Politics

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

On Grassy Uplands By The Sunshine Lit


The poet sighed. What is there left to write
The Tories have all gone, well nearly all
The ones that there are left are really small
No bark to speak of, never mind a bite
They whisper to each other in their fright
Discussing who it was who dropped the ball
Or caused the sword of Damocles to fall
Upon them from so very great a height

I never could quite bring myself to piss
On Thatcher’s grave, nor shall I stop to shit
On Rishi’s monument. Nobody’s died
We bask in some sweet momentary bliss
On grassy uplands by the sunshine lit
What is there left to write, the poet sighed

© Gail Foster 10th July 2024

Around The Block To Wetherspoons

A response in poetry form to recent attempts by the likes of Laurence Fox and Suella Braverman to stir up trouble around Armistice and Remembrance Day by using unproven threats to poppy sellers and the Cenotaph in order to further their own ends.

‘Twas Saturday, and up the smoke
In Wetherspoons across the land
The drivel that the gammons spoke
Grew difficult to understand

‘Twas Armistice, all over town
They belched into their British beer
And, holding flags up upside down
Did march for all that they held dear

Not that they’d ever served at all
Or fought at all in foreign lands
‘Twas only that their brains were small
And all a gammon understands

Is white is right, and all things beige
Apart from sausages and ale
Did put them in a proper rage
As did befit said British male

The monuments! It’s down to us!
To save them from the heathen flags!
I’m knackered though, is there a bus
Or anywhere to buy some fags?

Cry God for Charlie, Lozza too!
(That bloke on Twitter, and the King)
You got some Charlie, mate? I do
Let’s snort a line and have a sing!

The National Anthem – you go first
Er…Land of Hope…forgot the rest
It’s hard to sing when fit to burst
Ain’t patriotic pride the best?

Where are we going? I don’t know
Oi, which way to the Cenotaph?
It’s that way, mate – and off they go
It isn’t though, the children laugh

And on they marched, the gammeroons
Blood vessels bursting all the way
Around the block to Wetherspoons
As they had done back in the day

© Gail Foster 6th November 2023

PS I had a very tasty halloumi burger in the Orangery in Wetherspoons in Exeter recently.
Just saying.

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