Author: Gail

Around The Block To Wetherspoons

A response in poetry form to recent attempts by the likes of Laurence Fox and Suella Braverman to stir up trouble around Armistice and Remembrance Day by using unproven threats to poppy sellers and the Cenotaph in order to further their own ends.

‘Twas Saturday, and up the smoke
In Wetherspoons across the land
The drivel that the gammons spoke
Grew difficult to understand

‘Twas Armistice, all over town
They belched into their British beer
And, holding flags up upside down
Did march for all that they held dear

Not that they’d ever served at all
Or fought at all in foreign lands
‘Twas only that their brains were small
And all a gammon understands

Is white is right, and all things beige
Apart from sausages and ale
Did put them in a proper rage
As did befit said British male

The monuments! It’s down to us!
To save them from the heathen flags!
I’m knackered though, is there a bus
Or anywhere to buy some fags?

Cry God for Charlie, Lozza too!
(That bloke on Twitter, and the King)
You got some Charlie, mate? I do
Let’s snort a line and have a sing!

The National Anthem – you go first
Er…Land of Hope…forgot the rest
It’s hard to sing when fit to burst
Ain’t patriotic pride the best?

Where are we going? I don’t know
Oi, which way to the Cenotaph?
It’s that way, mate – and off they go
It isn’t though, the children laugh

And on they marched, the gammeroons
Blood vessels bursting all the way
Around the block to Wetherspoons
As they had done back in the day

© Gail Foster 6th November 2023

PS I had a very tasty halloumi burger in the Orangery in Wetherspoons in Exeter recently.
Just saying.

The Seven Bins On Fire Without The Smoke

The Tories though. We watch them in dismay
All shifty liars, some said, others thought
That some were reasonable, if you caught
Them in the light, or on a summer’s day
You’d listen to the things they had to say
At least without becoming overwrought
Or thinking of the wars our fathers fought
Or falling on our creaky knees to pray

What is this shit? The fantasies, the lies
The seven bins on fire without the smoke
The artificial wars against the woke
The desperation and dogwhistle cries
For what? For populism and the cause!
The conference erupts in wild applause

© Gail Foster 4th October 2023

Covenant: The New Politics of Home, Neighbourhood and Nation, by Danny Kruger; a review in sonnet form


The honourable member for Devizes
Though erudite enough, is dark as night
Dispensing judgement from the Tory right
And those he doesn’t damn he patronises
His pretty prose is peppered with surprises
‘Transgressive?’ If you hold it to the light
It reads ‘Degenerate’ – but then my sight
Is tainted, like the pagan he despises

I tried to understand his big idea
His notion of the order – order, what?
Is that the one that Boris quite forgot
In favour of some Bolly and a beer?
I give it three. The poetry is fun
The politics are horrid. Sorry, hun

*

© Gail Foster 15th September 2023

Maskirovka ~ a nursery rhyme

Putin had a little coup
He hadn’t been expecting
While lurking in a Russian loo
Attempting his erecting

Damn Prighozin! I nearly had
A hard on. Proper stonker
And now it’s gone I’m feeling sad
Said Putin. What a plonker

He shut his eyes and tried again
He dressed as Betty Grable
He tried remembering the men
He’d had across his table

But nothing. Except Prighozin
Appearing. Maskirovka!
Said Putin. For the veil was thin
Or was it too much vodka

Fuck Prighozin. Said Putin and
Hey presto! An erection
Three inches in his little hand
Relief and resurrection

He smiled his special Putin smile
And raised an eyebrow slightly
(Been having Botox for a while
A little prick twice nightly)

The work was done, and that was it
Successful masturbation
And finally a face to fit
His special operation

Much prettier than Volodymyr
Zelensky who, said Putin
I tried to take right up the rear
But then he put the boot in

Knock, knock. Who’s there? It’s Prighozin
Come in and have some vodka!
Said Putin. For the veil was thin
Or was it Maskirovka

© Gail Foster 24th June 2023

Boris Had A Little Think

Boris had a little think
It wasn’t going well
And so he had another drink
His queasiness to quell

‘I like a nice Merlot’ he said
‘Although a cheaper wine
It gets me proper off my head
And leaves me feeling fine’

Boris poured a massive glass
Of Merlot, and some more
And woke up fallen on his arse
Upon the kitchen floor

‘I blame that Rishi bloke for this
Theresa May for that
And anyone who takes the piss
In opposition sat’

‘You mark my words’ he gestured in
The mirror, ‘I will rise
Like Jesus Christ and – where’s the gin?
I’ve run out of supplies’

He wobbled to the kitchen and
Cried ‘Carrie, what’s to do?’
And with his member in his hand
‘Look what I’ve got for you!’

