Politics

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apple Barrels

Apple Barrels

*

Some apples make cider

And some apples not

Some ferment as expected

Some do not

There may be statistics

I suspect not a lot

That predict the existence

Of possible rot

Schrodinger’s cat

Is wise to the plot

A cat in a box

Or a wolf in a cot

In the barn there are barrels

To keep cold or hot

The cider is coming

Ready or not

*

by Gail

Corbyn’s Muses

Corbyn's Muses

What ridiculous term will the media come up with to describe the women in Jeremy Corbyn’s shadow cabinet?

These are my thoughts on the matter…

*

Don’t call us Babes, such nonsense just confuses

We’re equals standing side by side with men

If you must, then coin us Corbyn’s Muses

Inspiring hearts and minds with voice and pen

We’ve got here through integrity and toil

Intelligence and knowledge of the game

We’ll labour endlessly for British soil

Don’t denigrate us with a silly name

by Gail

Out of Line

Regarding the alleged naughtiness of Lord Sewel, former Deputy Speaker of the House of Lords and Chair of the Privileges and Conduct Committee…

 

Out of Line

“Order, order!” he shouted “We’re all out of line”

“I’ll see to that” quoth the whore

“And if you’re a good boy we’ll do three in a bed,

You can snort off my titties and more”

Oh silly old Sewel you poor addled old fool

So clearly misguided and randy

That the question of cash and the secretive flash

Were obscured in a cloud of nose candy

 

 

by Gail

 

Fair Game

seeing red...

 

 *

Tally ho boys, sound the horn

The fox is on the run

Who let the dogs out

On a killing spree for fun

Tally ho boys, we’re entitled

We few, we happy band

To terrorise your wildlife

As we trample on your land

*

From the hedge a wordsmith

Chuckles with defiance

Cropping out the ‘orsie’

From the ‘Countrysidealliance’

* 

by Gail

Tin Pot Dictator

Just stood on a stage and read this at the Devizes Festival Poetry Slam…

Untitled

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, you’re Kim Jong Un

Blasting me to pieces with an anti-aircraft gun

For momentary guard slip and forgetting of pretence

Public execution for your Minister of Defence

*******

There were less dramatic options, like demotion and sacking

Not as entertaining, mind, as death by ack acking

As for that piss take poster in the Ealing barber’s shop

You’d show them a Bad Hair Day with a more severe crop

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, you’re that bloke Pol Pot

Who tried to turn the clock back to Year Zero, or Dot

It must have been torture, being rubbish at school

So you got rid of all the clever ones that made you feel a fool

*******

Clad with a well cut uniform and medals on your chest

A gun, a throne and megaphone you’re better than the rest

Making up for all those failings that you feel so acutely

Power that tendeth to corrupt, in you corrupteth absolutely

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, going by the name of Vlad

As in Lenin and Putin and that weird Impaler lad

You’re Saddam Hussein and you’re Ho Chi Minh

Declare resistance to be futile and dissent a sin

*******

Flatter your enemies lest they stab you in the back

Equip the walls with ears to hear what loyalty you lack

Hide the Stasi in the khasi to hear the shit go down

Watch for subtle facial movements like the nuance of a frown

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, but Godwins Law states

That the first to mention Hitler loses rational debates

From bad art and rejection came forth carnage we presume

Stick a moustache on the elephant in the middle of the room

*******

Rally troops remaining, keep the enemy at the gate

For there just might be a coup and it just might be too late

There are movements in the corners of the bunker in your mind

Where one eye is always open in the kingdom of the blind

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, mowing down the picket

You’re the warden who gave a crate of vegetables a ticket

Pass the tar and feathers if I ever call you Mate

I am the voice of decompression in a Tin Pot State

by Gail