Poetry

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast and the Curious Cocks of Brownsea Island

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an epic tale of innuendo

*

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast

Philosopher, poet, and muse

Wore Victorian skirts that swept up the dirt

And peculiar button up shoes

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast

Found herself suddenly slighted

Bereft and bemused, and less than amused

And suffering love unrequited

The effect on her verse was dramatic, and worse

‘Twas inspired by horns and baguettes

As hysterical rage seeped through pen to the page

Like some awful poetic Tourettes

Eyebrows were raised as her work was appraised

It was said she was caustic and crude

A potty mouthed tart with a poisonous heart

Who was totally randy and rude

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast

Watched her story unfold with dismay

Watched her petticoats slip as each vulgar quip

Made a whore of her more every day

So she packed up her quill, and pink ink for a thrill

Spare petticoats, perfume and papers

Her smelling salts, eye mask and lavender bags

For random attacks of the vapours

I will go to an island, Fantasia said

I will contemplate beauty, and truth

I will take me a train, travel far, and regain

The lost innocence of my youth

The romance of islands, Fantasia thought

All lost in the shine of the sea

Supernaturally kissed in a glimpse through the mist

How inspiring, how perfect, how me

The day on the train was a bit of a strain

There were some sticky moments with tunnels

And the bit where the guard blew his whistle real hard

Made her tears of mirth flow in runnels

Much to her shame, the boat was the same

Flushed her delicate cheek to a bloom

Oh, the sniggering joys of seamen and buoys

Being tossed on the wave and the spume

The island was lit by a mystical light

And the breezes blew scents warm and heady

Like a virgin, she thought, that has never been caught

Although many had been there already

She started to feel profound and unreal

No man is an island, quoth she

An island’s an island, a man is a man

And neither’s the other one, see

She undid her bonnet, inspired, and on it

Licked her quill and began to create

A verse about loneliness, islands and stuff

Solemnness, sorrow, and fate

It was peaceful and sweet, there were flowers at her feet

And the soft sound of sea through the trees

All became gentleness, sweetness and light

Purity, poetry, ease

For a moment, a moment, Fantasia there

Channelled a serious grace

Although anyone else would have just seen some bird

Looking mad with a gurn on her face

Gone was the gut churning river of smut

That had streamed from her mouth and her pen

I am making a vow, Fantasia said

No more innuendo or men

The universe heard, every well-meaning word

‘Tis the way that the universe works

And God likes a joke, like a mischievous bloke

Who plays practical jokes upon jerks

What sound is that, our Fantasia thought

Absentmindedly watching a deer

Like a low distant grumble, a curious rumble

Got louder, and odder, and near

Suddenly, far in the distance, a herd

Of curious cockerels appeared

Oh my goodness, she said, and reached for the salts

For a sniff’s always good when a-feared

They’re coming, they’re coming, the curious cocks

They’re growing, they’re growing in size

Not surprising as they were much nearer by then

Running swifter than any crow flies

The cocks are upon me, Fantasia cried

Like a rabbit in lamplight she froze

As, eager to play and all puffed in display

They peck, pecked, at her skirts and her toes

They were all shapes and sizes, blue, green and red

Some aggressive, some shy and retiring

Some had a wild beady look in their eyes

And one had no cylinders firing

It was surely a shock, the appearance of cock

In the midst of the island idyll

Ironic in fact in the light of the pact

Fantasia had made with her quill

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast

Suddenly knew what to do

For all that was needed to scare off the cocks

Was the swish of her skirts and a “Boo!”

Growing smaller, and smaller, the curious cocks

Disappeared as fast as they came

‘Twas all quite astounding, Fantasia thought

And the universe reckoned the same

*

Fantasia Lavender Fortescue-Prendergast

Philosopher, poet, and muse

Inspired by the tale of the curious cocks

Penned a verse to surprise and amuse

The wink of the sailor boy on the way back

Made her flush with a blush that was red

There was something about him that floated her boat

“Just call me Fanny” she said

*

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Democracy Lark

The sweet song of the democracy lark

Once told of a bright and hopeful dawn

Now there is only a strident bark

And the whimper of sycophants that fawn

And worship the Trump and his massive wad

Lovers of money, with racist views

Vote for Mammon’s dodgy God!

