What will be left of Gaza then but dust
And silent echoes in an empty space?
The war against Hamas, he said, was just
His wily smile the answer on his face
What of the little children, the unborn
The doctors, and the journalists who tried
To save them, and record another dawn?
It is because Hamas, he said, they died
Would not the Jews who perished long ago
In Germany and Poland in the camps
Decry this genocide, the winds that blow
The light out from so many other lamps?
You lie, he said. And then the truth appeared
There was no Gaza when the dust had cleared
© Gail Foster 22nd August 2025
Light
Within the Silence and the Still, the Light
*
I heard an infant crying in the night
A new born lamb come mewling to the fold
It’s writ on ancient stone in words of old
‘Within the silence and the still, the light’
The moon is high, the mistle berry white
The ice shines in the darkness, in the cold
The stars are born, as all the bards foretold
Within the silence and the still, the light
Insists itself, as soft at first and slight
White shifts within the mist upon the wold
That lift as it comes rising rose and gold
Within the silence and the still, The Light!
New born in winter, beautiful and bright
Within the silence and the still, the light
*
© Gail Foster 21st December 2018
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 Sacred Presence
For Felicity Walker
*
This morning, at the altar rail, I kneel
Beside a woman called Felicity
As delicate as china roses, frail
Much closer to the mystic veil than me
And as the priest approaches with the host
A ray of sun comes sudden from the east
Lord, let it shine on her, who needs it most
And waste it not on me, who needs it least
And so it comes, in blazing gold and white
Infusing her with glory as she prays
Behold, she is an angel full of light
Enfolded in the wonder of his ways
There at the altar with Felicity
I feel the sacred presence next to me
*
© Gail Foster 14th May 2017
Easter Sunday; Devizes
for John (Ted) Dexter
*
no cars on the road
all of the town sofa bound
food lulled and sleeping
…
walking home, a man
evensong’s slow gentle peace
on him like monks’ robes
…
old man and poet
meet in quiet communion
by the graveyard gate
…
souls of the same shade
in unspoken fellowship
watching the birds fly
…
on the bridge, silence
white blossom, silver water
Easter Sunday light
*
© Gail Foster 17th April 2017
Come Rise
Written for the Gorsedd of the Bards; Avebury, England, Spring 2017
*
Can you feel her in the blood
The turning tides, the shifting of the skies
Or hear her on the wind, or in the cries
Of gulls that wheel above the drying mud
Come rise…
…
Can you sense her in the urge
Of flames that lick the furze and lambs that leap
Of sap that rushes sudden from the deep
In swirls of sacred water in the surge
Come rise…
…
Can you feel her in the stone
The ancient fire, the spark of energy
The force that flows through river, rock, and tree
The movement of the marrow in the bone
Come rise…
…
Can you taste her on the lips
The heady scents of grass and honey wine
Of sun warmed earth and rain on celandine
Upon the tongue, upon the fingertips
Come rise…
…
Can you feel her in the beat
Of wing on air, of drum, of run of deer
Or see her colours on the hill appear
All blazing bright, alive with pulsing heat
Come rise…
…
What are you, man, but water through her hand
The winter’s ashes and the summer’s dust
A flick of life and then a flare of lust
Then back into the earth on which you stand
Come rise…
…
Be still, and feel her raw and naked power
Come forth as lightening, set the trees alight
Set hares to run and horses to take flight
Through alder grove and furrowed field in flower
Come rise…
*
© Gail Foster 18th March 2017
Watch My Soul For Me
I wrote this rhyme when I was young, and sometimes I say it to the moon…
*
Glide high, my glimmering crystal moon
Across the mirror of the sea
Mother of water and blood
Watch my soul for me
…
Curve, pendulum, clock of the night
In your swing, in your sway
In your shadow of light
Watch my soul for me
*
© Gail Foster 1980 something
The Light Is Not A Solemn Thing, It Shines
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.
Sorrow Weeps For Me
*
In dusty cupboards, far from prying eyes
I hide my dark and private miseries
And dress for town in bright accessories
With reddened lips, and silkly stockinged thighs
And sickly smile, in magical disguise
For there be war to fight on days like these
Dark demons to defeat, and gods to please
And light to draw down from the sullen skies
…
In dusty cupboards, Sorrow weeps for me
There be no place for cowards in the fray
Nor dark despair, nor moaning misery
To dull my fire and fill me with dismay
Or worse, betray me to the enemy
– I’ll catch you later, Sorrow, I’m away…
*
© Gail Foster 28th January 2017
The Old Lights Of Christmas
Devizes, Wiltshire; New Year’s Eve…
*
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Fireworks flash in the distant beyond
Ghostly swans on the dark of the pond
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Houses shimmer with sparkling rain
Curtains drawn on sorrow and pain
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
The cyclist sees, in the edge of her eye
Stars wheel over the Market Place
The shift of a shadow on Ceres’ face
The old lights of Christmas go glittering by
*
© Gail Foster 31st December 2016
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