A rhyme for Valentine’s Day…
Poetry
Facebook Theology
On matters of the bible
I’ve been thinking, as you do
That probably, most likely
Only some of it is true
It’s a little bit like Facebook
I think as I scroll past
A meme about Leviticus
With which I can’t be arsed
*
© Gail Foster 12th February 2017
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
Bullshit Nirvana
for Steve Doolan
*
Let the world turn as it will
‘Tis all the same to me
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
Bring on the empty horses
For ‘tis all a comedy
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
We come and then we go
We be and we not be
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
I’m a bloke at a bar, I am
A wild bird flying free
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
…
So I’ll have a lime and soda, ta
‘Tis all the same to me
Blah Blah Bullshit Nirvana
Sweet, Sweet Epiphany
*
© Gail Foster 6th January 2017
Many Mansions; for Sister David Lewis
Photograph of Sister David Lewis reproduced by kind permission of Scott Coleman
…
Sister David Lewis taught for many years at St. Joseph’s Catholic Primary School in Devizes in Wiltshire, and will be remembered by many with affection and gratitude.
*
I’m crying for a Catholic nun
Who once was kind to me
As I sat there in my miniskirt
Bad mother, C of E
“Sister David, the police came round
And battered down the door”
“Well, do you know, my dear,” she said
“I’ve heard that one before”
And she blessed me, without blinking
With a smile on her face
And I knew I was forgiven
Hail Mary, full of grace
And I can hear as clear as day
The words she said to me
“In my father’s house, my dear,
There many mansions be”
*
© Gail Foster 29th December 2016
Waiting For You; The Return of the Light
Winter Solstice Sunrise 2016; Avebury, Wiltshire
*
I have waited for you
Where no shadow seeps
Deep in the earth
Where the slow damp creeps
Under the stones
Where the sunlight sleeps
I have waited for you
…
I have listened for you
In the eaglet’s cry
In the echoes of rooks
In the empty sky
In a new-born’s breath
And a dead man’s sigh
I have listened for you
…
I have looked for you
Where the elders grow
Followed your steps
Through the virgin snow
Through groves of yew
And mistletoe
Looking for you
…
I have watched for you
By the door and the gate
Risen up early
And lain down late
Doubted your love
And cursed my fate
Watching for you
…
You said you would come
You said that you will
Appear as the dawn
On the curve of the hill
I have waited for you
Through the dark, and the still
You said you would come
…
I lit you a fire
I kindled a flame
In the fear of the darkness
I called out your name
I thought I was dying
And then you came
You said you would come
…
And here you are
The promise of light
Sweetening silence
And softening night
And all shall be well
And be blesséd delight
You said you would come
*
© Gail Foster 21st December 2016
‘Smoke and Roses’ and ‘Takin’ the Pith’
This week I published two books, which are available on Amazon and through Devizes Books
*
The first, ‘Smoke and Roses’ is saucy, serious, and sweet, and the second, ‘Takin’ the Pith’, does exactly what it says on the tin.
I guess that ‘Smoke and Roses’ is my mythology.
Both contain poems and prose in different forms, and the language is edgy in both.
There will be some content that you have not read.
I hope you like them.
Thank you so much for your interest.
*
Gail
What’s it about for you, then?
*
What’s it about for them, then
Loneliness, poverty, pain
Bang of the bailiff at the door
Death in a ditch in the rain
…
What is it like for the Joneses
Bigger and better you think
Posh port and pigs in blankets
Sick in the kitchen sink
…
What’s it about for him, then
A clock, and an empty chair
Picture of her on the mantelpiece
Candle smoke curls in the air
…
What is it like for her, do you think
Hairdo and heels and hurrah
Hampers and champers from Harrods
Packed in to Daddy’s car
…
What’s it about for the Christians
Return of the sacred child
Under a star in a stable bare
Jesus, meek and mild
…
What is it like for the Druids, then
Stood in the circle at dawn
Frost on the moss on frozen stone
Lit by the sun reborn
…
What’s it about for the children
Mysterious, glittery, bright
Hope of a mythic benevolence
Come as a thief in the night
…
What is it like for us, then
Rushing and spending and stressing
Cursing the souls in the queue at the till
Kissing a friend with a blessing
…
What will it be like for you, then
What will you will it to be
Riotous ostentation, or
Peace and sweet charity
…
What it’s about for me is this
One white and holy dove
The silence after the shops have shut
And love
*
© Gail Foster 3rd December 2016
My Muse Looks Like Morrissey
For Steve Doolan
*
The mysteries of muses lie within the hands of fate
Your muse may be your lover, or your muse may be your mate
The stranger on the corner, or the friend you used to know
The somebody you’ve never met who makes your juices flow
The one who sang the joyful song that set your heart alight
The one who wrote the rhyme that left you crying in the night
The ways of love and poetry defy all sense and reason
But every rhyme will have its day, and every love its season
…
The comedies of muses tickle mischief from the pen
Therefore the fates have given me a wonder amongst men
A muse who looks like Morrissey. It’s true, I kid you not
I only chucked a line or two and this is what I got
Apparently it’s good for when one’s pulling on the lash
Or busking on the corner when one’s rather short of cash
I’m confused, and yet besotted, I am this, and I am that
Anyone but Morrissey. I just can’t stand the twat
…
The irony’s amusing, though, I’m moved to write a rhyme
The difference between the two is really quite sublime
One will make you slit your wrists or have a little cry
The other stir your ass upon the dance floor till you die
One drones on and on and makes a proper old palava
The other shows, not tells, a bit more like your Raymond Carver
One is needy, wan, and wafty, like a pampas in the yard
The other, slightly weedy, yes, but dare I say it…hard
…
Oh, the mysteries of muses are a monster to define
I’ve ended up with one that looks like Morrissey as mine
For a moment, or a season, none may know or yet can say
But I shall take his inspiration, for a year or a day
And his rampant positivity and witty observations
On the ins and outs of Haworth, Keighley, and the other nations
For the bugger has me heart aflame and all me neurons fired
Sigh. He looks like Morrissey.
He’s hired.
*
© Gail Foster November 12th 2016
…
If the reader is unfamiliar with the work of Morrissey
or is simply up for a good laugh
just check out the music video ‘November Spawned A Monster’…
The Souls of Spring’s Children
*
softly, whispering
featherfalls on silent stone
winter, gravity
…
lost in the fog, birds
grieving morning voicelessly
remembering love
…
dead diamonds, ditches
glittering cold promises
fossil furrow froze
…
darkness, deepening
the womb and the grave hiding
secrets and shadows
…
in the ground, waiting
the souls of springs children sing
muffled lullabies
*
© Gail Foster 2016
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