The democracy lark is singing the blues

 

© Gail Foster 2016

God Help the Disunited States

 

Call for the Dalai Lama, Christ

Mohammed, and the Fates

Call the Druids, call the Rabbis

Call the angels, and their mates

Call the scientists, the physicists

To measure and collate

Call psychologists who understand

And artists who create

Call the clowns who see things sideways

And the writers who narrate

Get them sitting round a table, midst

The wildly spinning plates

With biscuits, tea, and fairy cakes

And someone to translate

Doing icebreakers, and mindfulness

And role play, and debate

And let them come up with a miracle

This madness to abate

To stop the Trump thing in his tracks

Or trip him on a trait

For Hilary’s annoying

And her shiny hardness grates

But Trump will make the USA

A horrid hell of hate

Let’s hope that this committee

Of all the good and great

Who wield the wisdom of the world

And spiritual weight

Can devise some cosmic strategy

The Trump thing to deflate

Before America becomes

The Disunited States

 

© Gail Foster 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My anthology; A Curious Poet

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Today I published my anthology of poetry and prose, ‘A Curious Poet’.

It’s a strange mixture of the spiritual and the mundane, the vulgar and profound.

Some works have already appeared online, and some are as yet unseen.

There’s something to delight or offend pretty much everyone in this book.

My first year as a serious writer has been a wild ride.

Thank you so much for sharing some of it with me.

Best wishes

Gail

Suddenly

 

The dead go down violently, suddenly, silently

Down in the drown of the deep

The born rise up hopefully, suddenly, quietly

Rise from the depths of their sleep

The night will fall dreadfully, suddenly, softly

Fall on the land in a heap

The day shall jump joyfully, suddenly, gently

Jump with a quickening leap

Let the darkness dawn mournfully, suddenly, slowly

Dark on the flood and the seep

For the light shineth endlessly, suddenly, subtly

Bright on the rivers we weep

 

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hate He Felt For Me

 

If I had known that he cared not for me

I would have dropped him, like a burning stone

Too blinded I, by silly love, to see

The hatred that he bore me to the bone

If I had seen beyond his wit, and charm

I could have passed him by upon the street

Protected heart from hurt, and pride from harm

Refrained from falling, fawning, at his feet

I should have sensed the loathing in his touch

The cold resentment in his blood and bile

Too lost was I, in silly love, too much

To see the silent scorn behind his smile

Now he is gone, and I shall ever be

Astounded by the hate he felt for me

 

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The One

 

He was The One, The One, The One

He was The One, it was true

And it would have been perfect, but for the fact

That he wasn’t just one, he was two

It was just like a threesome, most of the time

There was me, there was Jekyll, and Hyde

Jekyll was honest, and loving, and kind

But Hyde had the devil inside

A turn of a sixpence, a phase of the moon

Imperceptible shifts of the light

And dear Mr Jekyll would turn in to Hyde

Who was darker than graves in the night

I just wanted Jekyll, just Jekyll, you see

But Hyde came as part of the deal

The addition of me, making two in to three

Made a triangle spin like a wheel

It was my fault, all my fault, everything

According to Hyde, in his view

They’d be better without me, Jekyll agreed

So that’s when the three became two

 

Good luck to the pair of you, Jekyll, and Hyde

As you skip, arm in arm, to the sun

Well suited, free, but quite useless for me

For neither of you were The One

 

by Gail

 

 

On the Passing of Howard Marks

Howard Marks; a Clerihew

So, farewell Howard, Mr Nice

Massive reefers were your vice

Life’s but a spliff to puff and pass

All grass is weed, all flesh is grass

*

Wasted Angels

Howard Marks and God Almighty

Shared a spliff and had a whitey

Then had the munchies, and a bong

Annoying Peter with the pong

By which time it was far too late

To frisk young Howard at the gate

God, seeing Peter’s consternation

Outlined the process of creation

How on day three he made the weed

With every other tree and seed

To raise in some, apotheosis

And test some others, with psychosis

…

Now, Howard’s stash was pretty small

And didn’t last too long at all

So, as he didn’t see the point

Of heaven’s joys without a joint

He got his bong, and skins, and tin

Chucked all the roaches in the bin

And, following a wicked smell

Went wafting off to score, in hell

…

St. Peter looked above and groaned

As all the angels flew past, stoned

*

by Gail