Hancock Goes Shopping

Matt Hancock went down to the shop
With his knob out. ‘It’s OK I’ll pop
A mask on my face
And leave plenty of space
And I’ve got lots of flags on my top’

Matt Hancock, enjoying the breeze
Round his gonads, went round by the cheese
And selected salami
Some gherkins, pastrami
Some wonky bananas, and peas

Matt Hancock then picked up The Sun
And saw he was in it. ‘What fun!
And, may I say
What a glorious day
For getting, er…everything done!’

Matt Hancock skipped out to the car
Where his bird (altogether now, ah!)
Was waiting. ‘It’s hot’
She said, ‘and you forgot
Your trousers again. You’ll go far’

Matt Hancock relaxed in his seat
With his knob out, and put up his feet
On the dashboard. ‘Drive on’
He said, then they were gone
Leaving skidmarks all over the street

© Gail Foster 25th June 2021

Nothing Fair In Love Or War Or Ever Was In Politics

(a parody of The Major-General’s Song by Gilbert and Sullivan)

I am the very model of a Police and Crime Commissioner
A Master of the Hunt and a Conservative practitioner
A fine upstanding Councillor and long standing parishioner
Consider me when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister
(Consider him when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister)

I know a man who knows a man who said that it would be OK
Nudge nudge wink wink and say no more and go and do it anyway
I claim the moral high ground but it’s not an easy thing to do
I have to climb a horse so I can see over the top of you
(He has to climb a horse so he can see over the top of you)

I’m very good at plastering my posters over all the land
The farmers in the area all know me well and understand
That I have little time to practice pleasantness or charity
And I consider hunting an acceptable barbarity
(And he considers hunting an acceptable barbarity)

A major in the army once I was but not a general
Some say that my position there may well have been untenable
But here in Wiltshire no-one gives a toss about your history
As long as your rosette is blue the rest may be a mystery
(As long as your rosette is blue the rest may be a mystery)

I’m interested in most matters appertaining to the law
And glad that you have understood exactly what your vote is for
And even though I’ve proved to be entirely unselectable
I’m not at all apologetic that I’m unelectable
(He’s not at all apologetic that he’s unelectable)

Sound the horn the battle isn’t over till the fat boy’s won
I’m not averse to blasting pigs apart and yes I’ve got a gun
And woe betide you if you didn’t buckle down and vote for me
Or worse you are a person who’s inclined to writing poetry
(Or worse you are a person who’s inclined to writing poetry)

In past lives I may well have been on rampages and pillages
And been the subject of some whispered gossip in the villages
But nothing you have ever heard is anything of note to me
As long as you still doff your cap and go along and vote for me
(As long as you still doff your cap and go along and vote for me)

Onwards ever onwards from the Plain and up to Swindon Town
With thousands of my followers all following with noses brown
Be reassured it’s nothing that the Tory party cannot fix
There’s nothing fair in love or war or ever was in politics
(There’s nothing fair in love or war or ever was in politics)

So if you voted for me why I thank you for your interest
And all the pictures posted on the bus stops and on Pinterest
And even though I’m not the new Police and Crime Commissioner
Consider me when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister!
(Consider him when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister!)

© Gail Foster 11th May 2021

I Met A Friend Beside The Cross

I Met A Friend Beside The Cross ~ for Michelle

I met a friend beside the cross
Up on The Green on Easter Day
And she was there to mourn a loss
And I was passing on my way

Now she and I, we only meet
Infrequently throughout the year
But there we were; a meeting sweet
And meaningful, before the dear

Beflowered cross the people made
And posies in all colours bright
Where all day long the people prayed
Or stayed to see the way the light

Did shine upon the Field that day
As shone before high on the hill
And some go on and some will stay
To pray, and will be praying still

And so we spoke, my friend and I
Of love and life, and of her loss
And of the mystery of why
We met together by the cross

And I went on, and left her to
Her sorrow, and when I was gone
She did what she had gone to do
Adore the cross with flowers on

Who knows His ways? Not she or I
But Oh! What beauty was reborn
Up on the Field beneath the sky
Before the cross on Easter morn

© Gail Foster 5th April 2021

The Ballad of Derek and Pauline

Derek and Pauline North family photographs

In loving memory of Derek, 1932 – 2021, and Pauline North , 1931 – 2021
Two good people from Devizes who loved each other, and who loved to dance

I know what I like, my love
And I like what I see
I wonder if you’d like to take
My hand and dance with me

We’ll marry in September and
Go laughing by the sea
I wonder if you’ll take my hand
My love, and dance with me

We’ll have a little house and make
A home and family
And all of this will come to pass
If you will dance with me

And I will make your flour rise
And puddings that will be
Like honey on your tongue if you
Will come and dance with me

There’s children in the garden, love
So many I can see
And all because you took my hand
And came and danced with me

You were my only love and true
And we’ll forever be
The last ones out there on the floor
You loved to dance with me

I’ll bring you daffodils, my love
And later after tea
I’ll take your hand and then we will
Go dancing, you and me