The house was empty though, the halls
Were of his wife bereft
He felt a sinking in his balls
Was no-one, no-one left?

‘Cooee!’ Thank God, it was Nadine!
How fragrant she! They kissed
‘My God, my love, where have you been?
Come, help me get more pissed’

And so she trotted to the shop
And bought him wine and beer
Prosecco, porn, and fizzy pop
Enough to last a year

And oh the party that they had
‘You’re wonderful’ she gushed
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘and I’m bad’
‘I know you are’ she blushed

And then there was a knock and it
Was Jacob – ‘Come and join!’
Said Nadine, flopping out a tit
And tickling his groin

And it was perfect. Jacob in
His gimp suit, Boris drunk
And Nadine high on fancy gin
‘What was the thought I thunk?’

Thought Boris. For he had forgot
Quite who he was and why
Was he Prime Minister, or not?
And he began to cry

But not for long, for sweet Nadine
Did dry his eyes and pour
Another drink, for she was keen
To get him on the floor

‘You’re wonderful’ she said
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘so are you’
(Though anyone would do in bed
When he had had a few)

‘And baby I got Brexit done’
‘Oh say it once again
Shakespearean and sweetly spun
You giant among men!’

We’ll leave them to it there, I think
They few, they happy few
Nadine the prettiest in pink
And Boris in the loo

And Jacob dressed in latex. Ew
What some folk do for kicks
‘At least we’re not in the EU’
Said Boris, between sicks

‘You OK, hun?’ said sweet Nadine
‘Of course I am’ he said
‘And I will rise again, my Queen
To bed, my love, to bed!’

© Gail Foster 10th June 2022

Within Our Echo Chambers Hear Our Cry

Our words may be too many or too few
May simply complicate, or simplify
I’d choose them carefully if I were you

One wonders what we want our words to do
Remove the speck from someone else’s eye?
Our words may be too many or too few

They vanish, most of them, into the blue
But ghosts remain to haunt us when we die
I’d choose them carefully if I were you

We speak for speaking’s sake, our egos spew
A constant stream of consciousness, and lie
Our words may be too many or too few

We patronise our children, to our crew
We speak in ciphers. Words are birds that fly
I’d choose them carefully if I were you

We fill the empty air with nothing new
Within our echo chambers hear our cry
Our words may be too many or too few
I’d choose them carefully if I were you

© Gail Foster 17th May 2023

Lucie Had A Lovely Tone

On the occasion of the Fulltone Orchestra’s grand tour with Lucie Jones

Lucie had a lovely tone
So clear it was and true
That everywhere that Lucie went
An orchestra went too
And everyone who went to see
The orchestra was glad
Not only were they glorious
But oh the Tone they had

Lucie had a lovely tone
So bright it was and clear
That everywhere that Lucie went
The angels lent an ear
The audience were mesmerised
‘How beautiful the tones
And magical the musicals
And voice of Lucie Jones!’

Lucie had a lovely tone
So true it was and bright
That everybody’s spirits were
Uplifted on the night
And Tone he had a baton
And a one, and one two three
In Reading, Bath, and Bournemouth
And in Cardiff by the sea

Lucie had a lovely tone
And Tone in turn he had
An orchestra with talent that
Did drive the devil mad
And what they did with music
Simply thrilled you to the bones
The Fulltone Orchestra
And Lucie Jones

© Gail Foster 25th April 2023

Composite image of Lucie Jones, Anthony Brown (Tone), and the FTO at The Forum, Bath, 29th April 2023 © Gail Foster