the weather, today
overcast, with a high chance
of riots and rain
dark clouds, gathering
tall towers and tipping points
enemies within
cities, simmering
angry hearts of righteous men
burning for justice
behind closed doors, committees
talk damage limitation
© Gail Foster 16th June 2017
*
The sun bore down on the Market Cross, where Guilt and Shame were sat
Guilt was clad in a penitent’s rags, and Shame wore a dunce’s hat
The steps were strewn with sticks and stones, and faggots had been lit
And smoke rose up to the pinnacles where shadows of psychopomps sit
…
“It was you,” said Guilt to Shame, “‘twas you, that brought us to this place”
Shame hung her head as her cheek bled red from the whip of the flame on her face
“‘Tis maybe true,” said she to Guilt, “for I was ever this
Destined to burn in the Market Place for the sake of a stolen kiss”
…
Guilt fell silent, angry tongues flicking ire in the light of his eye
“‘Twas you as well, my love,” she said, “who brought us here to die”
Then she fell silent too, as snakes of flame hissed in her hair
And the stench of smoking human flesh pervaded the summer air
…
Above the Cross the sun bore down, and the wheels of justice turned
Guilt and Shame in the Market Place; by terrible passion burned
*
© Gail Foster 2016
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
A Fairy Tale
*
Once upon a time there was a grand historical building, in the centre of a small but beautiful Wiltshire town, called the Assize Court. For many years the processes of law were carried out within the stern Bath stone walls of the court, and many folk were sentenced in the dock. Some walked under the Ionic pillars to freedom, some to death and some to endless captivity. All human drama was there. Tears were spilt, reputations were ruined and children were left fatherless. Justice was seen to be done. But then one day, as is the way of things, it became obsolete; the last sentence was delivered, and the doors were closed. It stood, slowly decaying, for year upon year; a strange symbol of dereliction in the beating heart of the town. And now, and then, good folk devoted much energy to finding new hope and purpose for the building. Nothing came to pass. The people were met by brick walls and stonewalling. The people gave up the fight. It crumbled. Years, and yet more years, passed. Good folk tried again. No joy. More brick walls and stone walling. It crumbled. Again, passionate people rallied, and tried to make sense of it. Again, brick walls and stonewalling. It crumbled. Until, one day, it had crumbled beyond all hope. At which point the land was used to build houses and offices. And yea, verily, as some had prophesied, someone made a large pot of gold. And lived happily ever after.
*
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 