Author: Gail

Why Deal With Truth When Lies Will Do

 
Vote Theresa, and you may
See Brexit worries fly away
On fluffy clouds of pink and blue
Why deal with truth when lies will do
…
Vote Theresa, get behind
The flying pigs all flying blind
We’re just a turd on Europe’s shoe
Why deal with truth when lies will do
…
Vote Theresa, have it hard
She’ll get our ball from Europe’s yard
They love us really, yes they do
Why deal with truth when lies will do
…
Vote Theresa, what”s to lose
She’ll still have money for her shoes
And we’ll be in the food bank queue
Why deal with truth when lies will do
…
Vote Theresa, stable, strong
All good, and we’ll all get along
Nah, we’ll still be Europe’s twat
Hogwash, nonsense, tosh an’ that
*

© Gail Foster 3rd May 2017

Swallows

Blue Heart - Copy

for Tracey Lawrence

*

She scans the sky for swallows in the Spring

Down in the Rowdey gardens, by the shed

When I was low and January dead

She held my hand and helped my spirit sing

I saw her soul, a swallow on the wing

Still flying high when other birds had fled

Such loving kindness in the words she said

Such gentleness on earth is everything

…

She’s in the garden, sitting in her chair

And laughing as the swallows in the skies

Make witty patterns in the Wiltshire air

Like little arrows shot across The Vize

I think that I shall just leave Tracey there

With tears of joy and swallows in her eyes

*

© Gail Foster 2nd May 2017

Easter Sunday; Devizes

IMG_0027

for John (Ted) Dexter

*

no cars on the road

all of the town sofa bound

food lulled and sleeping

…

walking home, a man

evensong’s slow gentle peace

on him like monks’ robes

…

old man and poet

meet in quiet communion

by the graveyard gate

…

souls of the same shade

in unspoken fellowship

watching the birds fly

…

on the bridge, silence

white blossom, silver water

Easter Sunday light

*

© Gail Foster 17th April 2017

Colin’s Garden

For Colin Hopgood, a good man of Devizes, who has been milkman and Mayor, and tends the allotment by Quakers Walk that gives so much pleasure to so many…

*

‘Tis Spring on the allotments, in the air

The scent of hyacinths, the sense of bees

The sunlight on the cabbages and trees

And sitting in the greenhouse, on his chair

Remembering past summers, and the Fair

The Kenyan heat, the icy Kennet freeze

The smallest seedlings grown into sweet peas

Is Colin, father, lover, milkman, mayor

…

He’ll tell you, if you ask him, where the boat

That sits amongst the marigolds once sat

He’ll show you his banana tree, and bowers

And time and swans will fly, and barges float

Until he calls his dogs, and doffs his hat

And sends you home with vegetables, and flowers

*

© Gail Foster 23rd March 2017

Not In My Name

 

*

I wonder how she feels today

The Muslim girl I spoke to on the bus

The girl who had so many things to say

About how she feels free and safe with us

I wonder if today she feels the same

Dear child of the warm Damascan breeze

Cry God and Allah we are all the same

Not in my name, not in my name, please

*

© Gail Foster 23rd March 2017

Come Rise

IMG_7974-1 - Copy

Written for the Gorsedd of the Bards; Avebury, England, Spring 2017

*

Can you feel her in the blood

The turning tides, the shifting of the skies

Or hear her on the wind, or in the cries

Of gulls that wheel above the drying mud

Come rise…

…

Can you sense her in the urge

Of flames that lick the furze and lambs that leap

Of sap that rushes sudden from the deep

In swirls of sacred water in the surge

Come rise…

…

Can you feel her in the stone

The ancient fire, the spark of energy

The force that flows through river, rock, and tree

The movement of the marrow in the bone

Come rise…

…

Can you taste her on the lips

The heady scents of grass and honey wine

Of sun warmed earth and rain on celandine

Upon the tongue, upon the fingertips

Come rise…

…

Can you feel her in the beat

Of wing on air, of drum, of run of deer

Or see her colours on the hill appear

All blazing bright, alive with pulsing heat

Come rise…

…

What are you, man, but water through her hand

The winter’s ashes and the summer’s dust

A flick of life and then a flare of lust

Then back into the earth on which you stand

Come rise…

…

Be still, and feel her raw and naked power

Come forth as lightening, set the trees alight

Set hares to run and horses to take flight

Through alder grove and furrowed field in flower

Come rise…

*

© Gail Foster 18th March 2017

Kittens

IMG_1190

*

I’ve never even touched a man, she said

And now I’m old most likely never will

I’ve never really understood the thrill

Or felt the need to take a man to bed

Perhaps it was the way that I was bred

But just the thought of kissing makes me ill

I may have missed a trick, perhaps, but still

I’ve read, and had my animals instead

A man had loved her once, he came to call

With chocolates, and roses, pink and red

She didn’t like the smell of him at all

And hit him with an axe till he was dead

And put him with the kittens, by the wall

Beside the baby birds, behind the shed

*

© Gail Foster 28th February 2017

Watch My Soul For Me

moon-1-copy

I wrote this rhyme when I was young, and sometimes I say it to the moon…

*

Glide high, my glimmering crystal moon

Across the mirror of the sea

Mother of water and blood

Watch my soul for me

…

Curve, pendulum, clock of the night

In your swing, in your sway

In your shadow of light

Watch my soul for me

*

© Gail Foster 1980 something

The Light Is Not A Solemn Thing, It Shines

ribbon-one-1

for Sarah

*

The light is not a solemn thing, it shines

With merry glee and mirthful gentleness

Will not be held a hostage, in confines

Of darkened halls where little ones confess

The sins of fathers that they never chose

Nor be a slave to chapter, scripture, verse

Be boundaried, or fettered in its flows

It is the joy of blessing, not a curse

It isn’t how you said it was.  You lied

I ran, and left your lies behind the door

And here I am, and oh, the light is wide

Mysterious, and infinite, and more

A wildly wilful, free, and feisty thing

I wear a ribbon in my hair, and sing

*

© Gail Foster 26th February 2017

…

This sonnet was written for my friend Sarah, who left the Plymouth Brethren.  In accordance with the Brethren’s belief in the Doctrine of Separation, those who have left are no longer allowed contact with their friends or families.  In recent years former members have developed the custom of writing their loved ones’ names on yellow ribbons as a symbol of love and remembrance.