© Gail Foster 21st February 2021

Family photographs by kind permission of Karen North

‘To the virus, we are landscape’ by CJ Thorpe-Tracey; a review

When CJ Thorpe-Tracey’s first poetry pamphlet slipped coolly into my Facebook Newsfeed I knew I had to have it. My dealings with Thorpe-Tracey to date have been that I met him at a gig he played a few years ago and that I read his Facebook posts with interest. He seems to say it as it is, and isn’t, or so I thought when I read one of his reviews once, much of a people-pleaser. I think of him as a bit of a left-wing Leonardo (or so I decided as I was making notes for this review), one of those people who can turn their hand to many things and do them well, and (more importantly to a self-obsessed poet with a short attention span) as a person who is unlikely to waste my time.

It has been a tradition over recent centuries for a new poet to introduce their work to the world by means of the production of a pamphlet, or chapbook, a slim volume of verse.

The book, with its subtle seascape cover, looks like a bit of class – ‘Tranquil, clear, and calm’, says my mate T as she feels it between her palms (I’ll explain about T later) – and like something I want to own, something important.

So I order it and it arrives and I decide that when I read it it will be a proper moment and it sits on the sideboard for a while.

My qualification for reviewing a book of free verse consists of a B in A level English achieved in my late teens when I was off my head, and five years of teaching my middle-aged self, mostly, to write poetry in traditional forms. I avoid free verse like the plague (not the best analogy in this day and age) as it seems to me that most of it is lazy tosh written because someone couldn’t be bothered to break their brain on a proper poem. I do know some damn good poets though, and every now and again I stumble across a free verse poem that causes me to catch my breath, so I’m open to educating myself and moderating my view.

Free verse may contain structure but is not bound by it, likewise there may be rhyme or there may not be.

It’s misty on the morning that I decide to open ‘To the virus, we are landscape’, and as I read the first poem ‘No pharmaceuticals’, the mist lifts and the sun streams into my living room and I catch my breath and my eyes fill with tears.

This is a poet who knows about words.

This is a poet who knows about sickness and shadow.

There are other poems in the book that do this to me; ‘Second Pillar’, in which the poet contrasts church bells with the Call to Prayer; ‘Visiting Hours’, a hospital conversation about racism and remaining; ‘Catholic Primary’, a brutal story of bullying and revenge; ‘Dementor’, in which the poet makes his views on JK Rowling known and no bones about it; and, my favourite I think, ‘Second Spike’, a poignant account of the evolution of a relationship during the months of coronavirus.

It’s a book about Britain in 2020, and the material in it is both personal and political. There’s a poem called ‘First six weeks of lockdown’; one called ‘Eat Out To Help Out’; an acerbic and gloriously vulgar set of lines called ‘A Dick Pic Triptych’ on the subject of Hancock, Johnson, and Cummings; and of course ‘To the virus, we are landscape’, which is the last of the twenty-one poems.

Thorpe-Tracey breaks the book up with a couple of pictures of tweets and three small poems on the theme of ‘wet’, and in the Acknowledgements says that he has been inspired by the work of Suzannah Evans and John McCullough.

What do I love about the lines in this book? The alliteration – ‘hung on high and hammer smashed’; the similes – ‘a goose-like honk through silence / as lime into cream’; the visceral (and often food-related) physicality – ‘Cold-burnt my teeth on a cumulus chunk’, ‘a lady snapped / a chicken bone above her plate’, ‘Crushed into the nuts and salt’.

What do I not like? Not much. Although I will say, and this is more about my grounding in traditional verse forms than Thorpe-Tracey’s ability, that sometimes the nearly but not quite form thing is a little frustrating. I’m not sure whether the fact that I like that he often ends a verse with a rhyme is about pure appreciation or relief, and I find myself counting syllables with some of the pieces. In ‘Grandma’s Funeral’, he’s gone for the 5-7-5 used in haiku/senryu/tanka and stuck to it, whereas in his ‘wet’ poems he wavers.

I rarely read other peoples’ work but I’ve read this book more than once and I love it. I love it because it takes me to places I know and don’t know at the same time; I love it because the words are complex and beautiful and I relish them; and I love it because it’s realistic and philosophical and it moves me.

And that’s where my friend T comes in. Because this book moves me a lot and I need to check that out. So, as we’re sat on the edge of the fountain in the Market Place in town with our coffees, and after T, who works in the NHS, has held the book between her palms and said that it is ‘Tranquil, calm, and clear’, I read ‘Visiting Hours’ to her.

And there it is. A sharp intake of breath and a silent ‘Ooo’. ‘How’ says T, ‘can so much be said with so few words?’

Not just me, then.

I’m delighted to have CJ Thorpe-Tracey’s pocket-sized piece of poetic excellence and bittersweet bite of history on my shelves. Reading ‘To the virus, we are landscape’ has been a great use of my time and whilst I am not yet a convert to free verse I do feel that I understand it better.

