Organised by

Guernsey Literary Festival

Sponsored by


Supported by

Guernsey Arts

Josh Ekroy, London

1st prize: Open Poetry
Poems on the Move & Poems on the Buses Exhibitions

Ten years on and he lives in the garden shed.
He can hear the dog barking rifle shots
but he takes it with him on his runs to muzzle him.
A dew-white spider web’s a trip wire, grass
is hissing warnings but it’s too late to report them.
The wind’s whisper is a signal from the sniper
on the cliff and that cold-eyed seagull will detonate
the myrtle bush that lies in his path as he runs, his body
not his body. The sound he makes with his damp feet-
splashes will lead to a logjam of sodden corpses
in a sluggish river. There will be a moon that says
movement behind him in his front yard 6 o’clock.
He has a wash in dark soy sauce, rallies for combat,
face black. His good ear’s a ringing cup of silence.