Fear

We Call The People That We Love Inside

The shops are shut.  Our hearts are open wide
Before we put the Closed sign on the door
We call the people that we love inside

‘Last orders at the bar!’ the barman cried
Our days of wine and roses are no more
The pubs are shut.  Our hearts are open wide

The schools are shut.  How hard the children tried
For what, they sigh, was all our striving for
We call the people that we love inside

No space made out of stone for God to hide
At home alone we face a higher law
The church is shut. Our hearts are open wide

Our doors are shut.  In darkness we abide
We tear our hair and wash our fingers raw
With all the people that we love inside

The price we pay for freedom is our pride
What price our freedom if we win the war
The shops are shut.  Our hearts are open wide
We call the people that we love inside

© Gail Foster 23rd March 2020

Years of Hurt

Whilst the majority of domestic violence perpetrators are men I am fully aware that men are sometimes victims as well, therefore this poem is written in such a way that ‘he’ and ‘his’ can be substituted with ‘she’ and ‘her’, and ‘girls’ with ‘boys.’  

When it comes to domestic violence, no-one is a winner…

Oh God, did England win? That means that he
is coming home. I’ve done the washing up
and cooked him steak and crinkle chips for tea
and put his tinnies and his football cup
beside his chair and switched the telly on
All done. I wait. It could go either way
Of late it’s gone a little bit like this
He comes in in a ‘you’re alright mate’ way
insisting on a bear hug and a kiss
and then the beer kicks in – his tea is cold
his boss is mean to him, his car is shit
and I’m the Germans, oh and I am old
I told the girls at work he didn’t hit
me, lied about the bruise beneath my shirt
Don’t talk to me of Lions. Years of hurt.

© Gail Foster 7th July 2018

Not In My Name

 

*

I wonder how she feels today

The Muslim girl I spoke to on the bus

The girl who had so many things to say

About how she feels free and safe with us

I wonder if today she feels the same

Dear child of the warm Damascan breeze

Cry God and Allah we are all the same

Not in my name, not in my name, please

*

© Gail Foster 23rd March 2017

The Light Is Not A Solemn Thing, It Shines

ribbon-one-1

for Sarah

*

The light is not a solemn thing, it shines

With merry glee and mirthful gentleness

Will not be held a hostage, in confines

Of darkened halls where little ones confess

The sins of fathers that they never chose

Nor be a slave to chapter, scripture, verse

Be boundaried, or fettered in its flows

It is the joy of blessing, not a curse

It isn’t how you said it was.  You lied

I ran, and left your lies behind the door

And here I am, and oh, the light is wide

Mysterious, and infinite, and more

A wildly wilful, free, and feisty thing

I wear a ribbon in my hair, and sing

*

© Gail Foster 26th February 2017

…

This sonnet was written for my friend Sarah, who left the Plymouth Brethren.  In accordance with the Brethren’s belief in the Doctrine of Separation, those who have left are no longer allowed contact with their friends or families.  In recent years former members have developed the custom of writing their loved ones’ names on yellow ribbons as a symbol of love and remembrance.

Two small rhymes for Halloween

 

Ghost Cat

If the tales of the white cat are true

He had feathers; a ghost cat who flew

Through the shimmering streams

Of the moon’s silver beams

Leaving slain doves in the dew

*

Wobbly Halloween

Don’t come trick or treating down here

We spent all our money on beer

Don’t knock at our door

‘Cos we’re scary and poor

Lend us a tenner for gear

*

by Gail