Easter Sunday; Devizes

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for John (Ted) Dexter

*

no cars on the road

all of the town sofa bound

food lulled and sleeping

walking home, a man

evensong’s slow gentle peace

on him like monks’ robes

old man and poet

meet in quiet communion

by the graveyard gate

souls of the same shade

in unspoken fellowship

watching the birds fly

on the bridge, silence

white blossom, silver water

Easter Sunday light

*

© Gail Foster 17th April 2017

Granny’s Easter Buns

Jenny's Hot Cross buns

*

Grandad says that Easter isn’t funny

You won’t find him at parties

Dressed up as the Easter bunny

He’ll not be scoffing chocolate eggs

Or anything like that

He’ll be putting on his Sunday best

And dusting off his hat

For Grandad is an Anglican

Of serious intent

Does bible study when he can

And gave up cake for Lent

He says that Jesus died for me

And I’d best not forget it

But seeing as I’m only three

I’m sorry, I don’t get it

My Granny, now my Granny, mind

She has a different view

She leaves me little eggs to find

In places like my shoe

The smell of Granny’s hot cross buns

Is paradise and bliss

She makes me little special ones

Topped with a tiny kiss

Granny says God loves me

As she makes my Easter bonnet

With a smile as she carefully

Sews flowers and bees upon it

Let Grandad do religious stuff

The crucifixion thing

I’m only really old enough

For Granny, and the Spring

Grandad’s back from church now

Saying “Jesus rose for you”

“Well, bless us all” my Granny says

“The buns are risen too”

*

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Strange Simony

 

St. Cuthbert's Island

 

For Good Friday

 

Another man

Another plan

Hung on a

Godforsaken tree

One dread kiss

And then

Was this

Eternal calumny

How bitter

Seems the glitter

Of dark silver

Simony

No shining glory

In this story

Just shame

And death

For all to see

In the daylight

And with hindsight

Could not there

Light and mercy be

For it was writ

This would be it

That all these things

Would come to be

The portrayal

Of his betrayal

Haunts our own

Humanity

No kudos

For poor Judas

Only lonely

Ignominy

 

by Gail