Author: Gail

Supermarkets

One day I went to Morrisons

Forgot to take a map

I only wanted beans and buns

And bog roll for a cr*p

Got lost by the ladies things

Forgot my North and South

I didn’t come for flapping wings

Or stuff to wash the mouth

It’s just as bad in Sainsburys

Perhaps it is my age

The fruitless quest for herbal teas

Just puts me in a rage

I’m far too flipping old for these

Daily shopping trials

I’m sweating like a Stilton cheese

Lost in the British aisles

Maybe home delivery?

Should I? Do I dare?

Become a couch potato

Fat arsed, shopping from my chair

I’d miss the talking checkout though

And cheery orange bags

My unexpected items

And my special pricey fags

I’m hard, I can handle it

I’m such a little trooper

And while I’m there I’ll have a sh*t

Markets. Simply Super.

 *

by Gail

My Book Of Short Stories

Here is the link to my book of short stories, published today on Amazon for Kindle. You can download a free Kindle app if you do not have a device. Some of you will have read my work but there is some new material here. I hope that you will enjoy this mix of humour, psychology, art, spirituality and local interest. The book is dedicated to my writing friend, Karen North, to Devizes, and to anyone with whom I have ever shared love, humour, understanding or joy. You know who you are. Please share, buy, read, review and recommend. And finally, I love books and Devizes Books, and intend to keep supporting my local bookshop. Thank you for your interest in my work.

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Carnalville

Carnalville

Devizes Carnival tonight! Watch out for Roger…!

Roger’s libido had increased significantly in his eighties, in inverse proportion to the decrease in his hearing and cognitive ability. The long suffering Betty had tried, despite her arthritis and utter disinterest in such matters, to accommodate his needs; there had been cringeworthy forays in to swinging, unusual items appearing in the shed and furtive gropings on the bus to Swindon.

“Carnival tonight” said Betty, one September in the late afternoon. She was baking buns for church on Sunday, and a warm waft drifted through the house and in to the garden and the Devizes air.

“Carnalville?” said Roger “What goes on there?”

“Oh you know. Dancing girls. Men in dresses. People standing on street corners. Sounds of pumping and banging. Drinking. Over excitement. Unwanted pregnancies. Rubbing up against strangers. The usual.”

Roger liked the sound of Carnalville very much indeed. An appropriate occasion for the Calvin Kleins perhaps. And an extra Viagra.

It was going to be a very interesting night.

by Gail

Brutal Truth

Brutal Truth

 Should we view images of death and evil in the media?

*

Brutal truth; how dare you burn our eyes

How dare you mark our quiet hearts with pain

Our gentle ears are deafened with your cries

Our worlds will never be the same again

Brutal truth; without you we deny

Ourselves, our fear, the part we have to play

So shine your fierce searchlight from the sky

Force in to form the shadows of the day

Brutal truth; unchain our memory

And rend the veil that shrouds a lie from sight

The evolution of humanity

Is in your hands; stir us to flight or fight

To know ourselves and know our enemy

Shifting deserts, oceans flowing free

*

by Gail

Florence’s Pie

Sir Terry Wogan and Mason McQueen take a tasty trip round town…

*

No traffic jam when Terry came

No culinary surprise

He used his loaf and found some cheese

When munching round The Vize

He and his little Mason friend

Had breakfast at The Bear

Sausage, bacon, beans an ting

No revelation there

Terry chewed the fat a bit

And did a bit of walking

A bit of pork, a bit of cake

And pudding (now you’re talking)

The flight of locks left Terry cold

He didn’t eat the quackers

Then things got quite interesting

When John got out his clackers

And hold on there is Florence

Making Olde Vizes Pie

Terry’s buds are tickled now

A stuffed fox winks an eye

*

So cheers for that then, Terry, mate

You put our town on telly

But next time have some lardy

And get rat ars*d in the Pelly

*

by Gail

(For Florence from The Black Swan

and the Unusual John Girvan)

The Unbearable Brightness of Beauty

Beauty

*

Beauty, your colours

Wash the eye with paint and pain

In rainbow prisms

*

Beauty, your music

Astounds the ear to silence

In cadenced rhythm

*

Beauty, your raw touch

Stirs the flesh to birth and death

In passion driven

*

Beauty, your deep scent

Calls forth sudden memory

In flash unbidden

*

Beauty, your rich taste

Licks the tongue to wild delight

In manna given

*

Beauty, your glory

Ripples water, shatters stones

In revelation

*

by Gail