Methinks the gentleman has played a blinder, and I look forward to more.

Review © Gail Foster 10th December 2020

Q&A (thanks to CJ Thorpe-Tracey for the answers)

1. Any reason that you are not going to do a reprint? Might it appear in other ways in future?

I misjudged the timing of poetry publishing – how far ahead everything is scheduled. So I had to decide either to hold off till May/June 2021 (to try to get it into magazines etc) or to just not worry about that and go for it now. This pamphlet is so rooted in 2020 and Covid upheaval, I wanted it out, while it’s still all around us.

So now, it’s selling well, but to my own audience outside of poetry, rather than a ‘real’ poetry readership; I’m not making in-roads into that world. Plus obviously I’m just starting out, with a lot still to learn.

My plan is to move on – get on with writing more, submit to magazines as I go, until the next time I’ve got enough done for a pamphlet, however long that takes.

If I ever have enough work to publish a full book collection, I’ll include these.

2) Is the Dick Pic Triptych based on an old form?

It’s not sadly, it’s just built off the rhythm of the first two lines, which I got from hip hop rather than poems.

3) (Forgive me!) How do you Feel about the book and the work inside it?

I like it as a whole and I think it’s strong as a debut effort. I enjoyed the processes, it’s very new to me (and profoundly different from song lyric writing). There are poems in there I’m very proud of.

However I do think I leapt into publishing a pamphlet too early (but did so for good reasons, i.e. what I mention above, about corona times). So serious poetry people may find my work quite ‘beginner level’/naive and simple.

At the same time, it’s not really about that, right? The words pleased me!

Fwiw your own kind of tautly constructed rhyming poetry inspires me just as much – often more – than free verse and that “oh how clever am I, disguising archaic formalism within something that appears to be free verse” stuff that seems to be prevalent, as if poems are maths problems.  

And finally –

4) Will there be another one?

Definitely. Not until I’m certain it’s ready though, I’m not setting a deadline.

For further information about ‘To the virus, we are landscape’ by CJ Thorpe-Tracey, published by Border Crossing Press 2020, email chris@christt.com, or find him on Twitter @christt

Carrie Symonds and the Fish

Carrie Symonds sniffed the air
And wondered what the smell
That came from Cummings’ office was
Now he had gone to hell

How odious the man had been
And oh how he did hate her
So much that he had left a fish
Behind the radiator

Carrie Symonds got the fish
And threw it in the bin
How very nice the office looked
Without the Cummings in

But all the same there did remain
A funny sort of smell
And so she had it swept and cleaned
By MI5 as well

© Gail Foster 14th November 2020

The Last Thing That She Said To Me

– a poem for World Mental Health Day

‘I’m sorry that I didn’t come to tea
It’s just I’ve not been feeling very well’
‘You’ll soon be better, mate, you wait and see
You’ve got what I had last week, I can tell’
‘I don’t know, I’ve been feeling really bad
And sometimes even…’ ‘I know what you need
What I do when I feel a little sad
Is run myself a bubble bath and read
You try it, and you’ll soon be right as rain’
‘And sometimes even…’ ‘Sometimes even what?’
‘I feel like ending everything’ ‘Again?
You say that every time you lose the plot
And you’re still here’ ‘I’m sorry about tea’
That was the last thing that she said to me

© Gail Foster 10th October 2020

https://www.samaritans.org/

Hard Work It Seems Is Not Enough

Work hard, they said, and so I did

Till midnight sometimes and beyond

I read and did as I was bid

Work hard, they said and so I did

I always was that sort of kid

There never was a magic wand

Work hard, they said and so I did

Till midnight sometimes and beyond

 

Work hard, they said, and so I read

And didn’t go to bed till noon

Believing every word they said

Worked hard until my fingers bled

And all the world was in my head

There never was a silver spoon

Work hard, they said, and so I read

And didn’t go to bed till noon

 

Work hard, they said, and so I did

And you’ll be what you want to be

No path in life will be forbid

Work hard, they said, and so I did

I always was that sort of kid

But never went to Eton, see

Work hard, they said, and so I did

And you’ll be what you want to be

 

Work hard, they said. For kids like me

Hard work it seems is not enough

The Bs I need were not to be

Work hard, they said. For kids like me

There is no university

Hey, it’s a hard knock life, kid. Tough

Work hard, they said. For kids like me

Hard work it seems is not enough

 

© Gail Foster 15th August 2020

Blossom

May Day Blossom by Gail Foster

~ A poem for the first of May ~

The first of May today. The maypoles stand
In silence. Ribbons flutter in the breeze
There are no dancing feet but only bees
On empty village greens across the land

I wonder if the old gods understand
That we cannot in ancient ways appease
The lusts of earth, or lie beneath the trees
Or even hold an absent lover’s hand

How beautiful the blossom is. It falls
In showers on the garlic flowers, blows
In snowy clouds across our garden walls
And gathers in the potholes. No-one knows

What happens now. The first of May today
The blossom falls, the blossom flies away

© Gail Foster 1st May 2020