Confetti; a Devizes wedding

Confetti; Kirstine Carr

Every year, during Carnival in Devizes, we have a Confetti Battle…


We dance in town, as bright confetti falls

Upon our hallowed ground, we move as one

The old and young among the market stalls

All blessed by Ceres and the setting sun

We move as one, we laugh, we catch the light

In coloured flickers deep within our eyes

A cloud of happiness, a merry flight

Of beautiful beribboned butterflies

We dance in town, bedecked like bridesmaids gay

Our hair all strewn with prettiness and joy

Our cares for one brief moment blown away

We move as one, man, woman, girl and boy

As, blessed by Ceres in her wedding gown

We all, as one, are married to our town


Sonnet and photograph of Kirstine Carr

© Gail Foster 2016


Serious Women

For serious women everywhere, and for Philippa

serious women

Serious Women


Some of us have faces

That are less inclined to mirth

Mapped upon them traces

Of the journey from our birth

Inscrutable, mysterious

The face our mother gave

Inherently quite serious

Disconcerting, grave

See us in the street and we are

Focussed and unblinking

Eyes fixed on horizon far

Minding our own thinking

We’re not sad, or mad or bad

It’s just the face we’ve grown

You don’t know the life we’ve had

So frankly, mind your own

Control your neediness and fear

Your urge to poke and pry

We save for folk who hold us dear

The twinkle in our eye

“Give us a smile, darling”

“It hasn’t happened yet”

Trite words to get us snarling

“Excuse me?  Wanna bet?”

To the endless trivial

Comments offered everyday

We respond with the convivial

“It’s just arranged that way!”


If you don’t understand my face

How dare you stoop to diss it

My arse is well imbued with grace

So kiss it


by Gail

Performance Poetry

Is it cool to review yourself?  Probably not…

Performance Poetry


Mad gladiator

Tossing herself to lions

Armed with only wit



“Titties” brought out for the lads

In verbal foreplay


Lyrical satire

Like pencils sharped for pricking

Holes in lead balloons


From naughty corner

More by wine amused than rhyme

A shadow giggles


The tumbleweed blows

Words settle on silent ground

With one hand clapping


The poet’s cloak hides

Shoulders warm and broad enough

To quiver with mirth


by Gail