A sonnet written to mark the 75th anniversary of the National Health Service UK
In Your Hands ~ for the NHS
Love
I Met A Friend Beside The Cross
I Met A Friend Beside The Cross ~ for Michelle
I met a friend beside the cross
Up on The Green on Easter Day
And she was there to mourn a loss
And I was passing on my way
Now she and I, we only meet
Infrequently throughout the year
But there we were; a meeting sweet
And meaningful, before the dear
Beflowered cross the people made
And posies in all colours bright
Where all day long the people prayed
Or stayed to see the way the light
Did shine upon the Field that day
As shone before high on the hill
And some go on and some will stay
To pray, and will be praying still
And so we spoke, my friend and I
Of love and life, and of her loss
And of the mystery of why
We met together by the cross
And I went on, and left her to
Her sorrow, and when I was gone
She did what she had gone to do
Adore the cross with flowers on
Who knows His ways? Not she or I
But Oh! What beauty was reborn
Up on the Field beneath the sky
Before the cross on Easter morn
© Gail Foster 5th April 2021
We Call The People That We Love Inside
The shops are shut. Our hearts are open wide
Before we put the Closed sign on the door
We call the people that we love inside
‘Last orders at the bar!’ the barman cried
Our days of wine and roses are no more
The pubs are shut. Our hearts are open wide
The schools are shut. How hard the children tried
For what, they sigh, was all our striving for
We call the people that we love inside
No space made out of stone for God to hide
At home alone we face a higher law
The church is shut. Our hearts are open wide
Our doors are shut. In darkness we abide
We tear our hair and wash our fingers raw
With all the people that we love inside
The price we pay for freedom is our pride
What price our freedom if we win the war
The shops are shut. Our hearts are open wide
We call the people that we love inside
© Gail Foster 23rd March 2020
Billy and The Angel
The angel sat on the edge of the trench smoking a cigarette as a new dawn rose over the ruined landscape.
‘There’s always someone worse off than you’ it said.
Billy looked around with the eye that he still had left to see.
The trench was full of mud and blood, most of which, observed Billy, was his.
‘I don’t see anyone’ he said.
‘Look harder’ said the angel.
‘My legs hurt’ said Billy.
‘That’ll be the legs that you no longer have’ said the angel.
A tear fell from Billy’s eye.
‘No use crying over spilt milk.’
Billy wiped the tear from his one eye with the one arm he had left.
‘God help me’ he said.
‘Praying for yourself now?’ said the angel, smiling, ‘Tut, tut.’
Billy despaired.
‘Give me a break, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Look’ said the angel, pointing, ‘over there.’
Billy strained his one eye in the darkness and saw, ten foot down the trench under a pile of wooden planks and body parts and broken ammunition boxes, something stir.
‘There you go’ said the angel.
‘There you go what?’ said Billy.
‘Someone worse off than you.’
‘Help me’ said a feeble voice, ‘please help me.’
‘Well go on’ said the angel to Billy, ‘do something.’
Billy looked with his one eye at the arm he no longer had left and the legs he no longer had and the blood all around him that was mostly his and said:
‘I’m sorry.
I can’t.’
‘Help me’ said the voice, ‘please help me.’
‘How the fuck’ said Billy to the angel, ‘is he worse off than me right now?’
‘It’s simple’ said the angel, blowing a cloud of smoke across the last star.
‘Nobody loves him.’
A warm wave washed over Billy’s heart and he remembered the sweet peas in his grandmother’s garden and the warm smell of home.
‘Oh’ he said.
‘Help me’ said the voice.
‘I’m here for you, brother’ said Billy.
‘Goodbye, Billy’ said the angel.
‘I’m here.’
© Gail Foster 30th July 2019
The Cynic Speaks of Love
A Sonnet for Cynics for Valentine’s Day
*
The Cynic speaks of Love; What lie is this
But lust dressed up in silky swathes of lace
In pretty words, and promises of bliss
Come pouting in her petticoats, her face
All flushed with rouge and scarlet on a smile
With kohl around her cold come-hither eyes
Come lie with me, my love, a little while
She’ll say, and pat the bed, and part her thighs
And flash her stocking tops gone all awry
And secret places oh so sweetly blessed
And you’ll believe, the Cynic said, as I
Who once was by her magic so possessed
In Love, when she is nothing but a whore
That’s forty quid, she said, and that’s the door
*
© Gail Foster 14th February 2018
Mummy
She tells me she’s pregnant
Her mother is dead
I wish she could be here
The little girl said
And suddenly flood gates
Explode in my head
Me giving birth
On a hospital bed
Me with my daughter
And my mother dead
Oh look at her, Mummy
She’s lovely
I said
*
© Gail Foster 7th September 2017
If Truth Be Told
A Villanelle
*
The men that catch my eye these days are few
The ones that do are married men, or mad
And truth be told I only fancy you
…
I doubt that in the pub or porch or pew
I’ll meet a man like you who makes me glad
The men that catch my eye these days are few
…
I could be looking but I seldom do
There’s only you for me, you ‘lucky’ lad
If truth be told I only fancy you
…
Until the day fate sends me someone new
I’m all for you, I know, it’s odd, and sad
But men that catch my eye these days are few
…
You make me happy, boy, you make me blue
I hold a torch for you, and I grow mad
For truth be told I only fancy you
…
I’ve told you something you already knew
I’m sorry, but I’ve really got it bad
The men that catch my eye these days are few
If truth be told I only fancy you
*
© Gail Foster 21st July 2017
Sad Solstice Sonnet
*
This time last year, at Solstice, love, you came
To lie with me, as ancient lore decrees
We drew the sun to earth, and kindled flame
Between us blessed the flowers and the trees
And I wore poppies in my hair, and you
A crown of acorns proud upon your head
How swiftly round the ring the magic flew
When you and I made Avebury our bed
But that was then, and this is now, today
I come without my power and alone
No sign remains of you, or where we lay
No shadow on the grass or on the stone
Another summer, and another ring
I am no longer Goddess to your King
*
© Gail Foster 16th June 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
Swallows
for Tracey Lawrence
*
She scans the sky for swallows in the Spring
Down in the Rowdey gardens, by the shed
When I was low and January dead
She held my hand and helped my spirit sing
I saw her soul, a swallow on the wing
Still flying high when other birds had fled
Such loving kindness in the words she said
Such gentleness on earth is everything
…
She’s in the garden, sitting in her chair
And laughing as the swallows in the skies
Make witty patterns in the Wiltshire air
Like little arrows shot across The Vize
I think that I shall just leave Tracey there
With tears of joy and swallows in her eyes
*
© Gail Foster 2nd May 2017
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