A rhyme for Valentine’s Day…
Author: Gail
Facebook Theology
On matters of the bible
I’ve been thinking, as you do
That probably, most likely
Only some of it is true
It’s a little bit like Facebook
I think as I scroll past
A meme about Leviticus
With which I can’t be arsed
*
© Gail Foster 12th February 2017
Sorrow Weeps For Me
*
In dusty cupboards, far from prying eyes
I hide my dark and private miseries
And dress for town in bright accessories
With reddened lips, and silkly stockinged thighs
And sickly smile, in magical disguise
For there be war to fight on days like these
Dark demons to defeat, and gods to please
And light to draw down from the sullen skies
…
In dusty cupboards, Sorrow weeps for me
There be no place for cowards in the fray
Nor dark despair, nor moaning misery
To dull my fire and fill me with dismay
Or worse, betray me to the enemy
– I’ll catch you later, Sorrow, I’m away…
*
© Gail Foster 28th January 2017
Cosmic Micturation
On the alleged predilictions of Donald Trump
*
I wonder if, at Trump’s inauguration
There will be rain, some cosmic micturation
Anointing him with seedy sacred powers
In shimmered falls of blesséd golden showers
…
I wonder if America will see
An asset or a liability
In Trump, a man who likes to pay a whore
To do a pretty penny on the floor
…
I wonder if the world will froth and frown
Or take it on the chin, and lying down
Be sure the satirists will shoot their stings
‘Urine the Whitehouse now’, and sharper things
…
Some folk may whisper ‘Nothing new in this’
A President who likes to take the piss
What matter if the man’s a tad perverse
It could be sheep, or shit, or something worse
…
Oh, Bling New World, that suddenly we see
Run by a man who likes to play with wee
Hand on the button, fingers in the pot
America, you’d better like it hot
*
© Gail Foster 11th January 2017
The Sacrifice of Song
The Choir of St. John the Baptist, Devizes
sing Evensong at St. Paul’s Cathedral
4th January 2017
*
The Temple of St. Paul’s, at Evensong;
The voices of our little children ring
In tones divine, as through the ages long
Our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters sing
How lofty, lowly, wide, and deep, and high
The mystery, the magnitude, the sound
How thunderous, the whispered gilded sigh
Of doves that fall from dome to holy ground
On altar bright; what sacrifice is this
This mass of light, this sungen density
This quantum quality, this ancient bliss
That renders speechless such a man as me
I fall upon my knees upon the floor
Sing, children, songs as these, for evermore
*
© Gail Foster 6th January 2017
Bullshit Nirvana
for Steve Doolan
*
Let the world turn as it will
‘Tis all the same to me
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
Bring on the empty horses
For ‘tis all a comedy
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
We come and then we go
We be and we not be
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
I’m a bloke at a bar, I am
A wild bird flying free
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
So I’ll have a lime and soda, ta
‘Tis all the same to me
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
*
© Gail Foster 6th January 2017
The Old Lights Of Christmas
Devizes, Wiltshire; New Year’s Eve…
*
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Fireworks flash in the distant beyond
Ghostly swans on the dark of the pond
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Houses shimmer with sparkling rain
Curtains drawn on sorrow and pain
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Stars wheel over the Market Place
The shift of a shadow on Ceres’ face
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
*
© Gail Foster 31st December 2016
Many Mansions; for Sister David Lewis
Photograph of Sister David Lewis reproduced by kind permission of Scott Coleman
…
Sister David Lewis taught for many years at St. Joseph’s Catholic Primary School in Devizes in Wiltshire, and will be remembered by many with affection and gratitude.
*
I’m crying for a Catholic nun
Who once was kind to me
As I sat there in my miniskirt
Bad mother, C of E
“Sister David, the police came round
And battered down the door”
“Well, do you know, my dear,” she said
“I’ve heard that one before”
And she blessed me, without blinking
With a smile on her face
And I knew I was forgiven
Hail Mary, full of grace
And I can hear as clear as day
The words she said to me
“In my father’s house, my dear,
There many mansions be”
*
© Gail Foster 29th December 2016
Waiting For You; The Return of the Light
Winter Solstice Sunrise 2016; Avebury, Wiltshire
*
I have waited for you
Where no shadow seeps
Deep in the earth
Where the slow damp creeps
Under the stones
Where the sunlight sleeps
I have waited for you
…
I have listened for you
In the eaglet’s cry
In the echoes of rooks
In the empty sky
In a new-born’s breath
And a dead man’s sigh
I have listened for you
…
I have looked for you
Where the elders grow
Followed your steps
Through the virgin snow
Through groves of yew
And mistletoe
Looking for you
…
I have watched for you
By the door and the gate
Risen up early
And lain down late
Doubted your love
And cursed my fate
Watching for you
…
You said you would come
You said that you will
Appear as the dawn
On the curve of the hill
I have waited for you
Through the dark, and the still
You said you would come
…
I lit you a fire
I kindled a flame
In the fear of the darkness
I called out your name
I thought I was dying
And then you came
You said you would come
…
And here you are
The promise of light
Sweetening silence
And softening night
And all shall be well
And be blesséd delight
You said you would come
*
© Gail Foster 21st December 2016
The Ancient Bitch Of Days
for Chad Bittner Hurt, an American poet
*
It stood a while, alone, the perfect phrase
Entire and beautiful upon the stage
As lovely as two words could ever be
‘Till came the muse, the ancient bitch of days
Demanding blood and ink upon the page
Insisting passion and complexity
And sacrifice, and violent hymns of praise
Her hunger and her ardour to assuage
In wild defiance of simplicity
…
The poet quaked in terror, and betrayed
His words to slake her raw and awesome rage
In her cold hands they cried for company
*
© Gail Foster 13th December 2016
gailfromdevizes 