You may have heard of me. My name is Ruth
It’s written on the Cross for all to see
I cried on God as witness to the truth
And died, and here inscribed my history
The tales they told of me – they said I lied
Defied my God before I breathed my last
They said they found the money hid inside
My hand when half a century had passed
You will have heard of me. A widow, I
Came all the way from Potterne in the rain
In winter, to the Market Place, to buy
Eternal shame – I only came for grain
All Wiltshire’s heard of me. My name is Ruth
I may have lied. To God be known the truth
Legend
Burning Angels; Winter Solstice, 2017
for the Druids of Avebury, and my muse
*
So many kings of old have come to me
At midnight, in the winter, at the still
In crowns of holly, clothed with mystery
Come riding proudly down from yonder hill
With torches flaming, salamander eyes
Ablaze with ancient summers full of lust
And I have had them all within my thighs
And I have turned them all to ice and dust
Except for he who keeps my fires alight
When darkness falls too deep to understand
Who lies with me all winter, till the night
Recedes, and spring returns to seed the land
With him I make, beneath the mistletoe
The burning shapes of angels in the snow
*
© Gail Foster 16th December 2017
The Crone and the Maiden
for Idril
*
At Avebury, on Solstice eve, a crone and a maiden sat
The crone wore a weary wisdom, and the maid wore a flowery hat
And as the sun sank ‘neath the hill, and the sky flushed rosy red
The maid, her eyes all full of flame, turned to the crone and said
…
‘I know nothing of love, speak to me, of marrying, and men
How will I know if I lie with a man, that he’ll come to me again
How will I know if I lie with him, that his heart be faithful and true
They say that the crone knows everything, so tell me, tell me do’
…
The crone put down her weaving, sighed a little, thought, and spoke
‘How do you know that the bees will buzz, or the wren will sing in the oak
How do you know that the night will flee, or the birds fly free on the morn
As sure as you know that the sun will rise, and the stones be here at dawn’
…
‘That isn’t an answer,’ said the maid, ‘I want more certainty
How will I know that he speaks the truth when he lies down with me
How will I know by the look in his eye, or the touch of his hand on my breast
Whether he be the man for me, and king above all the rest’
…
‘You won’t,’ said the crone, ‘you’ll never know, ‘tis up to fate and chance
‘Tis biology, mystery, fantasy, a curse, and a merry dance
Just drink of the wild heat of him, while fire still burns in the sky
For men will come and go, my dear, all suns will fade and die’
…
The maiden sighed a little, and the crone a little too
‘It seems like only yesterday that I was a maid like you
With oak and roses in my hair, and eyes all full of flame’
‘Best get some in,’ the maid said
‘Ay,’ the crone said, ‘that’s the game’
…
At Avebury, on Solstice eve, a crone and a maiden sat
The maid wore a little wisdom, and the crone wore the maiden’s hat
And time passed by in a wheel of stars, till dark gave way to the dawn
And the sun rose pink upon the hill, and the king rode in on the morn
*
© Gail Foster 17th June 2017
The Fall of Camelot
*
Down where the bins were overflowing
On concrete where the cracks were showing
As weary winds came slowly blowing
A manky crow began a-crowing
Songs of Camelot
Through window dim the lady saw it
Heard it, and could not ignore it
Acknowledged, there was nothing for it
She had lost the plot
…
She blamed the mirror, false perceptions
Embarrassingly dire reflections
Figments of her own deceptions
Misread signals, misconceptions
And bloody Lancelot
And other knights, they’d all been arseholes
Shites wrapped up in pretty parcels
Crawling back to rule their castles
When the day grew hot
…
And Good Sir That, and Good Sir This
She’d let them all just take the piss
So grateful was she for a kiss
Or any scrap of earthly bliss
That scraps was all she got
The last one, oh, he’d been a giver
Until the day when, all-a-quiver
He caught a catfish in the river
And her love forgot
…
Enough, she said, enough projections
All of you, take your rejections
Yer fish and shit, and your erections
Faithless hearts, and imperfections
For I like you not
With that she fastened up the latches
Made a bonfire, found some matches
And, as was mentioned in dispatches
Blew up Camelot
*
© Gail Foster 11th October 2016
Marah and The Well
*
‘Twas dawn when Marah went down to the well
To fill her pail with waters bitter sweet
The sky, flushed pink with daybreak’s blooming swell
Made rosy dewdrops glimmer ‘neath her feet
The well was hard to find, and deeply hid
Within the sacred forest’s leafy fold
With ivy dressed, and writ upon its lid
In graven letters, words of wisdom old
Here water calls to water, here a stream
May conjured be by sorrow to a flood
Should tears like fishes fall and catch the gleam
Of sunlight, then shall water rise like blood
The air was still, unbroken by the lark
As Marah dropped her pail in to the dark
…
As Marah dropped her pail in to the dark
She held her breath, and watched it disappear
Stood firm, and stopped her heartbeat, lest a spark
Of morning’s glory light a single tear
But pain is force, that seeks to find a form
As hard to stem as ocean’s endless roll
And ‘spite her will, within her broke a storm
That rose unwanted from her ancient soul
Her tears burst forth, and waterfalls of streams
Flowed down and struck the surface of the deep
And as they fell were lit by glittered beams
Of sunlight, and the dead were woke from sleep
The waters rose, grew violent in their swell
Thus so did Marah ope the gate of hell
…
Thus so did Marah ope the gate of hell
Thus so unlock the door of death and birth
Unleash a tide too powerful to quell
Unloose the grief of all the souls of earth
Made waters rise, to breach the old well’s rim
