colours of sunday

IMG_9319 - Copy


Impressions of Sunday morning;

for Valerie, Vince, and John


valerie and I

call the slice of chapel light

hockney and lemon

sunshine on silver

tails of little wriggling fish

feeding the thousands

vince by the fountain

twinkling as he talks about

beetroot and the times

gold on the mustard

seeds that grow in gospel leaves

scattered on the ground

black belt lay preacher

hurling holy water on

the red fires of hell

the peace, fingers crossed

wishing my heart was as white

as the altar cloth

shades of pigeon grey

orange plastic shopping bags

taking sunday home


© Gail Foster 30th July 2017

Brutal Truth

Brutal Truth

 Should we view images of death and evil in the media?


Brutal truth; how dare you burn our eyes

How dare you mark our quiet hearts with pain

Our gentle ears are deafened with your cries

Our worlds will never be the same again

Brutal truth; without you we deny

Ourselves, our fear, the part we have to play

So shine your fierce searchlight from the sky

Force in to form the shadows of the day

Brutal truth; unchain our memory

And rend the veil that shrouds a lie from sight

The evolution of humanity

Is in your hands; stir us to flight or fight

To know ourselves and know our enemy

Shifting deserts, oceans flowing free


by Gail