Mischievous Spring (audio)

Me reading a slighty flirtatious Spring poem…

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The Green Beneath The Snow

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A Villanelle, for the Spring Equinox

*

the hills are growing green beneath the snow

white horses, shake the winter from your manes

the spring has come, the wild wind told me so

cold ice be gone, and warm sweet water flow

come, crocuses, and flower on the plains

the hills are growing green beneath the snow

grey gulls fly high, and clouds of blossom blow

come, laughing crows, and dance within the rains

the spring has come, the wild wind told me so

soon summer, and so many seeds to sow

come, sun, spill down the furrows of the lanes

the hills are growing green beneath the snow

bright gorse ablaze, and alder tops aglow

come blood, and flood the burrows of the veins

the spring has come, the wild wind told me so

dark night be gone, long days of light to go

come love, with all your mysteries and pains

the hills are growing green beneath the snow

and spring has come, the wild wind told me so

*

© Gail Foster 17th March 2018

 

The Cynic Speaks of Love

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A Sonnet for Cynics for Valentine’s Day

*

The Cynic speaks of Love; What lie is this

But lust dressed up in silky swathes of lace

In pretty words, and promises of bliss

Come pouting in her petticoats, her face

All flushed with rouge and scarlet on a smile

With kohl around her cold come-hither eyes

Come lie with me, my love, a little while

She’ll say, and pat the bed, and part her thighs

And flash her stocking tops gone all awry

And secret places oh so sweetly blessed

And you’ll believe, the Cynic said, as I

Who once was by her magic so possessed

In Love, when she is nothing but a whore

That’s forty quid, she said, and that’s the door

*

© Gail Foster 14th February 2018

They Fought For You, Have You Forgot?

Shall I vote or not?

She died for you, have you forgot

Who fought for you so you can say

Shall I vote or not today?

 

Shall I vote or not?

She fought for you to have the choice

To use your vote, and use your voice

Or stay at home today

 

Shall I vote or not?

What sister are you who forgets

The suffering of suffragettes

So you can vote today?

 

Shall I vote or not?

They fought for you, do you forget

The women who don’t have it yet

The vote, or yet a say?

 

Shall I vote or not?

What, woman, are you mad or what

They fought for you, have you forgot

The price they had to pay?

 

Shall I vote or not?

My sister, listen, hear the sound

Of hooves of thunder on the ground

Lest we forget the day

 

Shall I vote or not?

They fought for you, have you forgot

Who fought for you so you can say

Shall I vote or not today?

 

© Gail Foster 6th February 2018

Orion and The Moon

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A Villanelle

*

Come catch me then, Orion, if you can

We’ve played this game before.  I play to win

I am the moon and you are just a man

The same old same old game since time began

We’ve started, so we’ll finish.  Let’s begin

Come catch me then, Orion, if you can

Some lesser constellations also ran

I left them all stood standing in a spin

I am the moon and you are just a man

A man of stars, a huntsman, fiercer than

The lot of them, with finer light within

Come catch me then, Orion, if you can

Come chase me cross the spaces in the span

Before the night grows old and darkness thin

I am the moon and you are just a man

All stars must fall according to the plan

Before the morning I will have you sin

Come catch me then, Orion, if you can

I am the moon and you are just a man

*

© Gail Foster 30th January 2018

 

Button Wars

Little Trumpy stomped his foot
‘Look what Sloppy Steve has put!’
He said, and spitting out a sweet
Went red, and did another tweet

Little Trumpy’s button glowed
As from his tiny fingers flowed
Such foolish words as children sing
In playgrounds when they’re bullying

Little Trumpy, he’s the boy
Just William crossed with Fauntleroy
And Violet, the spoilt chick
Who thcreamed and thcreamed till she was thick

And Little Kim. What can I say
Like who’d want him to come to play
Imagine games of pass the parcel
‘OK Kim, you win’ (you arsehole)

God save us from these little boys!
Their tantrums, and exploding toys!
‘Say, my Dad’s bigger than your Dad’
‘My button’s bigger, and it’s rad’

Call the Nanny! Raise a shout!
Is Poppins anywhere about?
Or anyone who, without fear
Can clip the fat boys round the ear?

Tell them that it isn’t clever!
Send them to their beds, whatever!
Or maybe make a little chart
To stick gold stars on when they fart!

Adults are in classrooms taught
That wars are in theatres fought
And not by little kids at play
Who trash the nursery each day

I do despair. Damn, what’s to do
They’ve barely learned to hold their poo
But wait for one to chuck his ball
Out of his pram, and fuck us all

© Gail Foster 6th January 2018

 

Ceres

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A statue of Ceres watches over Devizes from the top of the Corn Exchange…

*

My name is Ceres, Goddess of the Corn

I stand above the Market Place and stare

With stony face, half dressed, and with a horn

Towards the North, the hill, the over there

I’ve lovely hair, but long the days have passed

When men admired the firmness of my rack

I’m old, and to be fair I can’t be arsed

Once had one’s day is never coming back

I’ve sewn my seed, been fertilised, and borne

My little birds and thrown them to the skies

Seen men come to the Market Cross to mourn

Seen marryings, and mayhem in The Vize

I’m old, but oh I see, from up on high

The secret things, the glory of the sky

*

© Gail Foster 5th January 2018