*
softly, whispering
featherfalls on silent stone
winter, gravity
…
lost in the fog, birds
grieving morning voicelessly
remembering love
…
dead diamonds, ditches
glittering cold promises
fossil furrow froze
…
darkness, deepening
the womb and the grave hiding
secrets and shadows
…
in the ground, waiting
the souls of springs children sing
muffled lullabies
*
© Gail Foster 2016
Simon Griffiths at The Round Tower, Frome; a poetic review
Images may not be reproduced without the express permission of Simon Griffiths http://www.simonjgriffiths.com
*
I went to The Jester’s Tea Party
In the tower with the winding stair
Frida Kahlo manned the door
And God and the Devil were there
The artist was stood in the shadows
Silently summoning me
To stand with him like a tiny child
At the edge of an innocent sea
He showed me the sadness of circuses
And the violent colours of night
Swept by the brush of his sorrow
Upon canvases heavy with light
He showed me the bones of roses
Strewn on a luminous land
Yama and Dali and Karma and Kali
A heart in a mannequin’s hand
He showed me a skull full of sinister dolls
The ink on a baby’s skin
The wild provocation of beauty
And the unsubtle presence of sin
He showed me unusual clichés
Arranged in original ways
Dudes in the gloom of a glorious doom
Rocking the Ancient of Days
He showed me a girl with an earring
A boy sat alone with a scream
The mischievous mosh of Breughel and Bosch
Through acrylic satirical dream
He showed me the judgement of jesters
The torments of transient lust
The whirling of dervishes whipping up wind
The imprints of pride in the dust
As he showed me his rainbow emotions
His passion, and bright neon grace
Solemn tears came tumbling down
His secret and hidden face
When I asked for the key to his magic
To his powerful mystical prayer
He turned
In silence
And pointed to
The lonely clown on the stair
…
‘Tis time to face the darkness
The words of the flyer had said
In Simon Griffiths’ art I found
The light of his soul instead
*
© Gail Foster 2016
Grey days of loss and loneliness are here
Sad nights as long as shadows in the deep
No joy, no hope, no gentleness, no sleep
No ray of light predicted to appear
Just disappointment, emptiness and fear
And sacred dreams discarded in a heap
By some abyss of faith too wide to leap
In ruins lies the love we held so dear
Wise folk will say there will be love again
That suns come up, and suns go down, and yet
All I perceive is darkness, drear and grim
All I can feel is searing hurt and pain
My heart, my fingers, too burnt to forget
All blistered, from the flame I hold for him
by Gail
*
Church on Christmas Eve
Experience of spirit
Secular delight
…
Candles flickering
Stirred by one communal breath
Casting bright shadows
…
The choir whispering
Mournful cadenced melodies
That bless the silence
…
Drunken folk giggling
Respectfully hiccupping
Noisy chundering
…
Strange and precious faith
The uninitiated
Wary, questioning
…
Through agnostic eyes
Such peculiar mystery
Custom, novelty
…
The truth hides in love
Ancient priests and children know
Its simplicity
…
The door is opened
Out in to the night The Word
Flies on sacred wings
…
Midnight Mass; the light
In darkness comprehending
Emptiness with joy
*
by Gail
The light is coming… and I wish you well
*
*
Behind the running, running man the land
Lies silent, fallow, haunted by the cry
Of one lone mourning rook who flies alone
Inscribing solemn circles in the sky
There is no time to take a backward look
Just running, running, running, running blind
He leaves the flowered garlands that she wove
With ribbons bright, with summer’s love, behind
He runs with only hope in empty hands
All faint of heart, with life blood running cold
The chill of winter earth beneath his feet
All water turned to ice in frozen fold
All out of breath with minutes yet to live
He runs, through elder grove and stand of yew
Runs, seeking for the ancient Solstice door
Described in tales the bards and ancients knew
‘Till suddenly he stumbles on a glade
All silent where no wild bird wheels or calls
And in the glade there stands a single stone
And on the ground a moon dark shadow falls
And there, within the shadow’s light he sees
That which before him other men have found
A stairway leading down in to the earth
A dark descending path in to the ground
No way but down now, this the only way
He gathers one last breath, and full of fear
Goes down the old and foot worn ancient steps
That lead towards the portal of the year
How dark the endless steps of winter’s stair
That shadow down, down to the Solstice door
To where, beneath the door a chink of light
Hints soft and bright across the cold stone floor
He sits upon the bottom step to rest
Reflect, and contemplate the year behind
And lo, she comes, bedecked in leaves and fruit
And dancing, dancing, through his weary mind
Forget me not, she sings; I am still here
I wait for you, for life to shift and stir
And through the keyhole and the chink there blows
A fragrant waft of birch and silver fir
Reviving, blessing, soft upon his face
The promise of new life upon her breath
Touched by her grace he weeps upon the step
For she has saved him with her love from death
Another year dies, another lives
He sits and waits; she watches from afar
And as he waits the light in darkness shifts
And creaks the ancient Solstice Door ajar…
*
by Gail
Obscuring the moon
A veil of rose and ashes
Fades and overwhelms
*
Memory of light
Lost imprint of blossom bloom
Imperceptible
*
Through black spaces move
Things unearthly and unseen
Stirring the shadows
*
Earth falls to silence
Darkness comprehending not
What may yet become
*
by Gail
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