*
flowers, soft petals
the provocation of bees –
stamens, quivering
*
© Gail Foster 22nd May 2018
Flowers
Colin’s Garden
For Colin Hopgood, a good man of Devizes, who has been milkman and Mayor, and tends the allotment by Quakers Walk that gives so much pleasure to so many…
*
‘Tis Spring on the allotments, in the air
The scent of hyacinths, the sense of bees
The sunlight on the cabbages and trees
And sitting in the greenhouse, on his chair
Remembering past summers, and the Fair
The Kenyan heat, the icy Kennet freeze
The smallest seedlings grown into sweet peas
Is Colin, father, lover, milkman, mayor
…
He’ll tell you, if you ask him, where the boat
That sits amongst the marigolds once sat
He’ll show you his banana tree, and bowers
And time and swans will fly, and barges float
Until he calls his dogs, and doffs his hat
And sends you home with vegetables, and flowers
*
© Gail Foster 23rd March 2017
Crying for Light
*
Be still, can you hear the drum, the drum
Hear it beat like a heart in the heavy night
Hold on to your soul, for the dead are come
To look to the living for light
…
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
…
Out of the mist, they come, they come
Through the slip of a stitch in the hazy veil
With their feet all bare, and their faces pale
The dead come, crying for light
…
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
…
Out of the past they come, they come
From the shadowy halls of history
From the battlefield, and the hungry sea
The dead come, crying for light
…
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
…
Out of the earth they come, they come
From the cold of the grave at midnight’s bell
From the harrowing heat of the fires of hell
The dead come, crying for light
…
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
…
Out of the dark they come, they come
With their winding sheets and their cobweb hair
With their violent curses and innocent prayer
The dead come, crying for light
…
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
…
Out of their minds they come, they come
Who are lost in the maze of space and time
Who are seeking the grace of a love sublime
The dead come, crying for light
…
Lavender, lilies, and roses blown
Ashes and sulphur, blood on stone
…
Be not a-feared when they come, they come
Be as still as you can, and touch them not
Show them the way to the light forgot
Love them, and let them be
…
Be gone
…
In to the light they go, they go
To the glow at the end of the tunnel’s gloom
To the source of the scent of the rose’s bloom
In to the light they go
*
© Gail Foster 30th October 2016
She Comes
A rhyme written for the Spring Equinox
and the Gorsedd of the Bards
at Avebury, Wiltshire
*
For all the night she trod the furrowed earth
As she has walked all winter in her wake
In seeking for the child she brought to birth
The maiden bride whom Hades chose to take
…
The gibbous moon is waxing to the bright
And shedding shifting shadows on the lands
One single moonbeam spills down through the night
Upon the rutted earth on which she stands
…
Made heavy by the weight of mother’s tears
The ground beneath her feet begins to yield
The imprint of a child’s foot appears
Emerging from the darkness of the field
…
The dawn is tinting grey the silken skies
The lifting mist moves gulls to take the air
She swears she hears these words within their cries
She comes, she comes, she comes, is nearly there…
…
Around the hill of Silbury swirl the springs
From many sources meeting there as one
Upon the fence a bardic blackbird sings
His songs of seasons ended and begun
…
The heron stands in wait down by the brook
The willows’ leaves weave rills upon the stream
The cormorant is fishing for the rook
Whose shadow shapes a fish from daybreak’s gleam
…
From alder trees drip drops of ancient dew
Like shining crystals, in to waters deep
The grey of morn becomes a brighter blue
New lambs are woken from the dark womb’s sleep
…
A muffled drumbeat pounds within her bones
Thrills through her feet and trembles in her chest
Draws from four corners people of the stones
To stand and lay the winter to his rest
…
Can it be so, she thinks, that she will come
And willingly escape the thrall of Hades
Be called by this fast beating of the drum
To dance among the wild lords-and-ladies
…
The drum, the drum, the Druid in the East
The daylight shattering the glass of night
Behold the mead and cake that form the feast
Behold the glorious blessing of the light
…
The blazing gorse flames yellow on the hill
Bright shafts of sun surround the Druid’s head
She comes, she comes, my daughter liveth still
Released at last from fathoms of the dead
…
Her eyes are purple crocuses; her hair
Is woven through with wood anemones
She shocks the eyes, her presence is so rare
And strong, as hyacinths upon the breeze
…
She wears the sun a-shimmer on her dress
In folds of drops of snow and celandines
And, as befits she with the power to bless
Comes riding on a stag of seven tines
…
She speaks unto the awed and silent crowd
“I come” she says “I bring the fire of life
I come to cast my seeds on fields ploughed
To quell your hunger and relieve your strife
…
I bring you daylight from the depths of hell
Where I with Hades am forever wed
Of Christ and Dionysus I shall tell
In sacred stories of the risen dead”
…
The crowd are stunned to silence, robbed of breath
She came, she came, brought winter to his knees
Defied the dreadful tide of dark and death
To bless the ground with shoots, and trees with leaves
…
The ancient Druid offers up the cup
The wine of her libations there to sip
He bows his head, as down she stoops to sup
And touch the cup upon her rosy lip
…
And with this act the sunlight floods the sky
The spell is broken by the touch of earth
And Demeter runs forward with a cry
To hold the maiden that she brought to birth
…
The seasons come, the seasons go, and all
Shall rise and fall and fade and reappear
And Spring shall once more answer to the call
Of Hades at the dying of the year
…
But here, by mother love and heat of day
Persephone is made a child again
To run upon the hills; to dance and play
And plant her flowers in the world of men
*
© Gail Foster 2016
gailfromdevizes 