Old Guernsey boys how they reminisce,
About the women they’ve loved
And the girls they’ve kissed,
About summer romances and flirtations
That like the tides came and went,
In teenage haunts long gone
Their youth misspent,

Over a pint in the pub,
Old Guernsey boys how they reminisce
About the women they’ve loved
And the girls they could’ve kissed,
About youthful adventures past and long gone,
The triumph of their conquests
And opportunities missed.

Diane Scantlebury

Victor Hugo’s Parrot - Richard Fleming

The parrot of Victor Hugo
does not reside in a château,
instead he dwells in Guernsey air
and perches calmly on a chair,
immobile, quiet as a mouse,
in Le Salon of Hauteville House.

He knows he dare not interrupt
for Victor can be très abrupt.
He’s been as grumpy as a crab
while writing that Les Miserables.
But when work’s finished for the day,
Vic loves his petit perroquet.

Richard Fleming

Gorse A-Popping - Tony Gardner

Mum's in the house and gossiping in Guernsey French with Gran
The water from the well is sweeter than I'll ever taste again
Around the back I sit and bask, in dripping July sun
Listening to the gorse pods, popping one by one.

I worry over Grammar school, and Linda's thoughts of me
The world is going crazy, all except when I can be
Where cloudlets smile, where bees buzz by, where joyful linnets sing
Where hay scent drifts in hot, dry air, where dry, brown gorse pods ping

It's Saturday, as usual Grandpa is "Au Travail "
And Mum and Gran are sitting on the old Green Bed as I
Am perched upon the granite steps behind the little cot
Absorbing sunshine, listening to the gorse go "pop-pop-pop"

The old Green Lane meanders up the verdant valley side
I see the meadows full of fragrant flowers, sweet and wild.
The skylark bursts his heart out, with a peerless, joyful song
Just asking how could anything in God's good world be wrong?
In Pleinmont's countryside we've found the everflowing cup
Gold flowers fade and leathern pods go pop....pop....pop.

Today I sit in Sussex fields, but Guernsey fills my mind
I listen to the popping gorse, evoking childhood times.
When Saturdays we'd ride our bikes or catch the old Grey Bus
For Torteval was always drawing back the likes of us
With roots deep in those valleys and those high cliffs by the sea
Where July gorse still pops, still calls, in dreams so real to me.

Tony Gardner