Taken this weekend in the churchyard of St. John the Baptist, Devizes
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by Gail
Author: Gail
Two small rhymes for Halloween
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
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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
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by Gail
Preacher Man
the crazy preacher man
he speaks
to me
I and the crowd
hypnotised
confused
and squinting
his shadow stands
before the sun
his silver words
are slivering
forth from ancient nets
fisher of men
gathering
it may be so
maybe it was
ever so
and so
some say
it may well
ever be
yet know ye this
that nothing new
shall ever stand
against the sun
and speak as He
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by Gail
Flickering Cloud
fluttered by autumn
the leaves of my window tree
gave up summer’s ghost
and in one flickering cloud
fell simultaneously
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by gail
A quick thank you
I just want to express my gratitude to the people who follow and like my posts
Time is a precious thing
Thank you so much for spending some of your time reading and looking at my work
It means a lot to me
Gail
x
Gnawing Resentment
Some folk never let it lie…
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He gnawed on his resentment
In public and alone
Like a dog he kept on worrying
The marrow from the bone
Till he gave himself an ulcer
Till his teeth got small and stumpy
Till other dogs said, Hang on, Fang
You’re starting to look grumpy
He wouldn’t leave the thing alone
Just wouldn’t let it lie
Time to put the bone down, Fido
Go on, try
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by Gail
Her Voice; for Alex Lascelles
Alex Lascelles had a twinkle in her eye and one of the most powerful reading voices I have ever heard; her funeral is being held this Friday, at the church of St. John the Baptist in Devizes, at 2.45pm. Rest in peace, lady.
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When Alex Lascelles
Did the readings at church
Her deep ancient voice
Like a dignified drum
Sounded like God
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by Gail
Moving in Mysterious Ways; the All Blacks
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The All Blacks, man, are they for real?
They’re faster than the speed of light
Don’t blink, you’ll miss them, they’re surreal
I’m awake, not dreaming, right?
They just left the French for dead
They’re faster than the speed of sound
Eyes in the back of every head
Feet that fly above the ground
What power, what fitness, what on earth
Possesses men to be that fine
What strange goddess gave them birth
What discipline keeps them in line
I sit here gobsmacked, oh my days
I understand now, here’s the crack;
The All Blacks move in mysterious ways
Dark Gods of rugby blessed, in black
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by Gail
David Osborne’s Funeral; Scrubbing Up Well
We have said farewell to David
How we wish he had been there
To see how much we loved the s*d
And how we did our hair
He would have loved the eulogy
In which he got a mention
For David always loved to be
The centre of attention
He would have liked the humour
Had a hanky for the tears
Been astounded at the love he had
To show for all his years
He would have wept to see us weeping
Would have made a funny joke
Not one much for nonsense
A ‘geezer’ sort of bloke
A man who worked with chemistry
Who painted and played chess
Who liked music and black humour
And admired a pretty dress
Two different lives, three families
So many made the trip
From different worlds, from far away
His blood, his fellowship
He would have loved the readings
Would have looked well to this day
And nodded at Corinthians
In a wise and knowing way
He would have said “Look after Margaret”
And run after Michelle
Then winked at Dick and hugged his son
And others he knew well
I thought I saw him in the corner
Saw him sitting in a chair
Serenity personified
For just a moment there
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He really loved ‘Jerusalem’
We sang that b*gger loud
My God, we scrubbed up bl**dy well
And did the b*gger proud
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by Gail
Sip the Flip
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I drink because I am depressed
Mate, pour yourself this thought to think
And sip on it throughout the day
Did daylight always turn to grey
Is joy within an ice cube chink
Since when was love so far away
So near the edge of some dark brink
Your tears wet your quivered lip
It’s your life, who am I to say
That grief is in that glass you sip
So wet with tears you’ve lost your grip
Stop weeping for the missing link
And look at it a different way
I’ll pour you this thought, if I may
Could it be, Mate, do you think
That you’re depressed
Because you drink?
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by Gail
gailfromdevizes 