Prose

Enjoy 
by: Anthony Fry.

Helier lived in Jersey, Christianity to preach.
A transition from "natural life" to spiritual fold.
A cave to dwell, for worship, a mount to meet.
First missionary, an honest upright man of old
His gown flows, he stalks a L'islet,with bare feet.
Bearded, blonde curly hair to shoulders mould.
Lonely days, hunger pangs from not much to eat.

Saxons arrive, intent on another plunderous raid.
A warrior mead drinker, ponytails tucked under.
Dance on sea horses, a jolly roger flag of plaid.
Approaching Jersey, to reek pillage and plunder.
Buccaneer pirates, fly their scull and cross bones.
A murderous wind, with hailstone and thunder. 
Cannon tied to deck planks, axes sharply honed. 

A truly courageous person, fearful for others loss.
At times of danger, Helier found fit to ignore a fight.
Filled up with strength, he made signs of a Cross.
He unchained an almighty storm, with silverlight.
His Gospel destroyed, and scuttled all pirate ships.
Everything pounded, unquenchable waves might.
No crews merrily dance, to hornpipes, nor traipse.

Another of beowolf's Saxons, felled Helier at his feet.
Helier's blood, became a winged le cheval of freedom.
Martyred Helier, undisturbed, departed on a breeze.
To Petite Port, a Saint waiting always with open arms.
A resurretioned angel, Saint Helier his psalms intend.
Where it is formed into a gorgeous "valle'e de larmes".
The mother God waiting, "Holy Spirits born in Eden".