Pour up, and drown the flowers in the grass
Caused birds to cease in flight, the sky grow dim
And clouds to form as shadows upon glass
She stood aghast, as heavy as a stone
As whorls of water swirled around her dress
Stood drowning in the forest there, alone
Too late to pray, to hope, or to confess
The waters closed above her sorry head
As Marah joined the legions of the dead
…
As Marah joined the legions of the dead
Her eyes began to fill with blood and light
With all the tears that man had ever shed
With all the dark and horror of the night
And floating past her, man and woman, child
All weeping, weeping, screaming in their pain
Possessed by loss and loneliness, gone wild
With disappointment, or the guilt of Cain
Here unborn souls, who died within the womb
Here mothers mourning infants took to death
Here those imprisoned, tortured to the tomb
Who cried for life with one last feeble breath
With those whose love was thwarted or dismayed
In one unending terrible parade
…
In one unending terrible parade
The labourers, the weary hungry poor
Those men who lost each pitch and toss they played
Who only spake the raven’s ‘nevermore’
With those stood on the shoreline when the Ark
Set sail for freedom and new hope of day
And those who, as they listened to the lark
Were by some wave or bullet took away
The blood of martyrs mingled with the tears
So sadly shed by all humanity
By souls lost to the night, who met their fears
On mountain tops, on roadsides, or the sea
So this is pain, thought Marah, here is shown
More sorrow here than I have ever known
…
More sorrow here than I have ever known
More pain than I could ever comprehend
And yet this pain in some sense is mine own
To rise above, to conquer, and transcend
And with this revelation, Marah rose
Up through the deeps, towards the hazy light
Unwove her being from the tangled flows
Flew through the waters like a climbing kite
Up, up she went, past all the weeping dead
And blessed them as she passed, for bless she could
Then broke the waters with her joyful head
And breathed the air that blew so fresh and good
Across the grass where once a flood had been
As if had been a mirage she had seen
…
As if had been a mirage she had seen
Seemed all the world just light, on rock and tree
All colourful, all shades of blue and green
And all that pain become but memory
She heard a whisper, soft within her ear
Go forth, and hold this lesson in your heart
You sought for answers, and you found them here
Now take them to the world and play your part
She picked her silver pail up, and she ran
The well sat silent, watched her fade away
Sat waiting, for another questing man
To learn its wisdom on another day
This is my legend, for ‘tis mine to tell
‘Twas dawn when Marah went down to the well…
*
© Gail Foster September 21st 2016
The Work; Summer Solstice, Avebury
Written for the Gorsedd of Caer Abiri, Avebury, Wiltshire;
a Druid rhyme of seven verses
***
Across the land this morn, a roll of light
Gave birth to shadows, cast from chalky hills
The larks ascended, sang away the night
Vibrated sky to waking with their trills
‘Tis Summer; round the circle swirls the breeze
As darkness yields unto the swell of day
As every meadow hums with birds and bees
And scent of elder steals the breath away
…
This is the time, when earth craves heaven’s kiss
All full of lust, all bursting in its bloom
All lost in heady momentary bliss
Before the fall, and crashing down to doom
Now comes the wren, as if from nowhere blown
Within its beak a lively twig of oak
And suddenly, forth from a door of stone
Springs sacred fire, and wild midsummer smoke
…
And from within the smoke the King appears
From black stream spilled, the son of mountain high
With shield burnished bright by virgins’ tears
And salamander flame within his eye
Upon his head a crown of acorns sits
He holds a horn of gold from faery lands
Across his face a flick of fear flits
He plants his feet on earth, and solid stands
…
And She; blue butterflies around her head
Bare breasted, barefoot, riding a white mare
With piercing speedwell eyes to blind the dead
And poppies red all woven in her hair
She rides, in to the circle, on her horse
Dismounts in silence, looks him in the face
Above them both, the sun, stopped in its course
For here is now, and only now, this place
…
He touches her, he places sword to cup
She speaks some ancient magic without sound
Above their heads the heavens open up
Bright waterfalls of light pour to the ground
She touches him, and fossils shake from sleep
Electric rivers rise with shock and force
To flood the sky with fire from the deep
All light in circuit, flowing back to source
…
Just now, oh now, now come, now come; now gone
All energy subsides, and colours dim
They rise up from the ground they laid upon
He steps away, and bows, and She to him
A feather from a lark falls gracefully
To land among the flowers where they sat
He fades into the smoke, and so does She
And so The Work is done, and that is that
…
The wren returns, and sits upon a stone
A holly berry glistens at its feet
It sings a song through all the ages known
A song of earthly bliss, and heaven sweet
For all the Gods are one God, sang the wren
All Goddesses one Goddess, ‘neath one Sun
And we are one another, Gods, and men
As God and Goddess, joined together; One
***
© Gail Foster 2016
The Return of the Gay Knight
For my friends in the BM, and for Will; a fairy tale
*
To a fanfare of horns
The young knight returned
With a tale of slain dragons to tell
The princesses blushed
And the old queen flushed
And the gay knights were happy as well
…
He had cast down his cross
From the height of his hoss
And left the thing there where it fell
For the great and the good
Were in need of the wood
To stoke up the fires of hell
…
He’d only been back for a moment before
He was begging a poke with a pardon
And a giggle, and “Push!”
