Zoe Cannell is the current Manx Bard, and the sixth local poet to hold the title.

Each month she shares a poem with us, and tells us a little of what inspired her to write it.

Although I originally intended to write about something other than the coronavirus for this month’s column, it doesn’t feel easy to pen anything else, as it is the issue dominating our lives so heavily.

Poetry and other forms of the arts developed during such a difficult time will play a part in shaping history, so it is important to carefully record the events and emotions we are experiencing now.

My poem is not too upbeat, but I have produced more light-hearted material, which I trust I’ll also be able to share with you in due course.

It was lovely to learn that I will remain in post as the Manx Bard until 2021.

The committee recognised that much of what I hoped I could achieve in the remainder of my tenure has had to be postponed or cancelled.

I am thankful to Bridget Carter for giving me this boost and the opportunity to continue.

The other bards are keeping busy too and, in the pages of Island Life as well as on Facebook, some of their 20-second length poems on the theme of handwashing can be found.

It is wonderful to see the youth bards playing their part. Both Xander Shirtliff, this year’s Manx Youth Bard, and last year’s poet, Holly MacRae, along with Esther Walter and the other runners-up are so talented, and I admire their work and their spirit.

This week’s 20-second poem is written by Stacey Astill, who was named as the second Manx Bard in 2016.

These poems are written to be read as you wash your hands, and can be found on page 20.

The Gate-Crasher

The World threw a party. It sent out invitations

To every one of its dwellers, in all of its nations

No curb on the numbers – unhomed to dignitaries

Mixed together, to bring to it their diversities.

A jamboree to include occupants of every land,

Though they spoke many tongues, seemed to just understand.

Dressed in regional clothing; varied styles of their hair,

In The World’s celebration, all did equally share.

A dream reunion, where there was enough shelter to give,

A team union, with ample food for the poorest to live.

The guests rang out a chorus, joining in the same song

Of fresh hope to learn how to start getting along.

Every corner of the planet represented right there.

It forgot not a soul. The World pledged room to spare.

Different cultures did dance at such a magical ball.

The World discriminated not. It had welcomed them all.

Suddenly without warning; heard a loud, piercing shout.

A Gate-crasher stormed in, and was thrashing about –

Uncaring and tearing, and hounding and clawing

And flitting and spitting and pounding and gnawing.

Choking, provoking, taunted, haunted and jerking,

A beast at the feast, it was threateningly lurking,

Ravaging, savaging; it hid unsuspecting,

Yet, grunting and hunting, whilst wildly infecting.

Breaking up The World’s party, coldly snarling its teeth,

Getting in, round, out, over, through, past, underneath.

Leaving a trail of destruction at this global event,

Petrifying people present to then fear where it went.

“Get Out”, we hollered; lurched to rip out its heart.

Those gathered were ordered to – “Move six feet apart”.

One Arranger, Howard Quayle, was swift to perceive

Declared The World’s party closed; told attendees to leave.

They sauntered no more. Rapid, for their lives, ran

To their homes, slammed the doors; didn’t meet fellow man

And remained there like victims of a virulent crime.

The Gate-crasher could come back for them at any time.

The Arranger said “Things had been going quite well,

When this monster marched in, ascended straight up from hell.”

Police immediately called and arrested the imposter at blame

Taking details, it answered – “Corona is my name”.

by Zoe Cannell

www.manxbard.im