An Island Unknown The sun caressing ancient volcanic rock, the ocean ebbing to and fro, waiting only for whatcomes next.This iconic island seems worlds away from natural disasters in other distant lands.The people native to this iconic dot on an atlas have their own crosses to bear, but the food,the culture, the endless smiles are […]
An Island Unknown by Jane Marie O’Dean Read More »
The Toppled Tree Pagodas with bell-shaped roofs on rocky islets washed by a tranquil sea; exotic trees, some bushy,others fronded leaning over a narrow inlet; a cormorant drying its wings in the light breeze on anisolated reef. All this portrayed on a piece of porcelain pulled out from the roots of a toppled silkyoak, hand
The Toppled Tree by Joe Hollins Read More »
Waking At Warbeth Get upUp out of your comfortable gravesKick off the quiet quilt of kirkyard clayUpAnd shake the sleep-salt from your socketsRise upAnd rattle your red bonesUnwind your shrouds for ribbonsCross country track and fieldThe pistol is poised skywardThe hare has leapt the trapJavelins lance gold from sky to silver seaAnd the rising tideIs
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High Tide Line After my emotional stormI stoop to examine the high tide line.Muscles tense knee to hipAs I pick over the flotsam and jetsam.Fingering and thinking. Lank weed tangles around smooth pebbles, waterworn;Rattling shells lifeless, deserted;Muck and tar and cast away leavings.Torn, ribboned, exposed and naked:My life’s recent edges. Close scrutiny shocks and fascinates.Running
High Tide Line by Dallas Miles Read More »
Let the party commence What a time to remember Orkney.The island games are nearly upon us.So bring out your flags and enjoy the fun.They call us Guernsey donkeys that I won’t deny but hardworking and strong these qualities you can rely on.Let’s enjoy the moments of celebration and keep our good hearts.Friends will always be
Let the party commence by Ellen Hughes Read More »
Guernsey Generally thought by the British as Jersey,Unusually gifted with gardens of flowers,Encircled by beaches and lazy blue water,Respite from the heat of the work-weary hours.Naïve in the trusting of boxes on hedges,So secret the banks in their great wealth procuring,Encased in a time warp and tossed in the sea,Yet proud and enchanting and strangely
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To Be An Islander The sea breathing,Is so intrinsically an islanders own, That the rhythm of their beating hearts,Waking or sleeping, Matches the oscillation of waves Breaking upon their shores, day and night.There is never silence.Not in any season.Not in the stillest of nights.Nor in the dead hours before dawnWhen death holds many a last
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The Tea Berry I kneel in this cathedral of life. Knees damp, ground spongy, fingers numb, and nose pressed almost to the autumn earth. Searching reverentially for tea berries. A deep contemplation of the improbability of moss, the brightness of bryophytes ,the scales of the small fern. An accompanying choir of meadowlarks, their voices like
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Another Summer Season Has Ended Mooring buoys bob on the surfacelike balloons discarded after a party. The sea stretches beyond the haze of the horizon into infinity,it’s millpond stillness rippled only by a ferry gliding silently into another world. Waivering reflectionson the waterendorse the isolation of the island. Another summer season has ended. Responses The
Another Summer Season Has Ended by Cassie Jones Read More »
Orkney I am window ledge cat, curled up, purring, one eye watchful.I am towering, bird-soaring cliffs looking over frothing, teal waters.I am snow, drifting through fence post eddies.I am early morning, sunrise spark over horizon.I am heather fire, carnage before the green of rebirth.I am wind, bending all before it, demanding you attention.I am panorama
Orkney by Claire Slade Read More »