Late for the Nativity
I stand among the throng
Self-consciously
Singing with the angels
Quietly
Sensing the future
Yearning out
In front of me
Revealed
Symbolically
How it will
Always be
Odd one out
For all to see
…
The only angel
Without wings
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by Gail
*
by Gail
For Helen
*
Who’s in the dog house? Someone has been flakey
The someone who lost the unfortunate Jakey
Thank heavens for girls and the Book of the Face
And the people of town who live down Mayenne Place
For needles in haystacks are easy to spot
Compared to the dog who was there, and was not
The tale of his loss was inherently spurious
The dog in the night time; an incident curious
They shouted, they whistled, they got out their torches
They searched the canal and the shadows in porches
Where was the Jakey dog? No one could tell
Till somebody heard a desperate yell
“He’s here,” someone said, “he’s been here all night”
Oh dear, someone will be in the dog house tonight…
Result; one happy girl and a tail wagging hound
And ‘The dog who was lost’ now ‘The dog who was found’
*
by Gail
A Fairy Tale
*
Once upon a time there was a grand historical building, in the centre of a small but beautiful Wiltshire town, called the Assize Court. For many years the processes of law were carried out within the stern Bath stone walls of the court, and many folk were sentenced in the dock. Some walked under the Ionic pillars to freedom, some to death and some to endless captivity. All human drama was there. Tears were spilt, reputations were ruined and children were left fatherless. Justice was seen to be done. But then one day, as is the way of things, it became obsolete; the last sentence was delivered, and the doors were closed. It stood, slowly decaying, for year upon year; a strange symbol of dereliction in the beating heart of the town. And now, and then, good folk devoted much energy to finding new hope and purpose for the building. Nothing came to pass. The people were met by brick walls and stonewalling. The people gave up the fight. It crumbled. Years, and yet more years, passed. Good folk tried again. No joy. More brick walls and stone walling. It crumbled. Again, passionate people rallied, and tried to make sense of it. Again, brick walls and stonewalling. It crumbled. Until, one day, it had crumbled beyond all hope. At which point the land was used to build houses and offices. And yea, verily, as some had prophesied, someone made a large pot of gold. And lived happily ever after.
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by Gail
*
They never went to war; they stayed at home
The young, the old, the unwell and the dead
The women who were not allowed to roam
The men who tilled the fields and baked the bread
Those sat in darkness waiting for the rap
Of letterbox, and soft white feather fall
The silence broken by a dripping tap
Dark shadows cast by street lamps on the wall
The little lads who ran behind the train
That took their fathers off to certain death
Who waved until their arms ached in the rain
Who ran until their lungs ran out of breath
Old men who yearned for youth; just one more chance
To feel the blood flow, hear the battle cry
To wear the uniform and take a stance
To stand with other men, to fight and die
The crippled and the mad, the deaf, the blind
Escaped the fate of many thousand men
Some angry that they had been left behind
Some thankful that they’d never fight again
Women, who with their sleeves rolled ploughed the land
Lit candles, raised the children, hid their tears
Made ammunitions with a careful hand
Kept watch and saved the night time for their fears
So many stayed at home, and stayed alive
And suffered pain and loss, regret and guilt
That they were left, that they were to survive
Within the house such sacrifice had built
Their many names are not inscribed on stone
Those sorrowed souls, so haunted by war’s ghost
Were left to stand and mourn the dead alone
Listening to the trumpet sound the post
*
by Gail
*
For the congregations of St. John’s and St. Mary’s, Devizes
*
Within a pumpkin’s hollow is a candle burning bright
We have prayed the dead to silence, we have sent them to the light
Bring in dark November, let the winter cold begin
Stick the heating on and let the Saints come marching in
There will be icy dawns and fireworks, dank leaves and naked trees
We shall wish for Christmas jumpers to protect against the freeze
Is it colder now than last year? Oh, where did the year go
By the time we’ve got a grip we will be sliding in the snow
We will remember that November gives birth to the Advent season
And that once the knives were out for Fawkes for gunpowder and treason
We shall wish for bonfires high enough to chase the night away
As we watch the winter shadows fill the corners of the day
We have been tricked, we have been cheated; now it’s all downhill from here
Until we come to rest, at Christmas, when a new light will appear
*
by Gail
A work of poetic fiction
*
He said that he was broken
She told him she was broke
Neither took much notice
When the other person spoke
Far too bl**dy much in love
To weigh the implications
Not much need to forecast then
Future complications
She rationalised the broken thing
He thought that she would change
He thought she would make money
She thought he’d be less strange
You’re not broken, love, she said
And chose a metaphor
You function on most channels
Just not on Radio 4
She’s pretty good in bed, he thought
She’s bright and going far
Shame she’s getting on a bit
And hasn’t got a car
The years went by so quickly
She watched him getting odd
Sometimes he was wonderful
Sometimes a total sod
She had to use a dictionary
To study mental health
He watched with disappointment
Her indifference to wealth
I told you so, he said, and she
Said she had told him too
And both of them remembered
What they had forgot they knew
He really was an odd one
And she didn’t have a dime
And nowt would ever change those things
Not age nor luck nor time
There’s nothing here for me, he thought
Her interest rate is falling
She’s still in social housing
And her prospects are appalling
Love moves mountains, so she thought
I love him sane or mad
She thought that he still loved her too
She really had it bad
In the final conversation
They reviewed the words they’d spoken
How she had told him she was broke
And he said he was broken
I still love you so, she said
He shrugged, his eyes grew dim
With all the faith she had in love
She said these words to him
Take me, love, or leave me
For I always shall be poor…
At that the b*gger got his coat
And walked right out the door
*
by Gail
*
The air is rarified up on the fence
As clear as far as watered eye can see
All silken blue, all glittered light intense
Translucent fathoms of infinity
Way down below, a long stone’s drop away
Through depths of fog and lazy clouded streams
The land lies; half in shadow, half in day
Divided by the fence in two extremes
New womb from yearning grave, dark black from white
The right from left, cool blue from burning red
Each country hidden from the other’s sight
Like crazy virgins doomed to never wed;
The angel of the fence can only pray
Don’t send me down there now, Lord, not today
*
by Gail
Taken this weekend in the churchyard of St. John the Baptist, Devizes
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*
by Gail
Ghost Cat
If the tales of the white cat are true
He had feathers; a ghost cat who flew
Through the shimmering streams
Of the moon’s silver beams
Leaving slain doves in the dew
*
Wobbly Halloween
Don’t come trick or treating down here
We spent all our money on beer
Don’t knock at our door
‘Cos we’re scary and poor
Lend us a tenner for gear
*
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 