From a quivering bush
Could be heard from the end of the garden
…
No need for a graven memorial stone
Or the ring of a funeral bell
The young knight was back
And well up for the crack
And all in the kingdom was well
*
© Gail Foster 2016
Phoenix Rose; for Lisa Lewis
Lisa Lewis is the CEO of Doorway in Chippenham
She’s a legend. Just don’t mess with her, right…
*
Don’t mess with Lisa, she’s a scary
Far out full on punky fairy
Crowned with violent flowers and sage
And riding on her harnessed rage
Through tangled wood and thorny bower
To speak unsubtle truth to power
…
Don’t mess with Lisa, man, she’s scary
Wise be wise and fools be wary
For she will tread where no man goes
To seek those things that no one knows
Expect no mercy if you cross her
Best be right and not a tosser
…
Don’t mess with Lisa, she’s so scary
Medusa crossed with Virgin Mary
Bottle, balls, and Occam’s razor
Prosecco, throttle up, and tazer
Wild light to make a diamond shy
And tears forbidden from her eye
…
Don’t mess with Lisa, man, she’s scary
That’s one well effective fairy
Pierced with wisdom to the bone
Dark metal angel stood alone
Feared and loved by all she knows
A phoenix, from the darkness rose
*
© Gail Foster 2016
On the death of Mohammed Ali; three clerihews
The man was a legend. Respect.
I hope he would have enjoyed my use of the clerihew in this context.
If not then it’s not like he can hit me, now, is it?
*
So farewell, Cassius Clay, Ali
You knocked out a bit of poetry
That butterfly one sure packed a sting
And well done on the boxing thing
*
Mohammed, man, you’re counted out
You gave the boxing thing a shout
Wrote rhyme to make a grown man cry
And dodged the draft like a butterfly
*
Ali, you’ve packed your final punch
Man, you took boxing out to lunch
Men say that you are God today
Who made Mohammed out of Clay
*
© Gail Foster
The Solstice Door
The light is coming… and I wish you well
*
*
Behind the running, running man the land
Lies silent, fallow, haunted by the cry
Of one lone mourning rook who flies alone
Inscribing solemn circles in the sky
There is no time to take a backward look
Just running, running, running, running blind
He leaves the flowered garlands that she wove
With ribbons bright, with summer’s love, behind
He runs with only hope in empty hands
All faint of heart, with life blood running cold
The chill of winter earth beneath his feet
All water turned to ice in frozen fold
All out of breath with minutes yet to live
He runs, through elder grove and stand of yew
Runs, seeking for the ancient Solstice door
Described in tales the bards and ancients knew
‘Till suddenly he stumbles on a glade
All silent where no wild bird wheels or calls
And in the glade there stands a single stone
And on the ground a moon dark shadow falls
And there, within the shadow’s light he sees
That which before him other men have found
A stairway leading down in to the earth
A dark descending path in to the ground
No way but down now, this the only way
He gathers one last breath, and full of fear
Goes down the old and foot worn ancient steps
That lead towards the portal of the year
How dark the endless steps of winter’s stair
That shadow down, down to the Solstice door
To where, beneath the door a chink of light
Hints soft and bright across the cold stone floor
He sits upon the bottom step to rest
Reflect, and contemplate the year behind
And lo, she comes, bedecked in leaves and fruit
And dancing, dancing, through his weary mind
Forget me not, she sings; I am still here
I wait for you, for life to shift and stir
And through the keyhole and the chink there blows
A fragrant waft of birch and silver fir
Reviving, blessing, soft upon his face
The promise of new life upon her breath
Touched by her grace he weeps upon the step
For she has saved him with her love from death
Another year dies, another lives
He sits and waits; she watches from afar
And as he waits the light in darkness shifts
And creaks the ancient Solstice Door ajar…
*
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 