A Beltane Rhyme…
*
© Gail Foster April 28th 2018
Poetry
Mischievous Spring (audio)
Me reading a slighty flirtatious Spring poem…
The Green Beneath The Snow
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
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
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
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
Burning Angels; Winter Solstice, 2017
for the Druids of Avebury, and my muse
*
So many kings of old have come to me
At midnight, in the winter, at the still
In crowns of holly, clothed with mystery
Come riding proudly down from yonder hill
With torches flaming, salamander eyes
Ablaze with ancient summers full of lust
And I have had them all within my thighs
And I have turned them all to ice and dust
Except for he who keeps my fires alight
When darkness falls too deep to understand
Who lies with me all winter, till the night
Recedes, and spring returns to seed the land
With him I make, beneath the mistletoe
The burning shapes of angels in the snow
*
© Gail Foster 16th December 2017
The Moment
Beware the moment when the mind
Becomes aware that all is well
No fecks, no fears, no fault to find
Just jolly tales of joy to tell
All happiness and all good things
Are here within the now and here!
The fool from on the rooftop sings
As all the angels disappear
And demons gather on the hill
Attracted by his careless cry
To watch him fall, as fall he will
As all things fall that fly too high
And shine too bright, and fly too fast
Enjoy the moment. See, it’s passed…
*
© Gail Foster December 6th 2017
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