Poetry

Image

Lamps

What will be left of Gaza then but dust
And silent echoes in an empty space?
The war against Hamas, he said, was just
His wily smile the answer on his face

What of the little children, the unborn
The doctors, and the journalists who tried
To save them, and record another dawn?
It is because Hamas, he said, they died

Would not the Jews who perished long ago
In Germany and Poland in the camps
Decry this genocide, the winds that blow
The light out from so many other lamps?

You lie, he said. And then the truth appeared
There was no Gaza when the dust had cleared

© Gail Foster 22nd August 2025

The Pigeon and The Cross

What is a Christian? One who can recite
The Bible, knows the chapter and the verse
Whose reputation and whose robes are white
As clouds in sunlight, or one who can curse
In Latin words? What use is Christian breath
If not to speak for other folk less blessed
Who live in gutters, or who wait for death
In prison cells in darkness unconfessed?
Look see, above the statues and the gold
The pigeon sitting quietly on the cross
Come Francis, follow me back to the fold
Oh Lamb of God, be with them in their loss
And it was done. That was a Christian there
Inside the coffin in St. Peter’s Square

© Gail Foster 26th April 2025

Double Dactyls for Elon Musk

Dodgily DOGE-ily
Elon the wealthiest
Man on the planet made
Plans for the rest

Neuralink chips all round
Down at Guantanamo
Experimentally
Put to the test

Muskily Muskily
Elon the DOGE master
Isn’t he plotting the
End of mankind?

Quiet you, quiet your
Eschatological
Questioning, Epsilon!
Get thee behind

© Gail Foster 12th February 2025

On The Occasion of Benjamin Netanyahu Quoting Dylan Thomas

Don’t tell me that you fight a righteous fight
How many children have you killed today
I’ll give you rage. I’ll give you rage alright

Your anger and your ego burning bright
Are razing all that’s standing in your way
Don’t tell me that you fight a righteous fight

How many have you sent into the light
Before they even had the time to pray
I’ll give you rage. I’ll give you rage alright

How many have you saved or sent in spite
Up to the sky in ashen clouds of grey
Don’t tell me that you fight a righteous fight

In clouds as those who in the fog and night
Were put in trains and disappeared away
I’ll give you rage. I’ll give you rage alright

You speak as if your soul was white as white
Yet deep inside you darkness holds its sway
Don’t tell me that you fight a righteous fight
I’ll give you rage. I’ll give you rage alright

© Gail Foster 27th September 2024

Hatred; a ghazal

The summer sun has stirred your seeds, hatred
A bitter wind blows through the weeds, hatred

Go pour another beer. Pick up a stone
Whoever shouts the loudest leads hatred

All blood is red. All children are our own
One love. Not everybody bleeds hatred

Brave in a crowd but coward when alone
At work, at home, nobody heeds hatred

Go snort a line. Pick up a traffic cone
All boys together. Hatred breeds hatred

Your country back? No country I have known
Here be all races and all creeds, hatred

Your flag is upside down, mate, and your tone
Is strident, hun. Hey, unmet needs, hatred?

There will be harvest when the weeds are mown
Love conquers all, love supercedes hatred

Call me a snowflake. Woke as to the bone
And God alone will judge our deeds, hatred

© Gail Foster 3rd August 2024

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